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Would she be happy that I had not one, but two men tripping over their feet to take care of me?
I blushed again.
Most other people would be more torn up about the violence I’d seen in the past twenty-four hours, but I’d seen my fair share over the years. I’d been witness to more than a dozen murders, at either my late brother’s hand or my father’s.
I’d always known they would die at the end of a bullet. That was what life in the bratva meant.
You never got too close to anyone becauseyou might lose them.
That was a lesson my father taught me well. One I’d learned the night he killed Nikolai. I would never forget that night no matter how much time passed. It was seared into my memory.
The air hung heavy with the scent of damp concrete, and sirens wailed in the distance somewhere within the city of Moscow. Even at twelve years old, I hadn’t wanted to be there, but I’d been taken as an unwilling spectator because my father had needed me to bear witness to my best friend’s treachery.
The night was cloaked in an oppressive darkness that seemed to seep into my bones. My father led me through labyrinthine alleys, each step echoing in the quiet of the night. We approached a dimly lit warehouse, its cracked windows casting shadows on the ground before us. With a deep breath, I followed my father inside, an uneasy feeling sinking into the pit of my belly.
Something was wrong.
Nikolai stood at the center of the big open room, his hands tied behind his back. His face was bloodied. It looked like his nose was broken and his lip was split. He was sporting a pretty painful looking black eye, too. Opening my eyes in shock, I rushed forward, fully intending to help him, but my father reached out to grab my arm.
It was hard seeing my only friend hurt like that.
“He’s not who you think he is,” my father chided, and I whirled my head back to look at him.
“What have you done?” I asked, my horror apparent in my voice.
My father’s gaze remained unyielding as he explained, “Your friend Nikolai has betrayed us. He’s been spying on us, relaying information about our secrets and selling them to the Volkovs. He’s compromised everything we’ve built.”
I shook my head, refusing to believe it. Nikolai was like a brother to me; we shared secrets, dreams, and the struggles of growing up in the unforgiving world of the bratva. The revelation felt like a betrayal in itself.
“You can’t trust him,” my father insisted, his grip on my arm tightening.
“I don’t believe you,” I tried, and Nikolai’s eyes met mine, a mixture of pain and regret mirrored in his battered face. I felt torn between loyalty and the suggestion of his betrayal. The air grew thick with tension as my father’s enforcers stood ready, their cold stares leaving no room for doubt.
“It’s true,” Nikolai confirmed, and I stared back at him as my father unholstered his own weapon. “My name isn’t Nikolai. It’s Alex Volkov. I’m sorry Anastasia.”
“He’s the one that told the Volkovs where your mother was going to be. He’s the reason she’s dead,” my father continued, and I stilled.
The revelation struck like a physical blow. My mother’s death had always been shrouded in mystery, a tragedy I’d accepted without understanding the details. Now, standing in that dimly lit warehouse, the weight of betrayal and grief converged on me all at once.
Alex’s eyes pleaded for understanding, but the pain in my heart drowned out any sympathy I might have felt. The world Ithought I knew crumbled around me, leaving only the harsh reality of deception and revenge.
My father’s face remained stoic, hardened by the demands of our world. He raised the gun in his hands, and he squeezed the trigger, killing the young man that had once been my best friend with a bullet straight between the eyes.
Truthfully, it was a kinder death than I would have given him myself.
The sound of my phone vibrating against my nightstand broke me out of my reverie, quickly jarring me back to the present. I glanced over at the glow of the screen and strode over to it, still wrapped in my fluffy towel, and saw that it was Ivan.
I rushed to pick it up before I missed the call.
“Anastasia,” he began.
“Ivan,” I answered.
“I’m calling with good news. We’ve acquired the location of several key members of the cartel, including Eduardo’s second in command, and a number of important commanding soldiers,” he began, his voice hopeful, yet I could still catch the slightest hint of skepticism in his tone.
He would never say it, but I was certain that he questioned my ability to run the family simply because I was inexperienced in leadership. I hadn’t been groomed for it, not like my brother had. I’d watched my father conduct business from the sidelines, though, and Ivan knew that. He’s known me since I was a littlegirl, which was why I think he was willing to follow me in the first place.
He knew that I knew what needed to be done.
