Page 26 of The Brat: Prequel

“I told you no.”

“You need to do something. Your mood has been abysmal since she turned eighteen.”

“No.”

“Max—”

“No, blyad. I told you no and I meant it.”

“You’re going to turn into a monk then. Is that it?”

“Sacrifices have to be made sometimes.”

“Sacrifices?” He shakes his head. “I don’t get it. I’ll never get this fucking obsession you have with her. I used to worry that you were some kind of sicko because of the extents you’d go to for her.”

“At this point, you’re begging me to pluck out your goddamn eyes.”

“I’ve never known you to go to these lengths for anyone. Especially someone who isn’t somebody. Her place in our world means nothing anymore. The Bratva is dead in this city. Any power or prestige she had from being her father’s daughter and his final marriageable heiress is irrelevant⁠—”

“If I wanted you to pull apart my life, I would hire you as my shrink. Back off.”

His gaze flicks off the framed picture I have on my desk. “You’re fucking weird about this one.”

“This one? Say her goddamn name. Victoria. You know what she’ll be.”

Why the hell won’t he drop this? The photo is of her at a public speaking competition last year. There’s nothing odd about it. She tore her opponents apart and managed to shame the fathers of some of the competitors—corporate bankers— and had them squirming in their seats. One even left the damn room!

She did that in high school.

What the hell she’ll do when she’s older…? I can only imagine.

“Marrying her is bad for business.”

“Do I look like a give a fuck?”

“No, but it looks like you need to fuck. Mariska⁠—”

“No!” I roar, slamming to my feet and throwing my knife at the door. When it thuds into the doorjamb, he jolts to the side. “You do not bring this up again, Misha. We’re brothers, but don’t fuck with me on this.”

“What is she to you? Why the hell do you put her on a pedestal?”

If I had an answer, I’d give it to him.

I don’t know why. That is the honest answer.

There’s guilt about Abramovicz and the trauma she suffered during her abduction, the memory of her sweet friendship when I was her driver that revealed a burgeoning personality that’d keep anyone on their toes, and being an orphan is a tie, but…

God, I have no reason that I can share. Nothing outside of an inbuilt knowledge that Misha won’t ever understand.

In Russia, the soul is a holy entity. Not just a religious one. It lies down to nobody… apart from one person.

Ne lezhit dusha.

I fear mine lay down for her a long time ago.

Instead of earning his laughter, I snarl, “We had Nikolai.”

“You want to be her Nikolai?” Bewildered, he frowns. “She’s the sister-in-law of two O’Donnellys. She’s fine. Her sisters will make sure of that.”