Page 24 of The Bratva's Innocent Bride

“That’s sick—”

“No! We don’t do that kind of stuff either, Jesus, Fiona, you’re working yourself up over nothing.”

“Are you swearing to me that you’re not going to hurt Olive?”

“I can’t promise—”

“Then I’m not exactly working myself up over nothing, am I? The threat of bodily harm to my best friend is, in fact, something.”

“You are so frustrating to talk to—”

“Maybe you should think twice before you kidnap the wrong girl, then Bor-y.”

“We’re back to the pet names?”

“Only because I know you hate it.”

“Thank god,” he mutters as we round the corner and swipe into a community. “We’re here.”

“Where’s here?” I ask, suspiciously eyeing the guard as we pass through the gate.

“This,” he says, rolling down the windows and letting the warm, fresh Nevadan air flow through the car. “Is Sunrise Hills. A gated community for members of our Family.”

“There’s a golf course?” I ask, looking out the window as we pass a hold in the center of town. There are a few people out, and they wave to Boris as we park outside of what looks like a community center.

“Yes,” he says. “Think of this place as something of a retirement home for the Family. But it’s not just the elderly, we also house people in the community who can’t care for themselves anymore. For example, there are some women here whose husbands gave their lives for the family, and so we offer them housing.”

“Offer them housing? Like, they just live here for free?”

“Yes,” Boris says, “the family owns and operates this community. It’s supposed to be a safe haven for people who are done with their time in the Bratva.”

“Supposed to be?” I ask as we turn the corner, and a street comes into view. I gasp, bringing my hand to my mouth when I see what it is that he brought me here to show me.

“This area was attacked two nights ago,” Boris says, “one casualty. A little boy with a respirator. His mother was trapped on the other side of the wall and couldn’t get to him. Do you see the mark left here?”

Boris points to one of the driveways, where there’s a big, curling mark drawn in the soot from a house. I stare at it, trying to figure out where I’ve seen it before.

“That’s the Corsican sign,” Boris says, and then, when it’s clear that I don’t know what that means, he glances at me again. “The French mafia. Here in the United States. In Vegas. They haven’t been powerful since the Second World War, but it seems Allard is leading the drive for them to make a comeback.”

I shake my head, taking a step back from the sign. I saw James Allard on that ship, hitting those women, laughing with the guard, that cool, cruel face as he walked away. But this is another thing entirely.

My mind won’t let go of the idea of the little boy on the respirator, unable to save himself. The mother as she screamed and cried, wanting to save her son but physically incapable of doing anything.

“That’s horrible,” I breathe before turning to him. “But going after Olive is just more of the same—going after someone who’s innocent. Who has nothing to do with any of this.”

“She doesn’t have nothing to do with it,” Boris says. “It’s very possible that she’s in on everything—they could have even been recruiting you into the group, priming you to join.”

“Well, didn’t you do that, too?”

“Sometimes,” Boris admits, “but we don’t human traffic or go after innocents from rival groups. Some would argue that that makes us weaker than those groups. I would argue that without some sort of code of honor, you have nothing to live for.”

I’m silent the entire ride back to the house.

***

The following day, Ivan wakes me again, telling me to get ready and meet Boris. Once again, the entire family is in the entryway, Anya munching on a bagel as she teases her brothers. She takes off for another fun day, and Boris tasked Roman, Viktor, and Anton with doing things. Then, the two of us leave.

This time, Boris takes me to a warehouse on the outskirts of town.

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