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Struck silent by this news, I search my mother’s face for answers. She’s pale, her arms in the air, afraid to hug Ruslan.
Yevgeniy strolls closer to our group, his smile sickeningly happy. “You must be feeling many emotions, Katya. Shock … but of course, delight as well.” He ruffles the boy’s hair. “Our son has grown to resemble both of us.”
My mouth has gone dry. Mom has another kid? She’s no longer gawking. Her face is a ripple of sheepish shame. With immense lag, she finally embraces Ruslan. He’s oblivious to the gamut of emotions she and I are experiencing. How could he understand? He’s just a child!
“Ruslan,” Yevgeniy says, “why don’t you go up and have a snack? I want to talk to your mother and sister alone.”
“Aw, but I want to spend more time with them, Papa!”
“You’ll have plenty, trust me.”
With a cheerful laugh, Ruslan releases my mom. “Okay!” Taking the steps two at a time, he vanishes through the door above.
Yevgeniy whirls on us with his arms folded behind his back. “Do you need me to explain?”
“He’s really my brother?” I ask softly.
“Yes.” It’s my mother who responds. Her voice is barely a whisper. “Yevgeniy stole Ruslan away when he was just a baby. I never even got to hold him.” Her lips spread tight in a pained frown. “I thought he was dead.”
“Far from it,” Yevgeniy chuckles. “The boy is thriving. What else can be expected from the heir to the Grachev Bratva?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “Arsen is the one leading the Grachev Bratva, not you. Not anymore.”
His face darkens—this is the first thing I’ve said that’s cracked his smug mask. In a patient but acidic voice, he says, “For now. Once I kill Arsen, I’ll end him and his line for good. He’ll have no one with a blood claim to fill his shoes.”
Ruslan is a pawn ... the same as me.
My eyes widen as this information sinks in. I’d convinced myself that Yevgeniy wanted me and my mother alive as a way to control Arsen. As his daughter, I’m useful for blackmail.
Arsen tried that, in fact.
But Yevgeniy wants to eradicate every threat Arsen brings to his control of the Bratva. He thinks Arsen has no heir. On impulse, I stroke my hand over my belly. Yevgeniy can never know I’m pregnant.
He’s killed unborn babies without hesitation in the past.
I know he can do it again.
There’s a buzzing sound. Yevgeniy digs out a phone, glancing at it before tucking it away. “If you need anything, simply let me or my men know. I have important business to return to.” He heads for the door, but before he leaves, he turns back toward us. “I’m really glad to have my family made whole again.”
With a saccharine smile, he shuts us inside.
The emotional turmoil of the morning crushes onto my shoulders. Slumping onto the nearby L-shaped sofa in front of a huge TV, I cradle my head in my hands. Shit. What do we do? What can we do?
“Malyshka,” my mother whispers in a fractured voice. “Look at me.”
I can’t. Not yet. “Why didn’t you tell me about Ruslan?”
“I’m sorry,” she groans. Her shadow moves on the floor in front of me as she comes closer. “I’m so sorry.”
My eyebrows scrunch over my frown. “Are you?” It’s impossible to hide the venom in my voice.
“I am.” She chokes on her words. “Please, believe me, malyshka. Please.”
Her voice has gone tender. I think she’s starting to cry, but I’m still not ready to look at her face. “You should have told me.”
“I didn’t want you to think worse of me,” she stammers. “I didn’t want you to hate me more than you already did. Please, malyshka. I was a coward. I lied to myself that my baby boy was dead when that monster took him away from me. I’ve been a terrible mother to you both.”
Suddenly, I remember that time ten years ago. Mom and Dad arguing … my mother being miserable, quick to snap. Was she battling the agony of losing the son she’d just birthed?
