Page 74 of Cashmere Cruelty

Too young to grieve so much.

Too young to be so Bratva.

“I was seven,” Yuri murmurs. “I was out collecting firewood. It was snowing. Had been for a week. I thought it’d never stop.” Another beat. “Then I saw him.”

I try to picture it: a younger, smaller Yuri, gathering branches in his hands to feed a meager fire and keep his dying mother warm.

“He was standing there,” Yuri whispers, his gaze fixed on nothing. “He called me by name. I remember wondering how he knew.”

“Your father?” I venture, afraid to step on something delicate. Something that might crack under the weight of too many questions.

Yuri gives a bitter laugh. “In a way. Matvey had been tracking his movements. Somehow, that led him to me.”

How old could Matvey have been then? Eleven? Twelve?

Subconsciously, I run my hand over my belly. I think of Nugget, alone in the world. The mere idea makes my heart ache.

“I’m glad he found you,” I say sincerely, even though it’s not my place.

Yuri gives me an odd look. “Yeah,” he says eventually, “I’m glad he found me, too. If he hadn’t…”

I don’t dare think it. Again, images of the two brothers overlap with Nugget. If I had to leave someone behind like that, if I had no other choice…

I’d want to know they wouldn’t be alone.

“That week, my mom died,” Yuri confesses in the end. “Matvey helped me care for her until she went. Afterwards, he helped me bury her. And then he took me into his Bratva.”

It’s so easy, isn’t it? Judging a book by its cover. Judging people for living in the shadows. Like it’s a choice for everyone.

For so many, it’s no choice at all.

That’s when I realize: Matvey founded his Bratva as a kid. That, or he took up the mantle from someone else. Either way, he never had a childhood.

Looking at the toys now, I can’t help but see them in a different light.

Toys. Family dinner. Everything he never had.

EverythingInever had, either.

Yuri pushes the last box on top of the wardrobe. Without thinking, I rest a hand on his shoulder.

He freezes. The look he gives me is quizzical, confused. Like what I’m doing is something completely foreign.

Thank God I didn’t hug him. He’d have sprinted out the door.

“Hey,” I say, leading him out of the guest room. Away from painful conversations and painful memories. “How about a cup of tea?”

23

APRIL

Matvey appears in the doorway just as I’m bidding Yuri goodbye. “You’re still here?”

Yuri looks, for all intents and purposes, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It doesn’t help that there’s a literal cookie dangling from his mouth. Chocolate chip, with just a sprinkle of caramel.

“She invited me to tea,” he says defensively.

“Just a little thank you,” I add, patting Yuri comfortingly on the shoulders. “Now, be careful on the way home. You have my number if you need to reach me.”

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