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Shutting her eyes tight, she waits quietly for me to stop ranting. When I’m left panting, my chest heaving up and down, she stares at me again.
“He raped me, malyshka. He made your father watch as he raped me in front of him that night to humiliate us both. And when he was done, he tossed money at us, laughing as we scrambled to pick it up, and told us that we’d get an extension on our debts to him, so long as this …” She chokes up. “This arrangement continued. And it did. The same way every time.”
“Mom …” The bitterness in my bones melts away. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.”
It’s odd that, although I’m expressing pity for her, she’s still looking at me like I’m the one who suffered. “I should have told you sooner, but I couldn’t. I wanted to protect you, Galina. That man is the devil himself. For you to have any connection to him … I was desperate to keep it buried.” She wipes her eyes, but the tears keep falling.
“And now you’re going down the same path that I did,” she whispers. “I failed you, malyshka. I should’ve protected you from this … And instead, I handed you to another monster. To Arsen.”
My eyes widen as her words sink in. It all makes sense now. The fighting ten years ago, the money that was coming in from Yevgeniy that suddenly stopped ... I rub my belly absently. Mom’s sadness over my pregnancy. She’s worried about what Yevgeniy wants from us. If he means us harm, then this baby is also in danger.
But what’s upsetting me most of all is the reality that my father—the man with jubilant laughter, kind words, and effortless wisdom—wasn’t my father. Arsen knew Yevgeniy was interested in me when he started stalking me after my dad died.
Does that mean he knows I’m his daughter?
My hand over my belly presses harder. A terrible idea has struck me.
Arsen might not know. In that case, he can’t learn about any of this. He wants Yevgeniy destroyed. Learning that he’s my real father could make him doubt my allegiance … and my mother’s. Staring at her with rising terror, I know the risk to our lives is genuine.
She’s right. Nothing is ever settled when the Bratvas are involved.
I thought Yevgeniy was the only one I had to worry about.
That’s no longer true.
35
ARSEN
The sound of laughter rolls through the partially open door of the small building. Beyond the crack, I can see multiple men loitering around a table. Their attitude is relaxed—for the most part. My brigadiers know that when I call them for a meeting, something important is happening.
“Everyone is in there, pakhan,” Nikolai speaks beside me.
He’s wearing a navy-blue jacket over his taupe slacks. He was the one I instructed to gather the other brigadiers here. Ever since I caught him gossiping with Kostya, he’s intentionally kept the two of them separate. I suspect, on some level, that his goal is selfish. Men are quick to do whatever it takes for their own success. Nikolai wants to climb the ladder and be seen as worthy, which means he thinks I consider Kostya to be pathetic.
He’s wrong.
While I might have relegated Kostya to less glorifying work like guard duty far below what his rank deserves and I kept him from attending the wedding, it’s not because I don’t respect him. In truth, my poor treatment was meant to test him.
A lesser man would have turned bitter and fought me.
Kostya, for all his flaws, has accepted every task in silence.
I nod. “Let’s join them,” I say, before entering the building.
My home is secure … but there are too many ears there.
“Gentlemen,” I say in a loud voice.
They turn as one toward me. There are eight of them in total, including Nikolai. He stands the closest to me. Kostya is tucked all the way in the back corner. The rest form a natural half-circle. On the left is Mikhail, a short man with shoulders bigger than mine. He’s one of my best marksmen, but in spite of his steady hand, he’s constantly on edge.
Next to him is Iosif. In contrast to Mikhail, he’s the tallest in the room. We’d be eye to eye, though he’s thin enough that at a distance, he manages the illusion of being taller. He’s older than me, but his youthful face hides his age. Despite his age, his loyalty is absolute. That’s why I chose him to bear the crown at my wedding.
The two in the middle are nearly twins. Bogdan and Lev. Their fire-red hair is tied in matching ponytails. They aren’t related, but they act enough like brothers that it’s easy to forget.
Last of all are Maxim—with a nasty scar that bisects his face from his right eyebrow to his chin—and Vyacheslav.
“Thank you for coming on short notice,” I continue. “We have an important topic to discuss.”
