Page 22 of The Bratva Betrayal

“At the cost of you doing what you should’ve done from the beginning,” he says. “Making yourself useful.”

Anger flares, hot and immediate. “I told you I could do better than that. You agreed.”

“I agreed to give you time,” he corrects. “Not to let you waste it.”

“I’m not wasting anything.”

“Then prove it.”

The words land like a challenge.

“I will.”

He watches me for a moment longer, then reaches for his coffee.

“Good,” he says.

But there’s nothing reassuring about it.

Because if I don’t, he’ll make the move himself.

And when he does, he won’t be careful.

It won’t be quiet.

It will be a war.

And I’ll be the reason it starts.

5

Cady

Something about these events allows everything else to fade, if only for a little while.

Not completely—nothing ever really does—but enough that I can breathe without feeling like every move I make is being watched, weighed, or turned into something useful for my father's gain. Or worse, something lacking.

Lately, that's been his favorite angle. Ever since our last dinner, he's been pressing harder, pushing me to bring him something tangible that proves the bratva isn't working against him.

It's exhausting.

Tonight feels quieter. No immediate sense of backroom deals or quiet threats wrapped in polite conversation. Just appearances, money, and carefully curated intentions.

The event is for underprivileged kids, local outreach, and scholarship funding, and that lets me focus on something other than digging through bratva systems in the middle of the night and hoping I don't trigger something I can't undo.

I smooth my hands over the front of my dress out of habit and let my gaze sweep the room. Everything is where it should be. The stage is set, the donation stations are ready, and the volunteers are in place.

Misha said he would come, or at least implied that he might, but I know he isn’t here. This isn't his scene. Structured environments, quiet control, anything that requires restraint—none of it suits him. He prefers chaos, noise, and the illusion of danger.

He likes to act like he belongs in the darker side of things.

Artem actually does.

Misha follows. Artem leads.

Two brothers, but not the same kind of man.

"Is this one of the dresses you found on my brother's laptop, Lisichka?"