Page 9 of Bratva Knight

She had a point. I was twenty-four and had never lived on my own. I was dying inside for that freedom, for the ability to walk around my house stark naked if I bloody well wanted to.

For all my life, it had just been me and my dad. My good for nothing, so called “mother” walked out on us when I was just a baby, leaving us to fend for ourselves. The guilt I felt about moving stemmed from that. I felt like I was abandoning him. Likeher.

I wanted to travel the world. To explore different things, different cultures. But every time I’d bring it up, Dad would rant and rave about how it wasn’t safe. Nothing had happened to make him think that way, to trigger that unbearable overprotectiveness. It was purely because he knew how dangerous and cruel the world could be, and he didn’t want me to fall victim to it. He kept me close because he was afraid to lose me. I didn’t want to fight it because I didn’t want to hurt him.

But Illayana was right. If all I had to do was get chipped like a fucking dog to get my dad to be okay with me leaving, it was a small price to pay.

I shook my head, chuckling softly. “You know, I was surprised as hell when he called me the other day and said I could go. I was so shocked, I dropped my hot bowl of soup right into my lap. When I asked him what made him change his mind, he just said, ‘Ask that best friend of yours’. He didn’t think I’d agree to the terms.”

“But you’re going to, right? You’re gonna do it?”

“Yes,” I blew out, irritated. “This is the first time he’s ever given me the opportunity to leave home. I’d be an idiot to waste it.”

“Damn straight you would,” Illayana nodded. “When will he get back from Russia?”

“Tomorrow.” I’ll admit, I was pretty ticked off he left. He wouldn’t let me visit my best friend in New York without giving me a six-hour lecture on safety and all the bad shit that can happen. But he was allowed to go gallivanting halfway around the world? Talk about double standards.

Now, though, I’m glad he went. If he hadn’t, he would have gotten caught up in the attack.

Illayana and I talked for a little while longer, catching up on everything we’d missed in each other’s lives over the last month. She told me all about the trouble The Outfit was giving her and Arturo. How Franco was fucking with their distribution, making it difficult for them to sell their product. Somehow, he was finding out the locations of their manufacturing and distribution houses and raiding them before they even knew what was going on.

When I suggested they might have another rat, she was adamant that wasn’t the case. After that whole mess with Diego and the money he’d stolen, Arturo had done a thorough check of all his men. He was beyond confident there was no one else in the Cosa Nostra whose loyalty could be questioned.

So how was Franco finding out the new locations of their operations only hours after they’d been set up? It was a serious problem. One I knew worried her a lot.

“How about I go to New York early and help out? That way you can stay here as long as you need and I can keep you updated on what’s going on, so you don’t pull your hair out from the stress.”

Illayana blinked in surprise. “But what about college?”

“Eh,” I shrugged. “Classes don’t start for another month. I was only going early to get situated and move into the apartment. Which, by the way, I’m paying rent for. I don’t care what you say.”

Arturo (and Illayana now, I guess, by extension) owned several apartment buildings in the city and they offered me one to stay in while I was in New York.

I of course accepted, because finding a decent apartment in New York City was a fucking nightmare. But when the subject of rent came up, Illayana flat out refused to hear it.

“You chose not to be in this life, though. Are you sure this is something you want to do?”

“I didn’t choose to go into the Bratva for two reasons. One: the uniforms are borderline nasty. I’d rather cut my own foot off and eat it than be caught wearing those ugly, vomit-inducing things you make those enforcers wear. And two: I needed the time to work on my fashion line. That’s it. I love blood and violence just as much as you do, maybe more. And I’m looking forward to it. As long as I get to pick my own outfits.”

Illayana laughed softly. “You’d really do that for me?”

I picked up a pillow and threw it at her head, making her laugh again. “Bitch, you should know by now that I’d do anything for you. You’re my ride or die. The Dominic Toretto to my Brian O’Conner. The Shrek to my Donkey. The James P Sullivan to my Mike Wazowski.”

“I get it, I get it,” Illayana cut in, barely containing her laughter. “And hey, why amIShrek?”

“You wanna be Donkey?” I shrugged. “That’s okay, you can be Donkey. You’re kind of an ass anyway.

Chapter Four

Nikolai Volkov

Thedoortomysister’s bedroom swung open, Tatiana and Illayana stepping out in a fit of giggles.

Despite how much I’m sure she tried to hide it, I could tell Illayana had been crying. Her eyes were red and slightly puffy and her cheeks were flushed. I could count the amount of times I’d seen my sister cry on one hand. She wasn’t a crier, not usually. But she was a “Daddy’s Girl” through and through. The kidnapping of our father hit her hard. Harder than she’d ever admit to anyone. I was glad Tatiana was there to help her through it.

Arturo had been pacing up and down the hallway outside Illayana’s room when I’d arrived, nervous energy in each step. We hadn’t said a word to each other. I’d just taken a seat, my back resting against the wall opposite her room, forearms hanging over my bent knees. And we waited.

And waited and waited.

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