I got Max killed.
Me.
Me.
Me.
I’m a terrible person. I can blame birth, I guess, but that doesn’t mean I should have stayed linked to my family. My birth is me. Every part of me is bratva, whether I want it or not.
And I don’t.
I loathe it. The pain. The death. The danger.
I despise that we’re all at risk from some vengeful bullet, from a vindictive enemy of an enemy to my brother and now to Ilya. Or someone who wants what they have.
And that threat is real.
It’s something I had to sign up for.
But Max?
No.
His only crime was falling for me.
I should have run with him, married him in a quiet ceremony somewhere, insisted we keep it on the down-low, not bring any attention to my name.
I’m more than aware my brother wouldn’t have let the wedding happen without hyped-up security, something Ididn’t want—I didn’t want any security—and now Max is dead because of my last name.
So the guilt’s complex. It’s not just moving on; it’s everything around that. And I’m finding this attraction harder and harder to deny, to control, to talk myself out of.
Being this close to Ilya all the time’s difficult because I know him. Know his heart, and now I’m beginning to ache for it and him.
Worse, our dynamic has changed.
Albert barks, and I wrap up bits and pieces for him as treats, things dogs can eat. The bone from the lamb, scraps. A few of the steamed vegetables that don’t fit inside the containers.
I miss my friend.
I miss the late-night chats and card games, our movie marathons on the couch, fighting over popcorn or chips. The movies started after Max’s murder as Ilya’s way of getting my mind off things, something I appreciated.
But I miss the ease of us, the easy chats and teasing, the fact I could always say anything and everything to him that was on my mind. I want all that back, even though I play my part in hiding.
Because now I censor myself. And he does, too. He stays in his office, spends more time at Demyan’s or out in the field. Even Demyan never spent that much time out there. That’s what his people are for.
So yes, Ilya’s avoiding me as much as I am him.
And I hate it.
How can we move forward if I lose my friend? And how do I get my friend back if I take a step forward? I don’t know. That’s the thing. This territory is fresh and new and uncharted.
What if I cross the line and screw up the friendship? Or just destroy it by being a mess?
I sigh heavily as I finish clearing up and clean the table for Svetlana. When I’m done, still lacking anything close to an answer, I pick up Albert, who gives me doggy kisses like he’s trying to soothe me, and take him upstairs.
And it works. He makes me feel better.
As I pass Ilya’s office, I can hear him and Santo talking through the mostly closed door. We hurry along and up the next set of stairs to my room, where Albert immediately jumps on my bed and curls up. I stroke his silky fur when my phone on the side table starts vibrating.
