Prologue
Andrei
Los Angeles smells like sun-warmed asphalt and money that doesn’t bother hiding. It’s loud without being chaotic, polished without pretending to be clean. I don’t belong here, but neither does Mikhail, and somehow he’s made it work.
We’re sitting on the balcony of his condo, the city sprawled beneath us like it’s offering itself up. Two bottles of beer sweat between our hands. Mine is already half gone. His is untouched.
“You’re brooding,” Mikhail says, finally lifting his bottle. “Which means something’s eating at you.”
“I don’t brood,” I say.
He snorts. “You brood professionally.”
I glance at him. He’s relaxed—linen shirt, sleeves rolled, hair pushed back like he hasn’t worried about it once today. This is the version of Mikhail people see first. The easy smile. The sharp humor. The man who could talk anyone into anything if he wanted to.
They never see what’s underneath unless they give him a reason.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, softer now.
I take another drink. “Natalya.”
He arches his brows at the mention of our sister. “What about Natalya?”
“Nothing much.” I shrug, taking a swig from my beer. “Just wondering how she’s doing.” Without me.
I don’t say the last part out loud, of course
“I’m sure she’s doing just fine,” Mikhail replies, his lips curving upward slightly in amusement. “Viktor adores her.”
“That’s the problem,” I say flatly.
Mikhail laughs. “You sound like a jealous husband.”
“I sound like an older brother who no longer has a purpose.”
That earns his full attention. He leans back in his chair, studying me the way he does artists before he signs them…like he’s stripping me down to see what I’m not saying.
“She’s happy,” he says. “You should be relieved.”
“I am,” I admit. “But I spent my life making sure she was safe. Protecting her. Watching for threats she didn’t even know to look for.” I curl my fingers tighter around the bottle. “Now she doesn’t need me like that.”
“And you don’t know what to do with yourself,” he clarifies.
I don’t argue. He’s right.
“I feel lost,” I murmur, half to myself. It’s shitty admitting that out loud but I guess my brother already figured that out. He didn’t grow up with us—our gem of a mother left him with his father when she chose to marry—so he doesn’t fully understand the weight of the protectiveness I feel for Natalya. Looking afterher has been my top priority her entire life. “I don’t know who I am without that responsibility.”
“You could date,” Mikhail says lightly. “Find a wife. Start a family.”
I bark out a humorless laugh. “Absolutely not.”
He smirks. “That bad, huh?”
“You know how my parents were. Their marriage was a disaster. They treated Natalya and me like crap.” The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. My jaw tightens as a familiar wave of wrath rushes through. “I won’t be like them.”
“You’re nothing like them,” Mikhail says firmly, like he really believes his words.
“That’s what everyone thinks,” I reply. “But who knows. I have our mother’s blood in my veins, after all.”