Chapter 11

"Your father collapsed in his office," Angelo, our primary police contact, says over the phone. "His illness caught up with him, and he collapsed. That's what the official records show."

I remember the video call and the spatters of blood on the ceiling. "Thank you," I tell him.

"The last thing we need is the Sokolovs losing control."

I don't mention the marriage pact or the fact Nikolai Petrov is sniffing around. If the cops knew Nikolai was trying to make inroads into Vegas through me, they'd probably be less willing to help. At least now we don't have to worry about the wider world knowing.

After the phone call, I step into the large dining room. Mikhail is already sitting at the table, typing quickly on his phone. He glances up when he hears me enter.

"I don't know how you can see past all that hair."

He smirks and brushes his floppy hair aside. "It's called style, brother."

"Clean and efficient, that's enough style for me."

"Yeah, true, you are the GI Joe of the family."

I laugh grimly, then sit down. "Where are the others?"

"Mila's getting ready, I think," Mikhail says. "Ania said she's bringing Lia over soon."

"Thanks, Mikhail," I say out of the blue.

"Huh?"

"For giving Mila something to do."

"It's not charity," Mikhail says. "She's really helping us."

Before I can reply, Yuri knocks on the door. "Sirs, dinner will be ready in roughly thirteen minutes."

"Thank you, Yuri," I say.

"Roughly thirteen minutes? Make that make sense."

Less than a minute later, Mila walks into the room wearing a dress that looks fairly expensive. She stands awkwardly at the table's edge, and Mikhail stares at me. I get it. They want to know where my so-called bride-to-be is going to sit.

I don't want Lia to see us sitting beside each other, so I gesture across the table to Mikhail's side. "You can choose your own seat, Mila," I say.

She walks around the table and sits down, leaving one chair between her and Mikhail.

"Does my brother stink?" I say, laughing.

"I thought it might look bad," Mila mutters. "If our guest sees your future wife sitting beside your brother…"

"We can trust our guest," I say. "She already knows this marriage is a sham."

Mila shrugs, then moves up a seat closer to Mikhail. From how Mila glances at Mikhail, I wonder if a crush is starting. If that's the case, she won't have much luck. Mikhail might be happy to advise me regarding the ladies, but he's never had a serious relationship. Both the Sokolov brothers are too cold for that. Mikhail doesn't even return her searching gaze. Eventually, she looks down at the table.

Not too long after, Ania and Lia arrive. I stand up the second I see Lia walk into the room. She's wearing faded blue jeans and a loose-fitting T-shirt that makes her look more beautiful and sexier, making me want her even more. It's like the looseness of the T-shirt is begging for me to lift it, revealing her curvy body and her big, juicy tits.

"Lia," I say.

She takes a few steps, her mouth slightly open. Her eyes are brimming with confusion. She wants me. She's scared of me. She hates me for lying.

"Dimitri," she whispers.

I almost grab and kiss her, but then Lia looks at Mikhail and Mila. "Hello."

"Lia, this is Mikhail, my baby brother."

"The better brother, you mean," Mikhail says, standing and walking around the table, offering Lia his hand. "It's a pleasure."

"Likewise," Lia says, smiling.

"And this is Mila," I mutter. "The… woman I told you about."

It's like Lia struggles to look at Mila. Mila walks around the table with a nervous smile. She can probably sense the tension, too. They shake hands, and then everybody sits down. I sit next to Lia, leaving the head of the table empty out of some warped respect for my father, but mostly so I can feel Lia's leg brushing against mine.

Yuri appears once everybody is seated, with perfect timing as usual. "What would everybody like to drink?"

The meal this evening is a hearty serving of pelmeni (dumplings with meat), vegetables, and garnish on the side.

"Wow," Lia says after taking her first bite. "This tastes… just wow." She cuts into another one.

I've got a big smile on my face, hearing the simple satisfaction in her voice.

"Yuri makes the best Russian cuisine," Ania says.

"Better than my borscht?" I say, smirking at my little sister.

Ania giggles. "Isn't that supposed to be a soup? Yours was more of a sludge, no offense."

Everyone laughs, and Ania looks proud of herself. Her cheeks turn red, and she stares at her food like she's done something wrong.

"I'll let you be the judge next time," I say, winking at Lia.

She smiles at me like it's a reflex, an automatic response she didn't choose. Then she frowns like she's pissed at herself for smiling so easily. I get it; not long ago, she saw me kill a man. I twisted her whole worldview into a new shape.

"Why don't you tell everybody about your video game?" I ask Mikhail after a couple of minutes of silence.

Typically, I don't mind eating in silence. That's usually the way I prefer to eat. I can shovel the food down and then get on with whatever work I need to do or hit the gym. Apart from Bratva functions, where socializing is forced, dinner is usually just a necessary chore. Yet now, with Lia here, I feel like I need to try.

"My video game," Mikhail says, rolling his eyes. "I don't think anyone cares, brother."

"I do," Ania says.

"So do I," Mila says, again looking at Mikhail in a way that won't end well for her. Selfishly, if I read her correctly, and she does have a crush, I'll be relieved more than anything. It's better that she wants him than me, even if it'll cause issues for Mikhail when he eventually tells her no.

"It's a small game," Mikhail says. "I've been playing with the tools for years. It's a 2-D side scroller rogue-like," he smirks. "Does that make sense to any of you?"

"Nope," I say, laughing.

"Basically, you go through a level, get your ass beat, then try again with better gear and skills, get your ass beat, and repeat."

"Sounds just like life," I mutter.

"Exactly," Mikhail says. "Just with worse graphics."

"What's the setting?" Mila asks.

"An orphanage."

Beside me, Lia stiffens. She was bringing her fork to her mouth, but she paused. It's like a jolt of ice moves through her whole body, making her rigid.

"Are you okay?" I whisper.

Lia shakes her head quickly. I can read her better every single moment we spend together. She's not saying, No, I'm not okay. She's saying, Please don't ask me about this.

Mikhail gives me a look, asking if he should go on. Before I can reply, Lia speaks in a sharp, almost angry tone. "Why an orphanage?"

"The story of the game is minimalist," Mikhail says. "It's about a young orphan trying to escape the home. Hence, the abilities improve each time until they can finally escape."

"But why there?" Lia persists.

"Hmm, I don't know," Mikhail says. "It just felt like the right choice."

"Like you with your painting, Lia," I say. "He just listens to his muse…"

She says nothing, cutting into her food. Ania watches her with her typically empathetic, curious expression. She's probably come to the same conclusion I have, but this isn't the best time to speak about it.

"You're a painter?" Mila asks Lia.

Lia glances at her, her expression cold, but then she smiles. Lia is doing a lousy job of hiding her real feelings, taking a long time to put her shield up. "Yeah, I'm trying to be," she says.

"You should see the painting she did of our father," I say.

"You painted Dad?" Ania asks.

Lia nods. "I just… I don't know. It's weird. I didn't decide to paint him. I just heard the awful news, and it's almost like something made me do it."

"The awful news," Mikhail grunts, shaking his head.

Lia shrugs. "I didn't know him, just what I've seen in the news."

"Be happy you didn't know him," Mikhail grunts. "If he didn't put that bullet in his head himself, it would have only been a matter of time before somebody did."

"It was a suicide?" Lia gasps.

"You didn't know that?"

"No, I just… I don't know what happened. I know nothing."

When I hear the pain in her voice, I can't help but reach across the table and touch her hand. She lets me touch her momentarily, but she doesn't hold me. Then she gently but obviously moves her hand away. I swallow, my jaw tight, my head aching.

She should never move away from me. She should never be scared or nervous around me. There should be no awkwardness or insecurity between us.

"The game sounds great, anyway," Lia says after a pause.

The rest of the meal is quiet. Eventually, Ania talks about her last practice session and murmurs, "I'm thinking about joining the group in the city. I mean, I could now, right?"

She means nothing is stopping her now that our father is gone. He was the only one who didn't want her to perform. Once, during a nasty fight, the cold old bastard yelled at her, "Your mother was a slut, and now you want to be one, too!"

"Of course you can, Ania," I tell her. "You can do anything you want."

"I'm going to get back to work," Mikhail says after dinner.

"Yeah, me too," Mila mutters.

"I need to go into the city." I sigh heavily, wishing I could stay with Lia instead.

"Are you going to take security?" Mikhail grunts.

"I'm not sure," I say, and Mikhail nods, knowing why.

"Change of plan, then. I'm coming with you."

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"If those fuckers hit you again, I don't want you to be alone."

I nod, then stand up. "Lia, can I walk you home?"

"Home," she repeats dryly, then stands up. "Sure."

The sun has set now, turning the guards into silhouettes as they patrol the perimeter. We have leverage and loyalty from every man here, but that doesn't mean Nikolai hasn't slithered beneath the surface and twisted their heads like the snake he is.

When we walk into the other house, I close the door and wrap my arms around Lia. She does her classic, cute-as-hell Lia thing, putting her hand on my chest like she's going to push me away. When I grab her hips, I feel her warmth through the denim and pull her toward me as she collapses into the kiss. I find her tongue and savor her passion and heat.

She leans back, shuddering, her eyes wide and wild. "Just so you know, I'm a virgin," she spits like it's a conversational weapon.

My balls immediately tighten. The tip of my dick aches, precome threatening, as I try to process what she's just told me. She felt like mine before she said this, but now, it hits deep. It hits hard. She's mine—only mine and she will only ever be.

"So, you know, maybe back off?" Her cheeks are red. Her eyes are glistening. "You can't just bring me here and do anything you want!"

"Lia…" The only way I'm able to push down the fierce, hot lust—or at least bench it for now—is because of the sadness in her voice and the glittering in her eyes. I take both her hands. "Whatever you've been through, whatever you're carrying, you're not alone now."

When she bursts into tears, something in me changes. It's like the protector, already fiercely attached to my Lia, roars inside me. All the ownership and the need to keep her safe swells up in me. The word forever echoes around my mind.

I hug her close to my chest, stroking my hand through her hair as she weeps against me. "I'm sorry," she whimpers.

"Don't apologize," I growl. "I'm here for you."

"But why?" she snaps.

"Because… because you're you," I snap right back. "You're a good person, Lia. You're kind, smart, strong."

"Strong," she repeats, smoothing the tears from her cheeks.

"Even strong people cry, Lia." I kiss her gently on the forehead. "We can talk about it if you want."

"Don't you have to leave?" she asks. "Don't you have to save the city?"

"I can't stay," I admit, which hurts me. "I'll most likely be working through the night, but I can tell you need to unload this. You're not alone anymore."

You never have to be alone again, I almost say, which would mean crossing too many lines too fast. Yet, haven't we done that already?

She grips my chest. I think she's going to push me away again, but then she leans back, staring up at me with red eyes, her cheeks flushed from the crying. She looks tired and beautiful, a combination that tugs my mind to an image of her lying in a hospital bed after giving birth.

I shut it down. I have to focus.

"Let's just say we have something in common," she murmurs. "Your dad, my mom… The same thing happened, and I saw it, okay? I found her. I was the one who had to call the police. I was thirteen years old."

Her voice has gone numb, like she's detaching from her emotions. When I try to hug her again, she shakes her head, wiping angrily at her cheek. Moving away, she says, "You have to go, Dimitri. I've never told anyone this before. I don't even know why I did. Just please… okay? Please go?"

I step forward, grabbing her hand. She lets out a trembling breath that could quickly become a sob.

"I'm here, Lia," I tell her firmly.

"I don't need anybody," she says, her voice getting weak, like she wants nothing more than to collapse against me again.

She firmly plants her hand on my chest when I lean down for a hug. When I don't budge, she pushes herself away instead of pushing me back. Then she spins and walks-slash-runs into the house. I want to follow her, but it would mean ignoring my duty and letting the city crumble.

My cell phone buzzes. It's Mikhail, a text telling me he's ready to leave when I am. Heading outside with a heavy heart, I meet Mikhail at the car. "Our father kept records of all the guards and their families," I mutter.

Mikhail nods. "Yeah, and?"

"In case they ever turned against us. If that was why some of them stayed in line, will it still work for us? They believed he would kill their wives and kids if they betrayed the Sokolovs, but would we do that, Mikhail?"

"I'd never hurt a woman or a child."

"Me neither," I say, then sigh and clap him on the arm. "Which is why you need to stay here."

Mikhail shakes his head. "Dimitri, none of these men are on the list. They've got no possible connection to Nikolai."

"I know," I snap. "But if there's even a one percent chance something bad could happen while we're gone, I'll never forgive myself."

"Take some security, then," Mikhail snaps.

"Same problem," I tell him. "Don't worry. I can handle myself. Just watch the women. Watch Lia. Don't fight me on this."

He smooths his hair back, eyes narrowed, biting down. I can tell he's pissed. Then, he gets a calculated look in his eyes. He's weighing up my words. Maybe, by being able to tell how much I care about Lia, he knows how important this is to me.

"Dammit, Dimitri." He pulls me into a hug, once again proving that he's the most emotionally available of us two, not like that's saying much in the Bratva world. It's not like there's stiff competition. "Just be careful, all right?"

"I will. Keep the women safe. Keep our sister safe."

"I'll always do that," Mikhail says, almost sounding guilty.

"Had a change of heart?"

"I never hated Ania," Mikhail snaps, "but you're right. The old bastard probably cheated on our mother hundreds of times, and who cares, anyway? He didn't deserve her. I meant what I said, Dimitri. If he hadn't put that bullet in his head, I would've happily done it."

"I know," I say. "But if we'd done that, then every other Bratva in the US would be on our asses. They wouldn't be able to let something like that stand. We'd have to fight a war."

"We'd win," Mikhail grunts.

"We would," I growl, feeling the fire in me. "We'd do whatever it took, but people would die. Not just soldiers. Not just Bratva. Civilians, women, children. With Konstantin gone, we can choose our own path."

"One not covered in blood," Mikhail says, nodding. "Who knows? Maybe we'll even be happy one day."

I think about how Lia looked at me, the confusion, resentment, and pain in her eyes. "I wouldn't count on that," I say, turning away.