Page 123 of Reclaimed By My Ex’s Bratva Brother

I couldn't help laughing.

"Rory did that on purpose," Varlam said.

"I know."

"You didn't stop him." A flicker of surprise crossed his face.

"Why would I stop him?"

His gaze settled on my face. The cable car swayed gently. I instinctively grabbed the nearby handrail. Varlam reached out almost simultaneously, but stopped before touching me.

"Do you need me?" he asked.

Those words made my chest tighten. The old Varlam wouldn't have asked. He would have grabbed me directly, put me in what he considered the safest position. Now, his hand hung in midair, palm up, leaving the choice to me. I placed my hand in his palm.

"Yes."

His fingers immediately closed, gripping me firmly. The cable car continued rising. Wind slipped through the window gaps, carrying the coolness of trees and water. My hand grew hot in his grip, my heartbeat losing rhythm along with it. Varlam sat very steady. His large body nearly filled one side of the seat, his knees only inches from mine. Silver-gray hair glowed in the light, the fine lines at his eyes clearer than usual.

Those were marks left by time. He'd learned very early to hide emotions in the deepest places. When I was still using impulse to protect myself, he'd already grown accustomed to solving everything through control.

What separated us wasn't just age. It was two completely different ways of surviving.

"Briony."

His voice pulled my thoughts back.

"What?"

Varlam looked at our joined hands. "Tell me what I should do."

I froze. This man never asked anyone what to do. Everyone waited for him to give answers. He always decided everything.

But now, he was asking me. Voice low, even a little careful.

"You're young," he said. "Your life is just beginning. Many things are first times for you, but for me they feel like risks I need to handle in advance."

"So you think I'm immature?"

"No." He immediately looked at me. "I think you have choices."

His fingers tightened slightly.

"You can choose someone easier. Someone who won't bring so many enemies, won't treat danger as routine, won't receive calls about death in the middle of the night."

I knew who he meant.

"Makar?"

"He understands romance better than I do." Varlam's tone held unwillingness.

"You're jealous of your own brother?"

"Yes."

He admitted it so directly I didn't know how to respond.

"He knows where to take women, knows what gifts won't block fire exits, knows how to make people laugh." Varlam paused. "I don't know these things."