Page 14 of Untamed

Reckless. Stupid.

Addictive.

It’s my fault I’m all the way in California while the rest of my family’s in Russia.

I can still hear Rafail, the disappointment in his voice worse than any punishment he could’ve levied.

You have to keep a handle on your anger, Rodion. You’re not a child anymore.

He was right, of course. I didn’t have to make a public spectacle of punishing the fucking traitor.

I scrub a hand across my brow and blow out a breath.

I can do this.

And I won’t fuck this up by flirting and risking it all by putting myself out there on stupidsocial media.

I shake my head and get to my feet when another buzz from my phone sounds.

I stare at the pillow, vibrating with message after message.

If it were Rafail and I ignored him…

I scratch at my bicep and roll my eyes heavenward. Everyone has to take a piss or make a fucking cup of coffee… right? Wrong, when it comes to my brother. I can hear him now. “You only need one hand to take a leak. Use the other to check my messages.”

I am going to get on Rafail’s good side no matter what it takes. Iwillprove to him I’m not the tagalong he thinks I am.

I reach for my phone and check my messages.

Good thing.

Rafail

Saw the work you did yesterday, read the files and your report. Well done, Rodion. Talk’s died down, people are starting to forget.

Pride blossoms in my chest. I was still a child when my parents died, and Rafail became guardian of my family. He’s like a father to me and pleasing him matters. Semyon, four years younger than Rafail but still older, is colder, more detached, but that’s just his personality. He’s as faithful to my family as any of us, and I fucking hate that he got screwed over.

I have to make this right.

All of it.

One down, two to go. Trailed Dovinksy last night and he’s on par for being predictable as fuck once more. Anything else you need to share?

The little dots next to Rafail’s name pop up, but instead of a text message, an image of his newborn son comes onto the screen.

My god.

A lump actually rises in my throat. I haven’t cried since we got news of my parents’ death. I didn’t even cry the day we buried them. Semyon, Rafail, and I, along with two of my cousins, were the pallbearers. As is tradition, we tossed the dirt on the casket first. My baby sister Zoya openly wept as I hugged her, the only one of us who did. Yana wasn’t close with my father and had her own struggles she kept close to the vest. Semyon was damn nearstoic, and I would’ve sworn carved of ice if I hadn’t seen the way he melted toward little Zoya, and Rafail was a statue.

But something about seeing that baby… that precious little bundle, wrapped in a swaddled blanket, his little fist to his mouth, white-blond hair like his mama’s crowning his perfectly round little head… it moves something in me. I swallow the lump in my throat.

Rafail

This little champ slept for five hours straight. We’re feeling half-human again. He’s eating up a storm and outgrew the newborn sleepers already

I stifle a snort. Rafail Kopolov, Moscow’s most feared, chatting about newborn sleepers and his little champ of a son. My eyes are a little blurry. I’ve always had a soft spot for the vulnerable. I can’t help it.

He’s got your eyes, brother. He looks so much like you, except for the hair

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