Page 59 of Stolen By The Bratva King

“I’m not an idiot—rich people often have dodgy connections, but this is different. You destroyed Dante’s business interests and threatened my father, but I thought you were all talk.”

Emery folds her arms, hugging her body defensively. “You wouldn’t be the first wealthy guy who thought he was Batman; that kind of ooh-I’m-so-powerful-and-mysterious thing is a cliché. Most of the rich kids I knew would never see the mean streets of this city, let alone get their hands dirty, yet here’s a dying kid from the wrong side of the tracks saying your goddamn name!”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut. I could say so many things and spin this a thousand ways, but none would be true, and I’m lost for a response.

Emery stares at me, and her frustration spills over.

“Oh, for crying out loud! Tell me a sweet lie, Leon. Don’t make me hate you and myself. Anything will do. Just don’t let whatever we have—what we’re making between us—crumble in the face of reality!”

I sink to my knees. God knows why, but it seems right. It’s not her that should be pleading for anything.

“Emery, I’m sorry,” I say. “It was only a matter of time before you found out. I wanted to pretend it would be okay, but I knew where this was headed.”

She sits on the couch, never taking her eyes off my face.

“You’re some kind of criminal?” she asks.

Devastation pulls at her voice, making it tremble, and her strength strikes me.

She could have run away, avoided the subject, and let fear power her choices. But here she is, facing it down, afraid but not a coward.

I cannot cheapen her bravery with bullshit and avoidance. Whatever happens next is meant to be, and I must accept the consequences of the path I chose all those years ago.

“Yes, I am a criminal.”

I tilt my head back and close my eyes, unable to bear the anguish on her beautiful face. “When my parents were killed, I went to live with my uncle, Josef. He was very protective of me, but I was deeply traumatized and angry, and I made his life Hell. I was disillusioned with society and the corruption of law and order, so I started running with the Russian boys. They were building a bratva presence in New York, and the whole thing worked up into a full-scale mob war.”

I draw a deep breath. How can I make her understand?

“I was angry at the world, Emery. I’d lost my parents to violence, and the people who were supposed to uphold justice didn’t care. They filed reports and moved on. I was drowning in hate, and the bratva gave me something to focus on. They told me I could bring order to the chaos and be strong where others were weak. And I believed them because I needed to believe in something.”

I glance at Emery. She’s frozen in place, her expression an unreadable mask.

“Amid all the chaos,dyadyaJosef was beaten up by some two-bit punks with a grudge against me. My poor uncle went into shock and had a severe stroke. He’s been in a care facility ever since, and I committed fully to the bratva after that, determined to clean up the fucking cesspit this city had become.”

“The bratva.” Emery’s voice has a sharpness I didn’t expect. “The Russian mafia. You, the son of wealthy philanthropists who kept their business clean, are part of the?—”

I force myself to look her in the eye. “I’m not just a gear in the machine. It’s all mine,val’kiriya. I’m the boss.”

Emery says nothing, and the room grows still, the atmosphere thick with regret.

I wish I’d never gotten her involved.

She’s too good for a scumbag like me, a man who scorned his privileged life in favor of working for change from the inside.

Or at least, that’s always been the line. Lately, however, I’ve wondered what my parents would think of me.

It’s true that Roman, Viktor, and I spearheaded a shift from the dehumanizing activities that characterized the wilderness years of the NYC underworld—trafficking, prostitution, predatory drug-pushing at kids, all that nasty shit.

We cleaned up and imposed a code of honor that safeguarded innocent people and kept all the squalid dealings amongst those who knew what they were getting into.

That doesn’t mean my parents would be proud. And, deep down, I wanted to cause some havoc of my own, to channel my rage and shame into something I could at least pretend had a purpose.

Emery is getting to her feet, her purse in hand.

I’m a man with unlimited power, especially over people. No one tells me no; they don’t get to walk away. Always, without fail, it’s my way or the highway.

But not this time. I will let the woman I adore leave me because I care more about her needs than mine. And if she needs to get away from me, so be it.

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