Page 98 of Broken Sins (Volkov Bratva 3)

But I have seen some of them. There is a beating heart behind that chest. It is buried underneath pain, but I have seen it in one beautiful, unforgettable glimpse. He may regret showing it to me. In fact, I know he does. It makes what he has to do next so much harder.

I take a deep breath and swallow past the knot in my throat. It’s over for me now. I am back in the brothers’ possession. Perhaps it was foolish to think I ever had a chance of becoming free again. That shattered hope is stabbing me in the heart right now like shards of glass that once made up a delicate sculpture. I shouldn’t have ever hoped. It will make the ending that much worse.

I look up at Vito. He is not as tall as his younger brothers, but he is the most muscular. He has the same nose that they all do. Strong, straight as an arrow, leading up into a proud forehead. Those eyes—I used to swear they were black all the way through, pupil and iris alike. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything anymore. What’s real, what’s fake, what’s a lie, what’s true?

Who the fuck knows?

“We have found you, Milaya Volkov,” he growls in a voice deeper than sound, rasping like a metal edge on stone. “You cannot run anymore.”

I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. He’s right—I can’t run anymore.

We stand there and stare at each other for a few long moments. My breath has slowed from short, sharp gasps to a soft inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything else.

Is it insane that I notice his smell? Blood and sweat and cologne all mixed together. It’s as intoxicating as it was the very first time. I must be deranged. My time in their castle drove me mad. Stockholm Syndrome doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Maybe I was wrong about being near the breaking point.

Maybe the truth is that I broke a long, long time ago.

I can sense the others drawing close around me. They step in and join me in a circle of darkness. I am surrounded now by a wall of men. They all have a similar smell. The same blood and sweat as Vito. But each of them bears a unique musk that is entirely their own.

Like a ballerina figurine in a toy box, I do a slow pivot and drink in the sight of them. Even now, I can see that my killers are gorgeous. Sculpted by the hands of angels.

Mateo, the wise one, green-eyed.

Leo, the beautiful, blue-eyed.

Dante, the wild, honey-eyed.

And back to the front, to the beginning, to Vito, the leader, black-eyed.

They’re waiting for me to do something. To do anything.

I swallow again. It hurts. Christ, everything hurts, from the bottoms of my bleeding feet to the hair on my scalp, the same hair that each of these men has wound their hands through and tugged back on to make me moan and scream and beg in turns.

I didn’t expect the end of my life to hurt this badly.

“Well?” I say with a voice cockier than I truly feel. I haven’t made this easy on them since the night they took me. I don’t plan on starting now. “You found me. Now what?”

“Now,” Dante answers, “we are going to finish what we started.”

But none of us are going to get the chance to finish what we started. Because, just then, Vito slumps over, dropping his full weight onto me. I catch him in surprise as his brothers rush to help me. Carefully, we all lower him to the ground. His head lolls forward, revealing a nasty crater where I struck him with the rock. I feel a surge of guilt, followed by defiance. I did what I had to do. He would’ve done the same if he were me.

“We need to move,” murmurs Mateo for what feels like the thousandth time tonight. “They’re not far behind us.”

“Move where?” Leo asks bitterly. “How? In case you didn’t notice, we’re on foot. Do you want us to leave Vito behind?”

Dante says, “We’re not losing another brother. Not again. Either he comes, or we all stay.”

Mateo sighs. “So be it. Then I suppose it is time for us to die, brothers.” He sits on the ground and buries his face in his hands.

They’re all shells of what they were when they met me. No longer are they dark, avenging angels. Now, they are men who have lost everything again and again. My heart longs to break for them. But the truth is that my heart broke for good a long time ago. There isn’t anything left to break.

So fuck it then. We’re all going to die. I, the brothers, my father. I always thought I’d go down fighting. I thought for sure that they would too. But it turns out that in the end, we are going to tie the noose around our own throats and go out willingly.. Like motherfucking cowards.

Vito is mumbling under his breath, but no one even bothers to find out what he’s saying. Why would it matter? We’re rearranging deck chairs on theTitanic. All is lost. Nothing is salvageable.

None of us are surprised when a pair of dark-tinted SUVs pull up and troops issue forth from it like a plague. They bind each of us with plastic zip-ties and load us into the back seats. Gunmen keep their pistols pointed at us. No one says a word, except for Vito, who continues to mumble nonsense.

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