Page 44 of Stolen By The Bratva King

“Yes.” I point at him. “Your name.”

He sits up straight and clears his throat. “I am Desimir,” he says, enunciating carefully. “Desi. My name is Desi.” He reaches for me, putting his small hand on my forearm. “Leon. Mami?”

I draw my hand away, unable to bear his gentle faith. Why the fuck does the poor kid trust me?

I’m not a good guy, and for the rest of his luckless life, he will see my face in his mind’s eye, connecting it forever to the moment his world shattered beyond repair.

The worst thing is that he already knows. Desi’s face is already falling, his eyes growing duller as the last light in them goes out for good. He doesn’t need to understand my words to have all too good a grasp on the cold reality.

“Your Mami is gone,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Dead, Desi.”

His cheeks shine as tears roll down them, but he steadies himself. He makes his hand into a gun shape and directs it at his injured arm.

“Pew,” he says. He puts his hand on his stomach. “Mami je otišla.” His voice cracks, the weight of those words too heavy for a boy his size. “Mami gone.”

I nod, lost for words, and Desi breaks, wracking sobs shuddering through him.

Emery envelops him in her arms, and I sit motionless, trying to keep it all inside.

Push it down, Leon.You did all you could.

“He’s leaving here soon,” Emery says, rocking Desi gently as he cries into her lapel. “He has no one. No identity. No papers. He’s Serbian, but he won’t talk to the interpreter. They’ll send him upstate to a facility for illegal immigrants, or so I’m told, but he’ll have a terrible time there alone.”

I glance at her. “Emery, I know what you’re trying to say, but I don’t know where he came from. The boat thieves had Desi and his mother with them, and they got shot accidentally. If I’d known there were innocent people on board, I’d have let them go.”

Her gaze flicks to me, sharp and questioning, even as she runs her fingers through Desi’s hair.

She doesn’t believe me—not entirely. That damn fire in her eyes will be my undoing.

I despise myself for the lie. But what good would the unpalatable truth do now? It’d be no help for Desi, that’s for damn sure.

“Once he’s safely out of New York, I’ll put money in the right pockets and see to it he’s well cared for,” I say. “I promise, Emery. I didn’t want this to happen.”

Her glare softens. “I’m Desi’s responsible physician, so he can’t be discharged unless I’m satisfied. I can keep him here a little longer and try to get to the bottom of it myself.”

Is that a threat or a promise? Emery doesn’t trust me, but that’s the price I have to pay. The more she knows, the more my dark world will stain her innocence, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.

Crying is exhausting, and Desi has no reserves to keep it up. Emery disentangles herself and tenderly settles him on his pillow, brushing his hair from his clammy forehead as he closes his eyes. I open my mouth to speak, but she puts a finger on her lips, signaling me to shush.

I turn in the doorway as we leave. Desi is asleep, the slumber a brief respite from the relentless, painful grind of loneliness.

I know how he feels, but he’s a hero. He almost died defending his mother, while I can claim no such honor. I hid like a goddamn coward.

Years and years of nightmares. I buried them and threw myself into this morally gray life I built alongside Roman and Viktor.

But this thing with Desi brought it all back—the pain, the fear.

And theshame. That ever-present blade, cutting through my defenses and taking me back to that night, that endless night when I did fucking nothing to save my parents.

I let them die.

I can’t bring that to her. Emery deserves better than the ghosts I carry. She doesn’t need to know how weak I was—how weak I still am.

“Leon!” Emery is waving in front of my face, her own etched with concern. “Your message said you had plans for us tonight. I had plans for myself, as it happens.”

I smile. “A hot bath and browsing through this month’s House Plant Fancier does not constitute a good evening’s entertainment,moya zhena.”

“Maybe not to you.” She raises her eyebrows. “Is that a real publication?”

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