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Aly’s always been in my life, but something has shifted lately. I can’t help but notice her, like reallynotice. She’s got this spark that sets her apart from all the other girls I know. Plus, she’s a knockout—smart, fierce, and drop-dead gorgeous. It’s like I’ve got Aly goggles on. Every family gathering, every holiday, she’s the only thing in my sight line. Hell, she’s all I jerk off to.
But there’s a big fat line between my fantasies and real life. Aly’s off-limits—too young, too innocent, my best friend’s kid sister. I can’t go there. Ever. I shove those thoughts aside, focusing on what she needs right now—a friend.
I snag the Stoli from the mini fridge in the corner, then sidle over to her. “Switch to vodka, trust me,” I suggest, unscrewing the cap and passing her the bottle as I hop up onto the window seat.
She eyes me with uncertainty. “What? You’re not going to give me a lecture about underage drinking like my brother?”
A wry smile tugs at my lips. “Nah, it’s your dad’s funeral. You get a free pass today.”
She seems to agree, taking the icy bottle from my grasp, swigging from it like it’s the nectar of the gods. Like anybody with Russian blood, she puts away a good few ounces, not even hiccuping when she’s done.
“I meant what I said earlier. I’m sorry I didn’t come and find you when you first came home. I just… fuck.” I bite out a curse, my emotions all over the damn place. “I’m not good at this stuff, Aly.”
“It’s okay.” She joins me at the bay window, sitting so close our thighs touch. The heat from her skin and her scent, like ripe peaches, is distracting. “I know Papa’s death brings back difficult memories of your mom.”
I turn to look at her, her face a picture of quiet sympathy. How is Alyona the one comforting me when she’s experiencing such a devastating loss? But she’s not wrong. Even though I was a child when my mother took her own life, the memory of her death still haunts me. On days like today, it feels more present than ever.
“She’s on my mind a lot,” I admit with a helpless shrug. “I hope she found happiness wherever she is; happier than she was here.”
Kids have a sixth sense. Even as a young boy, I could tell our free-spirited mother was wilting under the bratva’s rigid rules and constant threats. The tightening of her freedom. My father, busy with his empire, grew more and more distant, and all of it weighed heavily on her.
“I’ve made a decision,” Aly says, looking down at the vodka cap she’s spinning between her fingers. “I want out of this life. The bratva, the brotherhood, whatever you want to call it. I don’t want it to be my future.” Her eyes widen as if she fears I might misunderstand her. “I mean, your family will always be important to me, but I don’t want to be like Mama today, a vor wife mourning a husband who was destined to die the minute he took the oath.” Her watery eyes meet mine. “And I want to make a life of my own. Have a job. All of that.”
I nod in understanding. “I hope that for you, too. Shit, I wouldn’t even mind that for myself.”
“Really?” Her head tilts in interest. “What would you want to do?”
“I dunno,” I say with a shrug. But that’s not true, I know exactly what I’d do. When Aly’s eyes meet mine, so big and earnest, waiting for my answer, I decide to be truthful. “I think being a video game designer would be a cool job. Or maybe a virtual reality developer. Something with computers and tech.” There. I said it. I’ve never told another person that except maybe my dog, Bones, but yeah, he doesn’t count.
She bumps her shoulder gently against mine. “I think you’d be great at whatever you put your mind to.”
“Thanks. But being the direct heir to the pakhan, it’s tough to walk away from my family obligations.” More like impossible.
“You never know. It’s the modern world, people break with tradition all the time. And, no offense, but you’re third in line to the throne. Surely that buys you a little more freedom.”
My lips curl into a cynical grin. “None taken. But Papa doesn’t see it that way. Would you like to be the one to discuss it with him?” Serge Kozlov is as traditional and uncompromising as they come. He’s made it clear that his children are expected to join the family business. It isn’t a choice, it’s an obligation.
She snorts, familiar with how rigid my father can be. “Hard pass.”
“What do you want to do?” I ask, screwing the top back on the vodka bottle when I notice a red flush working its way across Aly’s delicate cheeks.
“Probably something to do with fashion. You know how I love combing throughVogueandElleand all those magazines. I could see myself as a stylist or a buyer. There’s just something about working in that world that excites me.”
“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you’re beautiful enough to be a model.”
She scrunches her nose, as if she doesn’t believe me. I take that moment to study her. She really is breathtaking with eyes a deep blue nearing sapphire, subtly upturned at the corners. Cheekbones that are high and broad, tapering down to a slender nose. And her lips, plump and full, have starred in some of my hottest fantasies.
Her cheeks flush, a sign she’s caught me staring at her lips. I quickly lift my eyes to meet hers. I hadn’t meant to perv on her so obviously.
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifts. The air is charged, heavy with anticipation. Of what, I don’t know. “Did you really mean what you said earlier…” Aly’s hoarse voice breaks the silence. She looks up at me through thick dark lashes. “About a free pass today?”
“‘Course I did. Anything to feel something other than pain.” First-hand experience is the most ruthless teacher, and I know all about the power of diversion, the desperate need to feel something—anything—other than the searing slash of pain.
“Would it be selfish to ask to feel good? So my memory of today isn’t all sadness and loss?” Her words nearly send me tumbling from the windowsill. I could blame the booze, but her stunning eyes are clear, completely alert. And they’re trained right on me.
Maybe I’m reading this all wrong, maybe she just wants to take a sauna or something, get a massage… but that’s not the vibe I’m getting. Maybe I should talk her out of whatever idea is brewing in her head, but I don’t want to. So, instead, I say, “I don’t think it would be selfish.”
Her voice doesn’t waver when she asks, “What if you kissed me? Then I’d also remember today as the day I got my first kiss.”
