Page 36 of Endless Love

Charlotte swallows hard, but she nods slowly. “That seems so strange,” she says finally. “So you were never going to inherit anything from your father, then.”

I shrug. “Some money, probably. He’s a hard man, and a cruel one, and if he feels any love for me, it’s wrapped up in expectations and pride that smother love. But I think he wouldprobably leave me some remnant of his legacy—not that I want it. As far as the wealth and businesses he’s built and most of what belongs to him, as well as his position, that would go to Lev when my father—Dima—is gone.”

Charlotte winces. “From the little I saw of Lev, I can’t imagine he would be good at running anything.”

“He wouldn’t.” I can say that confidently. “He’s cruel, and not particularly smart, vengeful and someone who takes pleasure in hurting others.”

“You don’t?” She looks at me, that same curiosity in her gaze. “Isn’t that what men like you do?”

“I can’t say I’ve never taken pleasure in it.” It’s the closest I can get to telling her the truth about the kind of man I’ve been without horrifying her so deeply that she won’t even want to ride in the same car as me. “But I don’t look forward to it. Sometimes—there are some people who deserve it, Charlotte. I don’t think you can understand that, and I don’t really want you to.”

Her jaw tightens. “I’m not a child, Ivan.”

“I know.” I press my hands against the edge of the table, wondering how I can explain these things to her and coming up empty. It’s not that I think she’s stupid, or a child, it’s that I don’t know how to begin to explain to her the difference between looking forward to hurting someone and being good at it. The reasons why a man might deserve the kind of pain I’ve meted out.

“I’m not so sheltered that?—”

“No, but you’ve lived a very different life. And I’ve already made you have to acknowledge more of the world I live in than I ever wanted to.” I let out a heavy breath. “You mentioned who would inherit from my father.”

What I want is to change the subject. Charlotte nods, jabbing her fork into her waffle. “Does that have something to do with—all of this?”

“In a way.” I’m not about to be rushed, not when I finally have a chance to explain some of myself to her, with her listening. I’ve wondered if I should try at all, if it would only make things worse. But that ticking clock makes me feel like Ihaveto try. If only to hope that when she leaves, it will be with a clear picture of who I am. Or as clear of one as I can paint, anyway, without her running from me before we even get to Vegas.

“Lev is my father’s heir,” I explain slowly, as we work our way through our food. “The other three of us are tools. Niki and Ani especially, because they are legitimate products of my father’s union with his wife, Katya. Niki and Ani do as they’re told, out of a slim hope that one day Lev will anger my father enough that one of them will be put in his place, instead. If one of them was, they’d quickly turn on the other, just as Lev easily turns on them if they don’t obey.”

Charlotte draws in a slow breath, her lips pressed together as she nods. “And that leaves you—where, exactly?”

“If Lev is my father’s right hand, I’ve been his left. The one he uses for vengeance, to keep others in line, to enforce his rules, because while Lev is brutal and a bit stupid, and Niki and Ani are weak, I’m none of those things. And I think, deep down, he wishes that I were legitimate enough to inherit from him. He—” I pause, thinking of how much, exactly, I should say. “He often reminds Lev of it. Niki and Ani, too. That if they’re not careful, he’ll give it all to me, and a bastard will inherit instead of them.”

Charlotte’s eyes widen. “Could that really happen?”

“It’s complicated. Technically, my father can do as he pleases. But he’s not a monolith. There are otherpakhans—patriarchs of other crime families, who would see it as a reason to move in and try to take what he’s built. I’d inherit a war, that’s for certain, if he made that choice. But it doesn’t matter, because I don’t want it. I never have.”

“Then why stay? Why did you ever do anything to help him?” Charlotte’s brows draw together. The expression on her face could be read as judgment, but I choose to interpret it as curiosity. Mostly, I imagine, because the thought of her judging me for the life I’ve led feels painful.

“There’s no leaving the Bratva, Charlotte,” I tell her quietly. “There’s no leavinganycrime family easily. Long before I was old enough to understand, or make these choices for myself, I was being implicated in my father’s crimes. It’s difficult to leave, without coming up against the law—or other members of the organization. They’re more dangerous than any police officer or FBI agent. And fleeing requires connections and money that take years to build up.” I let out a breath, holding Charlotte’s gaze for a moment. “There’s no easy way out. I’ve planned my exit for years. It wasn’t until my father started doing things that I deemed unconscionable that I decided to try to take him out on the way. The drugs, the warmongering, I could handle that. Those are sins that plenty of men, all over the world, participate in every day, and I can’t stop them all. My own freedom was more important to me—take that as you will. But selling women was a step too far. So I stepped in.”

“Which is why you were working with Bradley.” Charlotte sets her fork down halfway through her waffle, as if her appetite has failed. “But he doesn’t think you’ve given him enough. He said so himself.”

“He resents that I could get out of this scot-free, if I provided enough information to them. So he keeps moving the goalposts for that.” I run a hand through my hair. “He wants to see me go down with my father. And I have no intention of letting that happen.”

Charlotte chews on her lower lip, and the ache to kiss her sweeps through me again. I imagine her mouth tastes like syrup right now, like fruit, and just the thought makes my cock twitchin my jeans. I want her so badly that it hurts all of the time. I want her to be mine. That obsession, that feeling that she’s the only thing that can ease my need, that sensation of needing a hit that only she can provide—none of that has gone away. I’ve just been keeping a tighter grip on it, and like any addiction, the withdrawal hurts.

“You’re not a good man,” she says quietly, and I feel that raw stab in my chest, that pain that only she seems to be able to deliver.

“No,” I agree. “I’m not. But I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant for you to get caught up in all of this. I’ve lied to you, Charlotte, and I’ll admit it—but that’s always been the truth.”

“So you were going to make me fall for you and then leave me behind. Use me and break my heart.” She twists her napkin in her fingertips. “That’s not any better.”

“No, it’s not.” My heart feels heavy, listening to her, because she’s right. And I have no idea what I can do to redeem myself in her eyes. What would make her feel that what I’ve done is forgivable?

I glance up, about to tell her that we should ask for the check and get moving—as much as I don’t want to—and stop. The words die on my tongue as I see a black car at the far end of the parking lot—and a too-familiar figure getting out of it.

“Shit.” I dig in my pocket for enough cash to cover the meal and then some, tossing it on the table. “We have to go.”

Charlotte freezes with her glass of orange juice still touching her lips. She swallows hard, dropping it with athudon the table, and follows my gaze out of the window.

“Shit,” she echoes, and I stand up, reaching for her elbow.

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