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I throw my arms wide, gesturing around. “What the fuck do you think I’m doing here?”
Niki shakes her head impatiently. “I’m not talking about just showing up, big brother. I’m talking aboutshowing up. You gotta check back in, emotionally speaking.”
I think about brushing off her suggestion, but something about my conversation with Cyrille a few days ago has stuck in my mind.
When did things change for me? When did I stop doing the things that scare me?
“I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to do that,” I admit.
Niki looks at me, half-surprised at my admission and half-exasperated with it. “Maybe it starts with telling Paige how you really feel about her. And don’t roll your eyes at me.” She waves her cigarette dangerously between us. “Don’t deny it, either. We both know you’re in love with her. I’m just trying to figure out why you seem to think that’s such a bad thing.”
I glance sidelong at my sister. If I’m going to do this, I might as well fucking do it.
“Do you remember what Cyrille was like right after Maksim’s funeral?”
Niki’s jaw tightens. “I prefer to think of Cyrille when Maksim was alive. Do you remember how the two of them would make out under the mistletoe every Christmas?”
A bark of laughter escapes my lips. “I do. Felt a touch unnecessary, if I’m being honest.”
“Right? Honestly, they acted like they didn’t have a room right upstairs.”
“He was an oversharer,” I recall. “He spared no detail of their exploits in the bedroom. Changed my whole opinion of Cyrille.”
“Wildcat in the sheets, huh?”
I chuckle under my breath. “She’d be horrified if she knew I knew. But that’s what Maksim loved about her. She was a surprise. He was used to clocking people right from the get-go, but Cyrille wasn’t predictable. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she’d go and do something unexpected.”
“Is that what made you fall for Paige?” Nikita asks innocently.
The denial is right there on the tip of my tongue. But what is the point in my great charade when Niki sees right through me?
“I remember the day we buried Otets,” I say softly. “The atmosphere was somber at the cemetery. Typical fucking Bratva stoicism. But then we left and came back home and suddenly, everything felt—”
“Lighter?”
“Lighter,” I agree. “And Mom—Jesus Christ, the change in her. He hadn’t even been buried an hour and she looked ten years younger. The relief on her face… I can still picture it to this day. That seemed to me like the ideal scenario. Simple. Clean. Easy.”
“Keep your heart locked away so that no one can ever break it,” Nikita summarizes, as though she’s reciting a verse from a story book. “You think you’re the only one who’s come to that conclusion, Misha? Why do you think I’m still single?”
“Because you are a fucking nightmare and no man with any brains is going to saddle himself to that forever?”
She punches me in the ribs. “I’m a motherfucking delight,” she snaps playfully. Then her smile falters. “But I’m already terrified of losing the people I’ve got. Why add another name to that list?”
“But you’re not scared of anything.”
“Of this, I am,” she admits. “Cyrille told me what Maksim thought of all of us. That I was the fearless one. But Maksim was wrong. Just like he was wrong when he told me that he’d always be there for me.”
She finishes her cigarette and tosses the butt out the window. I rest my hand on her knee and force her to look at me. “I loved him more than anyone else in the world, Niki. But he was wrong about a lot of things. Including me.”
Nikita nods and her bottom lip quivers. For an instant, I don’t see the proud, beautiful, grown woman sitting across from me; I see the annoying little child who pulled my hair when I wasn’t paying attention and looked at me like I hung the stars for her with my own two hands.
“Do you think that maybe he wasn’t wrong about either one of us?” she asks softly. “Maybe he was right—back then. But when he died, he took the good parts of us with him.”
“Or maybe we’ve forgotten who we were because he isn’t around anymore to remind us.”
“Well… maybe we can remind each other?” she suggests. As she does, she reminds me of that little five-year-old again.
I nod, trying to feel Maksim here with us. His greatest strength was his vulnerability. Maybe, just maybe, I’m more like him than I ever thought possible.
