And yet.
“Thank you, Sir.”
The words came out barely above a whisper, but from the way his entire body tensed, I knew he’d heard them.
The silence stretched out between us, heavy with everything unsaid.
He cupped my face, thumb stroking across my cheekbone. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”
26
ALEKSANDR
“Ready, brother?”Dmitri paused with his hand on the handle of the door, giving me one last chance to back out.
Sixteen years ago, I’d walked away from the bratva to build a coaching career, a legitimate life, with respect earned through sweat and winning hockey games rather than murder and blood. I’d thought I was refusing to let Conrad Jackson’s attack determine the course of my life.
What a fucking joke. I’d allowed that attack to control my entire life since then, and now, I was about to take a sledgehammer to it for his daughter. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
“Dmitri—” My voice came out rough. “I’m an asshole.”
He cocked his head and sat back in his seat, his knee knocking mine. “I’m sorry you’re back.”
Hurt, I flinched.
“A part of me hoped you’d found happiness. I don’t regret this, but—” It was so unlike the Dmitri I’d known, to choose his words with care. I’d known him as a brash and confident man, sure he could bend the world before him. “You deserved to get out,” he continued softly. “And while Iwill never regret anything that brought you back into my life, I’m sorry I played a part in bringing you back to the bratva. You deserve better.”
He’d forced my decision sixteen years ago with an ultimatum, made sure I couldn’t come back halfway. Then, I’d hated him for it. Now, I understood. He’d been trying to save me.
He reached over to ruffle my hair, teasing me like sixteen years hadn’t passed. “Last chance to turn back.”
“She’s worth it,” I said quietly. Worth my principles. Wortheverything.
Dmitri yanked my head back. “That doesn’t sound like revenge, brother.”
“It’s not.”
“Good.” He released me, relief crossing his face for a moment before his expression turned bored and unreadable again. “Then let’s go damn your soul.”
Nikolai answered the door himself.He’d aged. I’d seen him at social events over the last sixteen years but had avoided him as carefully as I did my cousin. The silver in his hair was more pronounced now, the lines around his eyes deeper.
“Sasha,” Nikolai said, pulling me into an embrace. Shocked, I cautiously slid my arms up his back and returned the gesture.
He pulled back, gripping my shoulders, holding me still while he examined me. I did the same, taking in the silver hair, the piercing blue eyes, and the tattoos on his face that told the story of his imprisonment and rise through Russianorganized syndicates until he’d taken over the Yorkfield bratva.
I wondered what he saw. I wasn’t ethnically Russian, didn’t have the blonde hair and blue eyes his daughter had, that Dmitri had. Instead, my Kazakh roots showed—black hair, hooded brown eyes, and skin that tanned deeply in the summer months.
Whatever he found in my eyes satisfied him, because he nodded, clapped me on the back, then stepped away. “I never thought it’d be a girl who would bring you back to us,” he said. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
My eyes cut to Dmitri. How much had he shared?
“Please, join me for a drink,” Nikolai offered, leading us into a spacious kitchen. I’d expected this to be a business meeting, surrounded by Nikolai’s top lieutenants to take the oath that would swear me back into the brotherhood, and the Pakhan’s informality threw me off.
He removed a bottle of vodka from the freezer then poured three shots. “To brothers.”
“To brothers,” Dmitri and I echoed then downed the vodka.
Nikolai immediately poured three more. “There is no clean way to do this,” he said, looking me in the eye. “You walked away from your brothers and never looked back. And now, you want something.”