Was I hoping for an end to it all?
It isn’t something I’ve let myself think about too much. I had a foot out the door before reality hit me hard when Max was caught in the crossfire of the world I was born into.
Part of me has accepted I’m never going to be free. But knowing two pakhans?
“Ilya, taking over a bratva is huge.”
“You don’t think I can?”
“I think you can do anything you want,” I say, my voice shaking a little. “I think you could be a powerhouse like Demyan, and the two of you could rule Chicago. That isn’t what I’m saying.”
He nods slowly. “What is it, then?”
His life is already in danger. He nearly died trying to protect Erin. And I know he’d lay down his life for me, Demyan, Erin, and the children. And he shouldn’t.
I can’t?—
I swallow hard.
Ilya isn’t Max.
Ilya’s of this world. The world of violence, of organized crime.
And he’s deadly. The power he has working with Demyan is already huge. But a pakhan is always a potential target.
This isn’t something I can say to him. My terrible fears.
They’re mine, not his, and we’re just friends. Good friends, close, but still friends. And me stating I don’t want to lose him like I lost Max is both complex and selfish.
So I make myself breathe. And I sort my words.
It’s not because we’re speaking in Russian. Max never spoke the language but it’s part of me. Both are right. No, I sort them because I want them to be right.
The fear and dread aren’t about him or whether he can do this I know he can. It’s me. I’m the one brimming with those emotions. I can’t be inside my fears.
Finally, I settle on the right words. “How do you feel about it? And what do you want?”
Now it’s Ilya’s turn for silence, and his ability to weigh things up, assess situations, has always impressed me. Even now, when it comes to himself and his news, he’s thoughtful, considerate of what he wants to convey.
My heart squeezes a little, and I wonder what kind of lov?—
No. I don’t want to know that.
Do I?
He takes another bite of my dessert, then he swallows and finally cuts a piece of cheese from the platter and places it on a cracker for me. He cut it super thin, just how I like it. Then he cuts a hunk for himself and eats that.
“I’m still processing it all,” he finally says. “As to what I want?” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Yet.”
Yet…
I nod. “It’s a lot to take in.” I pause. “I wish you’d told me earlier.”
“And take the limelight from your date with Santo?” He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and then he orders a couple of whiskeys.
“Yes,” I say, forcing a laugh. “You should have done that.”
A small smile turns up his mouth. “It’s complicated, Alina. I had to get ready for our engagement here. But seriously, I’m just processing.”
