Page 104 of Cashmere Cruelty

Ah. So that’s how it is.I got distracted for one minute, and here I am—cornered by my own men, demanding answers. Demanding transparency.

Another reason I can’t let April sink any deeper into me: for better or worse, she’s a distraction.

And I cannot afford to be distracted.

“You’re right.”

A hush falls over the table. Everyone’s eyes are on me now. Yuri’s are bulging most of all, disbelief written into every muscle.

“You did join the Bratva,” I continue calmly. “MyBratva. The Bratva my grandfather founded. You remember Igor Groza, don’t you, Ivan?”

Ivan tenses. I see his hand go tight around a napkin.Good.“I could never forget,” he mumbles. As expected of my grandfather’s most loyal man.

“And yet, you forget yourself. This is still the Groza Bratva, is it not?”

Ivan grits his teeth. “It is.”

“And I’m still thepakhan, correct?”

“… Correct.”

Of course Ivan hasn’t forgotten. When I was rebuilding the Groza Bratva from its ruins,hesoughtmeout. Wanted to see the blood heir of the man he’d followed into the darkness of the underworld. The man he’d failed to protect.

He wanted to make it right.

I don’t know if he’s still trying to do that. If this is all a misguided attempt at protecting my grandfather’s legacy.

But this ismyBratva now.

And I’ll be damned if I let a singlevorundermine me in front of the rest.

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” I conclude, draining my glass. “Enjoy the opportunities of this new continent. Enjoy the power, the money, the fame. Enjoy tonight. But don’t make the mistake of forgetting who made it all possible.”

“How gracious,” Ivan replies thinly. “It seems our fearless leader forgets, too. That he didn’t accomplish all of this alone.”

A murmur of assent lifts from the table. I nip that shit right in the fucking bud.

“Of course not.”

For once, myvoryare speechless. Not a single one of them was expecting me to agree. Perhaps they were even anticipating an outburst.

On another night, I might’ve given them that. I might’ve snarled and put them back into their place by their scruffs.

Tonight, though, I’ve had a very nice bath.

“After all,” I say, rising from my seat, “myfamilywas always there by my side. Isn’t that right?”

Every singlevortenses like a violin. There’s no mistaking the meaning of my words—they all know where they stand on family.

And they all know I don’t consider them part of mine.

But Bratva meansbrotherhood.Ivan used that very word earlier, referring to us all as brothers. So how could they possibly disagree?

“Enjoy the rest of your night,” I murmur. And then I leave.

Two sets of footsteps ring after mine. One of them is faster, hurried. It catches up in seconds. “Motya.”

“What?” I snap, my patience used up.

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