Page 85 of Vendetta Vows

When I reach out, a smile breaks across her face and she places her hand in mine. "Hi, Uncle Ruslan!"

But Mikayla hangs back by the car, arms crossed, and watching us with her serious eyes. Since her father and brother's deaths, she's already learned to read situations with a shrewd calculation of someone twice her age.

"Thank you for bringing them, Artyom." I clap a hand on Artyom's shoulder as he approaches with their bags.

He nods. "Tamara's driver was five minutes behind us. She's not going to be happy."

"That's her problem." I keep my voice light for the girls' sake. "They'll be safer here."

Mikayla finally steps forward. "What is the meaning of this, uncle?"

"Your mother may not have your best interest at heart." I meet her eyes directly.

I see that familiar stubbornness in Mikayla's eyes. They have the same look Lev used to get when we were kids. Her head tilts, and her lips scrunch as thoughts turn quickly in her head.

"Why are we here, Uncle Ruslan?" she demands, voice steady.

I glance at Sofia and Stella, who are already distracted by the fountain in the courtyard.

"Girls, why don't you go see if Daria Zakharovna has those special cookies you like?" I suggest gently.

Once the two younger ones are out of earshot, I turn back to Mikayla. "Your mother doesn't know what's best for you right now."

"And you do?" Her voice drips with teenage skepticism. "Is this bratva business?"

"Mikayla!"

"Don't lie to me, uncle. I know what's happening. Father and Misha are dead, which means there's a—what do they call it—a power vacuum."

She's not wrong. And perhaps, under the right tutelage, Mikayla can be a formidable force outright in the bratva. But right now, she's still just a fifteen-year-old girl who needs to be protected from the bastards and monsters that thrive in our world.

"It's complicated."

"Of course it is." She crosses her arms tighter. "How long are you keeping us here?"

I hesitate. "As long as necessary."

"So you're kidnapping us."

"No."

"Yes, you are." Her eyes flash with equal shades of anger and fear. "You pulled us from school without Mama's permission. You brought us here away from our home. Call it what you like, uncle. But it sounds like kidnapping to me."

"I'm doing this for you," I feel frustration bubbling inside of me. "For all of you."

"You sound like father," she counters.

I place my hands on her shoulders. "Mika, you have to trust me."

She steps back and wrenches her shoulder free. "And who is asking for my trust right now? The uncle whom I should love? Or the pakhan that I'm supposed to fear?"

The question hits like a punch to the gut. It's the same impossible divide I navigated with my own father. The same one that these girls must've navigated with Lev as well.

"Both," I answer truthfully as I search for my father's voice. "Everything I do is to protect you and your sisters."

"I don't know if I can trust you." Her voice breaks slightly.

"Mikayla, go inside. Now." My voice drops an octave, brooking no argument.

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