Page 61 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
“I remember the arguments between her and my father.” Her gaze focuses on something distant, like she’s looking back through time. “She’d beg him to get out of business with your family, to take us somewhere safe where we could start over. She said she didn’t want me growing up around violence and corruption or thinking that was normal.”
“What would Claude say?”
“That he was protecting us by staying close to powerful people. The money and connections were what kept us safe, and walking away would make us vulnerable to anyone who wanted to hurt him.” Zita’s voice carries old frustration. “She’d tell him the money wasn’t worth our souls, and he’d tell her she was naïve about how the world really worked.”
“When did she leave?”
“The night after a particularly bad fight. I was six, and I woke up to hear them screaming at each other downstairs.” Zita’s hands clench slightly in the sheets. “She was crying, telling him she couldn’t watch him become someone she didn’t recognize.”
“What did he say?”
“That if she left, she’d never see me again. He’d make sure of it.” The words come out flat and bitter. “And he did. She disappeared that night, and I never heard from her again. There were no letters or phone calls, and she made no attempts to contact me even when I became an adult.”
The pain in her voice makes me clench my hands. “She abandoned you to save herself.”
“Yes.” Zita’s response is immediate and firm. “I do, but I also think there was no way Papa would have let her take me. She had to choose between staying and accepting what he was doing or leaving and not being part of it.”
I frown. “You think she was right to leave.”
“No. I think she was trying to save herself the only way she knew how, and maybe, she was trying save Papa too.” Zita looks directly at me. “I think she hoped that if she couldn’t convince him, maybe her leaving would be dramatic enough to wake him up and make him choose differently for my sake.”
“Of course, it didn’t work.”
“No, it didn’t work. If anything, it made him hold tighter to his alliance with your family because he was terrified of losing the only protection he thought he had left.” Zita’s voice carries old sadness. “I grew up hating her for abandoning me. It’s only recently that I sort of understand why she did what she did.” Zitatraces patterns on my chest with her fingertip. “The question is whether we’re going to repeat old patterns or break them.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean are you going to be like your father, who killed the woman he claimed to love because she threatened his control?” Zita’s voice is steady and direct. “Or are you going to be different? Are you going to choose love over power when the two come into conflict?”
The question cuts straight to the heart of everything I’ve been struggling with since Nicky died. “I want to be different.”
“Wanting isn’t enough.” She sits up slightly. “Your father probably wanted to be different too, in the beginning. The choice comes when someone you love asks you to give up something that feels essential to who you are.”
I hesitate, wary. “What would you ask me to give up?”
“I’d ask you to give up the idea that you have to rule through fear the way he did.”
“You make it sound possible.” I hesitate. “With you, everything feels possible.” I pull her closer, amazed by how much my world has changed in the space of a single night. “With you, I can imagine being the kind of man my mother wanted me to become instead of the weapon my father trained me to be.”
“What about theBratva? What about your responsibilities?”
“I’ll fulfill my responsibilities, but I’ll do it differently than Nicky did.” The conviction in my voice surprises me. “I’ll build something that protects people instead of destroying them. I’ll use the power I inherited to create stability instead of chaos.”
“That’s a beautiful dream.” Zita’s voice carries both hope and caution. “Dreams don’t survive contact with reality unless you’re willing to fight for them.”
“Then I’ll fight.” I look directly into her eyes, needing her to see how serious I am. “I’ll fight to become the man you deserve, the father our children deserve, and a good leader who rules with respect over kneejerk violence.”
She smiles softly. “I hope you can.” After a hesitation, she says, “Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Promise me when the choice comes—and it will come—you won’t let theBratvaturn you into your father, no matter what it costs.”
What she’s asking settles over me. She’s asking me to promise that I’ll never become Nicky and never let the violence of my world destroy what we’re building together. “I promise.” The words come out steady and sure. “I promise I’ll choose you and our future over everything else.”
“Even if it means giving up power or walking away from everything you inherited?”
“Yes.” I lean down to kiss her, pouring all my conviction into the contact. “Power without love is just another form of death, and I want to live. With you, I want to really live.”
