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“Apologies, Alyona Fyodorovna,” I said, even adding a little bow to sate her demand for respect.
She rolled her eyes at the unnecessary formality and simply held out her hand for the bottle. As soon as her fingers wrapped around the neck, she took a swig with frightening familiarity.
“What?” she asked when she saw me stare. “Father sent me to college, not to a nunnery.”
I laughed. Oh, I had missed my baby sister. People underestimated Alya most of the time because they thought of her as simply the daughter of a Pakhan—a spoiled princess who whimpered and cried to get her way. What they didn’t know was that I had taught her to be ruthless, just like me.
Father told me that I was wasting my time teaching her skills that did nothing to elevate her value for a prospective match, but I didn’t care. I wanted her to be able to handle herself. Because I knew what kind of world we lived in. I bought her a gun before she was even old enough to drive, and I made damn sure that she knew how to use it if the time came.
And now, she was the only person that mattered to me.And tomorrow, that would all change.
“It’s just,” I said. “The last time I saw you, you were still a snot-faced little brat.”
“And the last time I sawyou.” She passed the bottle back to me. “You still knew how to smile.”
A ghost whispered at the back of my head.“Let’s fly away together, Aleks. Just you and me.”And my nostrils filled with the unforgettable scent of blood.
I clamped my jaw down tight and remained silent to my sister’s retort.Let the past die, Aleksey,I reminded myself. There was nothing I could have done about that. Then or now.
God, how many years had it been since that night? And for all those years, I’d held my silence. The only other member of my family who knew that terrible secret was now feeding worms six feet under the ground.
Him and Boris, I thought bitterly. Boris had been there for me that night. The two of us had drunk ourselves to the gates of death but never crossed it. And since that day, we had never spoken of it or her. But on those rare dark nights when vodka and whiskey and other liquors mixed in my stomach, that same plea haunted me.“Let’s fly away together, Aleks. Just you and me.”
“Alyosha?” My sister’s voice brought me out of my memories. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I muttered. “Just trying to wrap my head around this farce.”
“Your bride-to-be is very pretty,” she finally said. “And she has fight in her.”
“And how could you know that? You didn’t even get a chance to speak with her.”
Alya took another swig from the bottle. “I saw the way she held your hand. I couldn’t tell who was trying harder to crush the other’s fingers.”
That much was true. When I’d first slipped my hand into Elia’s, I had held her tightly—more tightly than either of us expected. And just like our first encounter, I felt something else stirring at me at the touch. A carnal hunger that demanded more than these passing touches.
But this marriage would be impossible. It was like Boris said: too much bad blood.
“She hates me, Alya,” I finally said.
“Why? What could you have possibly done to earn her hate?”
I looked at her. And it was only then that I remembered that in spite of all my attempts to mold Alya into a mirror version of myself, she had always been kept far away from the daily ins and outs of the Bratva. She knew nothing about our decade-long war against the Tarallo Mafia. As far as Alya was concerned, Elia Tarallo simply hated me because I was not the man she wanted to marry.
It was time to tell her the truth.
“Because I killed her brother,” I said flatly.
Alya’s expression hardened for a moment before she spoke. “And sheagreedto this marriage? Why?”
“Because it’s the same fate that you would’ve been resigned to,” I replied. “Had Father lived long enough to sell you to a man of his choice.”
Now it was her turn to be silent. For as long as she lived, my sister knew what her fate would be. It was the curse of being born a girl. Their only purpose was to secure an alliance, to keep the peace, and if necessary, be the sweeteners to a deal.
Alya was lucky. Elia? Not so much.
“Blyat,” Alya finally swore, lifting a hand to pinch her nose. “Promise me, brother. Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“It goes without saying, Alya,” I said and pressed a hand to her shoulder.
