Page 51 of Silenced

From the cornerof the screen, I can see that my expression is blank.

As always.

Only someone who knows me would discern that I’m annoyed.

Very fucking annoyed.

But then, video calls with my brothers always tend to veer toward irritating, especially when I have to get information about them from a goddamn blog.

* * *

Rumors abound about Maxim Lyanov’s absence in NYC.

Contacts assure me that he’s actually in the motherland, sucking up to the Krestniy Otets whoisn’thappy about his ‘takeover’ of New York.

I’ve yet to determine if his continued presence in Moscow is related to businessorto a certain woman who’s been seen dripping off his arm at recent social events.

Are there Bratva-shaped wedding bells in the future?

I’d always believed that Maxim Lyanov would make a play for Victoria Vasov, the daughter of the late lamented Pakhan whose shoes Lyanov’s currently trying to fill.

Whatever his reasons for staying in Russia, whether or not a marriage announcement is in the making, follow me for updates.

You know they’ll be here first.

When you’re out of the loop, don’t let me say…I told you so.

* * *

“I don’t havetime for a conversation with the silent man,” Maxim snarls, drawing my attention away from the blog.

Most of its contents I was already aware of, but that this blogger is so well-informed is worrisome.

“Screw you,” Dmitri retorts immediately. “You’re lucky he gives a fuck about you, you arrogant piece of shit.”

I almost smile—he’s always my first line of defense.

“He’s right, Maxim. Stop being an asshole,” Misha wades in.

For once, he’s on my side of an argument, which acts like a backhand to Maxim’s face—a backhand he needs.

Unluckily for me, the dipshit is in Moskva so he’s too far away to feel it.

“How is he right? Ihaveto be here. I have to suck up to the Krestniy Otets,” Maxim counters. “You think I want to lick that bastard’s ass? Of course, I don’t. What alternative do I have?” That has me heaving a sigh, which Maxim immediately jumps on. “Don’t you dare say ‘I told you so.’ New York is mine. It wouldn’t have been if I’d listened to you.”

“I didn’t say a thing,” I sign, the words ironic enough that Dmitri chuckles as he shoves his hair out of his face—the little fucker didn’t get it cut.

Maxim grits his teeth. “I don’t need this.”

“I’m not saying you do. You’ve made your bed and now you have to lie in it, but don’t bullshit me by telling me that you’re still there for the Krestniy Otets. You think I don’t have ears to the ground?”

“You’re spying on me?”

I sniff. “I’m spying on everyone. If you’re not, then you’re a fool.” Maxim flushes, but I ignore his embarrassment to continue, “Who’s the woman?”

My brother scowls. “What woman?”

So, it’s going to be like that.

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