Page 7 of Vitaly

My jaw clenched, I nod. If I speak, I’ll chance being disrespectful.

He thinks I can’t do this. I don’t know how much I should blame him for thinking it’s funny considering itissomething that a male soldier could do without question. But no one does pickups in Naked City alone. It’s too risky.

But that’s okay because I’m going to prove him wrong. Even if I have to take a fucking bus or, hell, anUberto do it.

He points at my knife, abandoned on the floor. “If I were you, I’d take the blade… It’s a dangerous world out there for such a pretty girl.”

With one last smile, he turns and leaves. And I’m glad for it. There are only a few hours before the wedding, and I planned to be showered by now. But I don’t leave yet. Endorphins rush into my veins as I wander to the punching bag.

I remember the day Nikita officially let me in the gym. I used to sneak in early, before anyone could even think about waking up, but over time, I came in later and later as my bravery grew.

Then one day when I was eighteen, at five thirty in the morning, Nikita couldn’t sleep. He heard me hitting the bag and laughed for what felt like an eternity when he found me. He said I looked cute with boxing gloves too big for my hands, punches that barely made the bag sway.

He fucked me on the gym floor and didn’t say another word about me being in the gym, the males’ sacred space. For us, that meant permission granted.

I was humiliated that day, but I got what I wanted. Today is no different.

I ball my hands and roar as I thrust my fist into the bag, sending it an inch along the rail. The chain rattles as it swings.

By tomorrow, I’ll be one step closer to getting what I want. I won’t be the Bratva’s whore. I’ll be their soldier. I’ll have some semblance of power,influence.

When I came to this country, I was promised too many things that went unfulfilled. I was supposed to be married to a future Pakhan. It would’ve given my family more power than our old home ever could have, but it was all stripped away.

One day, when Nikita sees the brutality I’m capable of… When he sees the strength he denies me…

Maybe I’ll get it back. I’ll have everything I was promised.

I’ll be Mila Petrov.

2

VITALY

Alik looks the same.

He stands at the altar in a tux that isn’t fitting for him. The Alik I knew couldn’t afford a thrift store blazer, so the man sporting a Brioni that must cost more than every dime his junkie mother left behind looks like an imposter.

But it’s his face. His empty expression. His rigid posture. He was born a peasant, but he was meant to be a killer. That’s exactly what my uncle made him.

Or maybe that was me.

I squint from the balcony as music plays and his bride walks down the aisle. The red eye—a scar I gave him—lights up at her, casting away the void. He truly does love her. I can tell in just this one look, like I’m seeing inside his soul. I wonder if it’s as obvious for everyone else or if I somehow still know Alik better than the others.

He was my best friend before everything happened. My brother.

Now? Now I don’t know what he is. Underboss to my uncle, if my intel is correct, and judging by the turnout at this wedding, I’d say it is.

Underboss of the Petrov Bratva…Alik.

My lips lift in a slight smile. I can’t believe the bastard did it, despite everything. If I’m honest, I’m shocked they didn’t kill him after the job I pushed him to take went south. I’m surprised they didn’t kill everyone involved. But then again, he and I were the only survivors, and everyone knew it was my fault. Everyone knew who made the call that got my brothers and myself tortured, my own father killed.

One bad job changed the trajectory of our lives. One poor call changed the future of the Bratva.

My smile falls at the memory, and as if he can sense it, Alik peers up at the balcony with narrowed eyes. The hood pulled over my head shields me, so it seems unlikely that he knows I’m here. If he did, he’d probably stop his own wedding to kill me. Part of me wishes he would.

But I’m not here for him or for his retribution, justified as it may be. I’ve spent the last nine years in a Russian prison I wouldn’t have chosen over death. My sins will never be washed clean, but they’re as paid for as I can ever afford. I didn’t come back for Alik, and I didn’t come back for the Bratva.

I came back forher.

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