Page 83 of Unspoken

Logan's hands tighten on my shoulders, and for a second, I allow myself to believe in a world where we could be together, free from the restraints of darkness we both inhabit.

But the moment passes as quickly as it came, leaving me standing in the cold basement gym, with the ghosts of my past and bullets aimed at my back while the weight of my future is bearing down on me.

"Vlad doesn’t strike me as someone who has no heart. He’s not your father. Far from it. Telling him the truth could be the only way out to something better," Logan supplies quietly.

With a deep breath, I straighten my spine. "I'll... I'll think about it."

Logan nods, his eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and disappointment. "Don't think on it too long, though," he cautions. "Secrets have a way of coming out, and when they do... they don't usually go down quietly."

I swallow, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. "I know," I whisper. "Believe me, I know."

Later in the day, as I stand before the mirror in my room, my fingers fumble with the buttons of my crisp white shirt, my mind a vortex of conflicting emotions. The memory of my father's rage-contorted face flashes before my eyes, his words echoing in my ears like a twisted mantra: "No son of mine will be a fucking faggot."

I swallow hard against the rising bile in my throat, the phantom ache of long-healed bruises throbbing beneath my skin. The very thought of Vlad discovering the truth about me, about Logan, sends a shudder of horror down my back.

Would he react with the same disgust, the same violence?

Would I see the love in his eyes wither and die, replaced by cold contempt?

I’ve never witnessed the kind of savagery from my brother as I witnessed from Yuri. But I’m not a fool. No matter how many legit businesses Vlad has, he’s still deep in shit. He’s still doing shady things, making deals with the same people who are probably trying to kill me.

"Pull yourself together, mate," I mutter, straightening my tie with trembling hands. I can't let Vlad see me like this, can't let him sense the turmoil raging inside me. I need to be strong, to put on a brave face and pretend everything's fine. Just like I've been doing my whole bloody life.

Because if I can’t, because if I let it slip, he’ll know. He’ll know my secret before I can take control of the narrative.

With a deep breath, I make my way downstairs, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous foyer seem louder than usual. Almost deafening actually. As I round the corner into the living room, I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat. Vlad paces the space like a caged tiger, his phone pressed to his ear, his face a thundercloud of barely contained fury.

Not a good start to the dinner evening.

My brother typically doesn’t invite me anywhere with him and for some reason I thought today he was in a better mood since he did. A better mood means he may be more accepting to his little brother telling him he is queer.

But all my hope now has gone to shit.

"I don't give a fuck about the excuses," Vlad snarls into the phone, his free hand clenching and unclenching in the air. "You get it done, or I'll find someone who can. Understood?"

I hover in the doorway, torn between the desire to flee back to the safety of my room and the need to talk to Vlad, to finally unburden myself of the secret that's been eating away at me for so long. But as I watch him end the call with a vicious stab of his finger, I realize the moment is lost.

Ivan appears at Vlad's elbow, holding out another phone, his expression grim. There’s a quiet whispered exchange in Russian I can’t decipher from my spot.

Then Vlad snatches the phone from Ivan’s hand, barely sparing me a glance as he growls, "Not now, Sasha."

"I need to talk to you about something important," I blurt out, my voice sounding small and pathetic to my own ears.

Vlad sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can it wait? I'm in the middle of a fucking crisis here."

I open my mouth to protest, to insist that this can't wait, that I need him to hear me, to understand. But the words die on my tongue as Vlad turns away, already barking orders into the new phone.

"We'll have to reschedule dinner," he tosses over his shoulder, not even bothering to look at me. "I'll have Ivan make the arrangements."

And just like that, he's gone, striding out of the room with Ivan, his loyal dog, at his heels, leaving me alone with the bitter taste of disappointment in my mouth. Once again, my chance to be honest, to finally share my truth, has slipped through my fingers like sand.

CHAPTER 28

LOGAN

On the patio of a small taco joint I’ve been frequenting for years, I watch as Sasha wrestles with his taco. The tortilla is nearly bursting with plump pink shrimp and crisp cabbage slaw while juice drips onto his paper plate as he takes a messy bite. The wind tousles his blond undercut, the sun catching the strands and turning them golden.

A thought punches through my mind. I think I could look at him forever. Just look. Nothing else.

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