Page 2 of Used By the Bratva

As much as I love Mamá, there are so many things in my life that I have questioned for years. She always withheld something from me, but I didn’t think it was a big deal.

Not until now. I am old enough to learn the truth.

Sooner or later, she’ll see that she has to let go of me.

“But who is Boris?” My words are soft in the empty room. What does he have to do with all of this?

I never thought she would keep a secret from me until I heard that conversation. We’ve always been close, just the two of us. I was about sixteen years old when I overheard Marina talking to someone about Boris Petrovsky. She said that he had sent the money on time, but she asked him for more funds for university. I don’t know what funds she’s talking about. I never saw her bring in any extra money. Was she saving those funds for my education?

We have always lived conservatively. Mamá stretches the money she brings home as far as she can. If Boris is sending us money, there must be a good reason.

The more I think about it, the more pain sits deep in my heart. I could understand if she kept a secret to protect me, but this is just money and a man I know nothing about.

Maybe this Boris Petrovsky knows about my family.

The last thing I want is for Mamá to come in here and argue with me again, so I pull my pillow over my face and let out a frustrated grunt.

A pit in the bottom of my stomach tells me I won't find the truth if I stay in Russia.

I need to go to New York.

One way or another, I need to find out who I am and where I’m from.

Even if it means leaving everything I’ve ever known.

Chapter 1 – Leon

Present

Birds chirp as I walk across the cemetery, a bouquet of roses in my hand. There are rows of graves to the right of the path, but none is the one I’m looking for.

I walk further into the cemetery and look at the widows weeping at their husband’s graves while their children stand behind them. My mother used to kneel at a grave and cry until her tears dried. She would sob for hours, wishing she could travel back in time. The heartbreak killed her eventually, too.

Gravel crunches beneath my feet as I head to the Orlov family plot.

I clench the stems of the bouquet tighter.

Thorns press into my palm, but with the pain comes a certain clarity that makes it easier to put one foot in front of the other. Today is the anniversary of Pavel’s death, but the walk to his grave doesn't get any easier with the years.

It still feels as raw today as it did when Pavel died. I’m only thirty-eight, and I’ve spent almost half my life without my brother.

I stop and run through my dark hair to ensure it’s still slicked back. Pavel would hate it if I came to his grave looking like a heap of misery.

As I put my hand in my gray suit pants pocket, I glance back at the parking lot. Sergey is still in his car but won’t come here until I’m gone.

Neither of us spends time grieving together. It’s easier to keep the pain inside, let it out for a few moments each year, and then stuff it away again.

A shiver runs down my spine as I step through the small wrought-iron gate onto the Orlov family's plot. Every time I come here, I am overcome by a feeling as if my soul is being separated from my body. A big part of me is gone, and this hole only feels emptier when I stand in front of the memory of it.

I run my fingers over the date on Pavel’s gravestone before I kneel and put the flowers down. There is already a bouquet here, although I don’t know who has visited his grave earlier.

Boris stands beside me, my second in command and my constant shadow. He doesn’t say a word as he hovers behind me and solemnly lowers his head. I arranged the flowers the best I could, but I didn’t think to bring a vase with me this time.

As I stand up, Boris steps to the side. He clasps his hands behind his back and scans our surroundings for signs of a threat.

Anyone who would dare to anger a member of my family on this day would ask for their death. There would be no mercy at all; they would be killed on the spot. My already thin patience would be no more.

Pavel didn’t deserve to die, especially not at the hands of Antonio Reyes, the boss of a powerful Mexican drug cartel. It’s been over a decade, and still, the pain doesn’t get any easier; it just fades deeper into the back of my mind until something reminds me of him. He should still be with me. He was only two years younger than me and was my best buddy. He was always up to mischief but naive when he ran straight into the hands of the cartel.

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