Page 182 of Silenced

They discuss heading to New York, where things aren’t ashotright now, literally and figuratively, but after assuring me that he’s okay despite the injuries, he’s been silent until that suggestion.

“Navis my—” He snarls when signing with broken fingers hurts, making it impossible to continue. It takes a few tries for him to rumble, “Navis home, Misha.” Pain and self-directed annoyance spread over his face as in half-ASL and half-broken speech, he communicates, “I won’t move us to New York unless it becomes necessary.”

Us.

My lips purse.

Especially when he’s saying the words for me, even if they’re directed at Misha.

I huff.

“I thought you were from New Jersey?” Misha asks me.

“I am.”

“So, wouldn’t you be better off up there?” he inquires, his tone…

Huh.

He wants me to help him out.

Yeah,no.

I peer at my nails.

Registering that I’m a lost cause, Misha heaves a sigh. “You have to come to New York, Nikolai. When you went to Moskva, when you saved Maxim, you made a fucking choice. There are repercussions—”

“Of course there are,” he growls, the words tight. I can hear the strain in them. Feel itinhim. He’s tired. Hurting. Grieving though Dmitri still lives. And talking is making it all much worse. “But those repercussions don’t end in New York.” Pushing through the pain, he signs, “If you think Maxim didn’t start something thatI’mgoing to have to fucking finish, you’re an idiot.”

Affronted, Misha sputters, “What do you mean?”

“Survival means taking the entirety of the US, not just New York City.” His jaw works as he flicks a look at Dmitri. “He said it himself. The US is new. Younger. It’s the Pakhans who rule it on the Bratva’s behalf.” Voice still hoarse, still broken, he slowly grates out, “If we want to live to see tomorrow, then this is only the beginning.”

His words send a shiver rushing down my spine.

When Nikolai’s cell phone screen flashes on, he snatches it from the nightstand with a glower at his brother, then he grits his teeth once he’s read the message.

“Who was it?” Misha demands.

“Pavel. He heard about—”

A knock sounds at the door before he can continue. When a man pops his head into the room, Nikolai sits up with a grunt, his gaze expectant.

“He’s here, Pakhan.”

Amid this chaos, we still know what that means.

An effervescent welter of excitement floods me, which is, to be honest, obscene.

But I’ve been forced to leave my home, ran out of my state, divorced from my family, hunted and stalked and abused. Kidnapped.

I said it to Misha on the plane—I’m a survivor.

But that’s no longer enough for me—it’s time to thrive.

And that’s when I come to a decision, one that shocks even me. “I don’t want to see him.”

Nikolai frowns. “I thought—”

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