Page 7 of Imperfect Desires

Our father answers for him. “No.” His voice is cool and steady. “Your mother didn’t survive the attack.”

A wave of grief and relief crashes through me at once. Viktor survived—but my mother is still gone. My head lowers. Viktor’s hand cups the side of my face.

“I’m here now,” he says quietly. “That’s what matters.”

My head lifts toward my father. Anger cuts through the haze of relief. “You made us mourn him,” I say quietly. “You let us grieve for him. For years.”

My father’s gaze sharpens. “It was necessary.”

“Necessary?” Yelena’s voice is sharp. Her eyes are still wet. “We were children.”

My father’s mouth tightens. Viktor’s hand rests on my shoulder, grounding me.

“It’s over now,” Viktor says, and I lean into him, breathing in the warm scent of him.

We sit down for dinner that evening. The long dining table is lined with crystal glasses and silverware. Papa sits at the head of the table, and we all sit to his right because Yelena and I each wanted to sit on either side of Viktor.

Just as we are finishing our meal, the door opens, and two men step inside. The first man is tall, with short, dark hair and a scar that slashes across his cheekbone. His movements are smooth and calculated. He inclines his head toward my father in a respectful manner as he greets his leader in Russian.

The second man is…damn.

My breath catches as I take in his dark hair and green eyes. He should be the same height as Viktor, if not an inch taller. I estimate him to be around six feet five inches. He is exceptionally handsome, which is bothersome because he almost appears beautiful. The tiny scar surrounding his gorgeous lips adds a certain intrigue, suggesting he is more than just a pretty face.

He isdangerous.

“This is Lev,” Viktor says, his gaze flicking toward the man with the green eyes. “And this is Zasha,” he adds as he turns to the other guy. “Guys, meet my sisters: Alina and Yelena.”

Lev’s gaze settles on me. His mouth curves faintly. “Happy birthday,” he says.

My heart skips. Hard.

I don’t understand why I feel this way or why this man, whom I’ve never met, is making my heart race.

I swallow stiffly to push down the lump that suddenly blocks my airway. “Nice to meet you, " I manage to say.

He pulls out two wrapped boxes from the inner pocket of his jacket and hands one to me and the other to Yelena. "I don’t know what you ladies will like, but I've heard that diamonds are a girl's best friend."

Who told him that? Does he have a girlfriend? Or worse, is he married?

My mind is so clouded by these thoughts that I did not notice the beautiful diamond studs that I was absently gazing at until I heard Yelena thanking him.

“Thank you,” I mutter. “They are beautiful.”

As I raise my eyes to his, our gazes lock. A rush of heat washes over me, and in this moment, I suddenly feel like the adult I already am.

3

Alina

We spend the next two days getting to know Viktor. Bombarding him with questions, we are surprised to learn that he has been tracking our development over the past years. While he is believed to be dead back home, he has been establishing his presence here in New York and paving the way for the Bratva to operate smoothly on a larger scale.

The problem with Viktor being alive is that I now know what it feels like to be whole—and I know how easily it could be taken away again.

For fifteen years, I believed my brother was dead. I had mourned him. I had visited the cold marble of his grave and whispered his name into the stillness of the night. I had grown up beneaththe weight of his absence. And now he’s here. Alive. Breathing. Sitting at the head of the table, across from me, as if he had never left.

And yet, sitting beside him is not my latest dilemma.

Lev doesn’t look at me. He leans back in his chair, one arm resting lazily along the back of the chair beside him, while the other hand curls loosely around a glass of whiskey. His dark hair is pushed back from his forehead, and his sharp features are highlighted beneath the soft glow of the chandelier overhead. His green eyes—dark and cold—focus on something past Viktor’s shoulder.

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