Page 107 of Ruthless Serenade

"Blyad."The word escapes before I can stop it. I stare at him. For the first time since he came back from the dead, I feel empathy for him.

"After that, I spiraled back into the abyss," his voice splinters on the words.

Silence stretches between us. I watch his eyes glisten, years of pain threatening to spill over. For once in my life, I let him take his time.

Finally, he drags in a ragged breath. "Started drinking again. It was the only way to drown out their ghosts. The only way I knew. Then, everything went to shit - back to booze, powders and pills, gambling away whatever was left. Until the authorities scraped me off the streets again. This time, no rehab. Just threw my worthless ass on a plane back to the States with a lifetime ban stamped on my passport."

"Fuck, Maurice." The words come out caught between sympathy and disgust. Classic Maurice - leaving devastation in his wake wherever he lands.

He nods, shoulders heavy. "Touched down in New York to a welcoming committee in uniforms. Straight to another rehab facility, starting the whole damn cycle over. That was over a year ago. But this time..." His voice steadies. "This time it stuck."

Something in me shifts, and I squeeze his shoulder. "You did it,bratok."

His eyes lock onto mine. "Thank you, Maron."

My hand stays on his shoulder, the contact bridging years of distance. For the first time since we were teenagers, I feel like I’m looking at my brother instead of my burden.

"You know," he continues, "if it wasn’t for this woman in rehab, I’d probably be face-down in some gutter. She changed everything."

"Therapist?" My eyebrow arches.

Maurice shakes his head. "Another addict. Funnily enough, we knew each other from before." He smirks, giving me a suggestive side glance. "And just like the first time... we clicked. It was like looking in a mirror. She was the only one who really understood what it means to fight addiction every fucking day. And her strength, her determination to stay clean... it became mine too." He draws a steady breath, meeting my gaze with something I haven’t seen in him before: certainty. "We started dating. Been together nine months now. She gave me the balls to come back here, to face you and all the shit I left behind."

"Still breaking hearts wherever you land, Maurice." The sarcasm slips out like muscle memory.

"Not this time." A smile touches his lips, genuine. "This woman… she’s special to me, Maron."

"So, what now?" My voice carries an edge. "You waltz back from the dead and expect everything to be forgiven? You left scorched earth behind you, Maurice. Trust is not something I give away anymore."

He nods, eyes steady. "I know, Maron. Not asking for forgiveness. Just... grateful my brother’s willing to hear me out after all the shit I pulled."

Something thick and unwanted forms in my throat.

"Listen," he wets his lips, voice dropping. "I want to apologize. For all the fucked-up shit I’ve done. As for the Tramoxine launch... it wasn’t what you thought. Mindy found me drunk off my ass, ready to swallow enough Tramoxine to end it all. She was just trying to save my life."

My jaw clenches as the memory crashes back - the rage, the assumptions, the years wasted because I was too proud to see the truth. Or even look into it. Seven years of believing Mindy betrayed me with my own brother, when she was just being... Mindy. Trying to help someone in need.

I take a deep breath and push myself up from the chair. The morning sun climbs higher, slightly warming the air. Somewhere upstairs, Mindy and my daughter – Maurice’s niece - are probably stirring awake. It’s time for breakfast.

"Let’s go inside, brother," I suggest. The word ‘brother’ feels strange but right on my tongue. "It’s time for you to meet your niece."

Chapter Fifty-One

Mindy

The past few weeks have been intense, to say the least.

Maron’s house has become our bubble, and we’re making the most of it. We’re almost like teenagers in love for the first time, sneaking kisses in the kitchen whenever Sharon’s distracted. We make love in every room in the mansion whenever it’s possible. The nights are hot. We can’t get enough of each other. It’s like we’re trying to cram seven years of missed opportunities into every day.

But it’s not just about getting our rocks off. We’re talking now. Like, really talking. We stay up for hours, hashing out all the crap from our past. It’s not always pretty, but it feels like we’re finally getting to each other.

Maron opened up about stepping back from the Bratva. He also told me everything about Eva and her twin sister, Rachel. It was not easy to hear. Made me constantly think of Emily and how much I miss her.

As for me… Well, I didn’t have that much to share. My life’s been all about Sharon for the past seven years. Her first steps. Her first words. Dealing with her selective mutism. Worrying about bills, work, putting food on the table… Not exactly thriller material.

So yes, there’s this new understanding between us now. We’re building something real, something that feels… solid. Unbreakable, even. It’s scary and exciting all at once.

Sharon’s recovery is our primary focus, of course. Maron’s pulled out all the stops, bringing in an expert therapist, and the best private medical care money can buy. She’s making progress, slowly but surely. Her words are still scarce, but she’s opening up bit by bit. To me, at least.

---