Page 109 of Alexei (Belles & Mobsters 4)

Jerk. Of course he’d eliminate the excuse before I even had a chance to utter it.

“If you want some peace, you could stay at my place.” I could hear a smile in his voice. “Because I am your favorite.”

Just as all my siblings, Winston had his own penthouse in D.C. though he spent more time out of it than he did in it.

“That’s okay, I’ll stay in our apartment, if I come. I miss the girls and Gabriel.”

“Good, good,” he muttered. “Spending time with the girls will be good for you.”

Then he trailed off as if he said too much. A heartbeat of silence followed, both of us unsure what to say. Truthfully, I felt empty and silence felt better than talking lately.

“I’ll let you know if I come,” I muttered. “Besides, Gabriel is my favorite,” I teased softly, trying to cut through the tension.

“You can’t backpedal,” he scoffed. “I’m your favorite. Besides, Gabriel is a nephew, so he can be your favorite nephew. I’m your favorite out of the three brothers.”

Three brothers.

It should be four brothers. Alexei cost me one brother. Yet, I didn’t shoot him. I couldn’t shoot him. And I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“Okay, I have to go,” I muttered, suddenly my mood soured and I quickly clicked the end button. I hated myself for not hating Alexei. I wanted to hate his guts, make him suffer. Yet, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that he suffered.

“Not my problem,” I muttered, annoyed. Though it was my problem that I wanted to make him better. The urge to hug him or talk to him, not that he was a talker, constantly lingered in my heart. Yet, every time I thought of him, I also thought of Kingston. And how he cost me my brother. I couldn’t think of one without the other.

The doorbell to my apartment rang and I silently groaned. I knew Byron forgot his fucking keys again. He insisted keys were a thing of the past and I needed a thumbprint lock. No fucking way. I liked my keys, thank you very much. He had to go back home to his life. At this rate, I’d go back to work more mental than before the sabbatical.

“Come in. It’s open,” I called out, not bothering to go open the door.

I leaned my forehead against my knees, feeling exhausted. All these damn emotions were exhausting. Maybe I should talk to a psychiatrist, like the bureau suggested. Except, I couldn’t tell anyone what really bothered me. Just like I couldn’t tell anyone what happened to Anya. We promised her.

Sailor, Willow, and I helped each other power through that horror. Byron, Winston, and Royce had that five-year-old girl that cried for months for her Kingston.

But now… I was alone. I wanted to talk but didn’t dare tell anyone that Alexei, the boy with broken eyes, cost me my brother.

“Hello, Agent Ashford.”

Not my brother’s voice. My head whipped up to find Sasha Nikolaev standing in my living room, dressed in his dark expensive suit and hiding his ruthlessness. And that shark smile on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” I hissed, jumping to my feet.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he drawled, not moving from his spot. He even shoved his hands into his pockets, as if that would make him look less threatening. “You and I are gonna talk.”

I frowned so deeply my eyebrows hurt. Maybe Alexei wasn’t the true psychopath. Maybe it was this guy because nobody sane would dare to approach me after Byron threatened them.

“You’re insane.” I glanced around my bare apartment, trying to locate anything that I could use as a weapon. My firearm was in the bedroom, secured and despite Sasha’s big frame, I had a feeling he moved like a panther. Just as Alexei did.

“Probably a little bit insane,” he admitted and I cocked my eyebrow. Yes, crazy certainly ran in the Nikolaev family.

“What do you want?” I asked him. There was no sense in debating the man’s insanity.

“I want to talk about Alexei.” I stilled, my heart twitched painfully and then resumed beating. I hated that just hearing his name mentioned had my chest hurting. I remained quiet, waiting. “Do you know that my mother had him kidnapped when he was two?” I nodded, remembering his story. “Did you know that she moved him every year, so he couldn’t get attached to a family?” I swallowed a lump in my throat, nodding. “Then when he was ten, the first family that cared for him, attempted to defend him, they were murdered in cold blood. By my mother and Ivan Petrov. While he watched.”

The oxygen seemed to be in short supply in my apartment. “Why?” I choked out.

“She was a psychopathic bitch.” His voice was cold and unemotional, but something vulnerable flickered in his pale gaze. I thought my relationship with my father was shitty, but it didn’t scratch the surface on the Nikolaev parents. “Ivan tortured him, abused him. Starved him.” The memory flashed in my mind. Broken eyes. He looked sad, his clothes shabby. Almost rags. I slipped my hand into his because he was so sad. I remembered him.Him.In the zoo with me when I was a little girl. And when I ran, he was behind me. Every time I almost stopped, he urged me to keep going.

He saved me, but not my brother. Why? I remembered he ran behind me all the way home. I stopped right by the gate of our manor.

“Come with me,” I begged.

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