Page 26 of Vendetta Vows

"They're always concerned about something."

"This is different." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "And after Vadim Stravinsky's shit-show at Fashion Week last year."

"So what, Lyovushka?" I scoff. "Do half the fuckers in this town really think they can just keep selling people and expect no blowback from that self-righteous bastard in Seattle?"

"You're not wrong," Lev sighs. "But the situation is volatile. Everyone, from Jefferson to SoCal, is jumpy these days. Seeing shadows everywhere."

Like Aurora.

My mind can't help drifting to her, and I feel an unexpected emptiness and disappointment that I hadn't seen her from her window.

"Ruslan? Are you listening?" Lev snaps his fingers.

"I heard you," I mutter, taking a long sip of whiskey. "Everyone's jumpy."

"Thinking about that girl again?" Lev's mouth curves into a sly grin. "The skittish blonde the tabloids can't seem to identify."

My jaw clenches.

"I noticed Sienna Voss's Instagram post from last week disappeared." Lev's grin widens. "Along with her entire career. One hell of a way to publicize a breakup that happened weeks ago."

I remain stone-faced. But underneath my skin, a familiar anger churns. Aurora's panicked expression that night has haunted me for days.

"Is this what you dragged me here for? To discuss my non-existent love life?" I down my whiskey and slam the glass onto the side table. "Get to the point, Lev."

He sighs, suddenly all business. "I need you back, Ruslan. Completely back, and not just doing what you're doing right now."

"That's not going to happen."

"It has to." He sets his drink down and leans forward. "The Mexicans are consolidating territory south of the border. The Chinese think we've gone soft. Gregor Belov is getting old and unreliable. The jungle is about to tear itself down."

"That sounds like a you problem."

"I need an extra pair of hands. Ones I can trust. I can reverse Father's decision."

"The day he made that decision was the happiest day of my fucking life, Lev."

The familiar taste of bitterness coats my tongue as I stare down at my older brother.

"Things have changed," Lev says, his voice softening. "The family needs you, Lanchik."

"Family?" I laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears. "The samefamilythat made me watch as Leslie was killed in front of me?"

Lev flinches. Good. I want him to remember.

"That was Father's doing, not mine."

"And you did nothing to stop him!" I slam my glass down, whiskey sloshing over my fingers.

"Ruslan, it's been nineteen years."

"Not long enough." I pour another whiskey, needing something to occupy my hands. "My answer hasn't changed. If you want me to ship you more guns, I can do that. But don't you ever ask me to come back and help you run the fucking bratva."

I stare at my brother, watching his face fall as my refusal sinks in. The overhead lights cast shadows under his eyes, aging him beyond his years. For a moment, just a moment, I almost feel sorry for him.

"I didn't want to say this, but Mikhail..." Lev pauses, rubbing his temples. "He doesn't have what it takes, Ruslan."

"And that's my problem how?" I lean against the bar, putting distance between us. "Maybe Misha has the right idea. Kid's got talent. Let him act instead of following your footsteps."

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