Page 104 of Broken Sins (Volkov Bratva 3)

“Hello, Milaya,” seethes a menacing voice.

“You’re Sergio.”

He drawls, “They did mention that you were a smart little thing.”

“I’m a spiteful little thing too, so you should let us all go before it backfires on you.” I’m trying to sound bold, though judging by how hard Sergio starts laughing the moment the words are out of my lips, I’m not exactly convincing.

“That is a sight I would love to see. Unfortunately, not in the cards—but still, tempting.”

“What comes next then?”

“Just a little more blood to be spilled. Then we can wrap things up, I think.”

“Whose blood?”

“Oh, you know,” Sergio says in a hand-wavey voice. “A little of yours, a little of your father’s, a little of each of my brothers’. Or rather, to be clear—a lot of each.”

“So this is it then.”

“For you, yes, darling.”

I flinch. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why ever not?” Sergio asks me. He sounds plaintive, almost like he’s offended. “Are you not darling and precious to my brothers? And what is theirs is mine, no? Then you are my darling, certainly.”

“I’m not anybody’s anything,” I fire back. “I am Milaya Volkov. That’s all.”

He chuckles. “Only for a little while longer. Then you will be nothing whatsoever. Hardly even a memory.”

I pause. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because it is my time to make things right, Milaya Volkov. To correct the record.”

I shudder at the way he says my full name so carefully. It’s the same way Vito has always addressed me. Over time, it became something close to a term of endearment, though neither of us ever explicitly acknowledged the change in tone. But out of Sergio’s mouth, it has the same sinister quality that Vito once imbued in it. And in this cramped, stuffy confessional, it sounds downright wicked.

“You’re killing your own siblings because Daddy didn’t love you enough?”

“I’m killing everyone who ever took what was rightfully mine,” he snaps. “Do not confuse the two, Volkov whore.”

I smile thinly, even though I know he can’t see it in the darkness. “You went from darling to whore awfully fast.”

“I don’t think I like your tone anymore.”

I can’t help but giggle at that. How am I giggling at anything? That’s how I know I’m really losing it. But giggle I must. He sounds like a disapproving teacher, trying to lecture a bad student into behaving. “Not the first time I’ve heard that,” I fire back, “and probably not the last.”

“Oh, I can guarantee it will be the last,” Sergio growls. He pounds the flat of his hand on the wooden divider. It must be a signal to his guards, because at the sound, my door swings open and one of the men who brought me here steps in to retrieve me.

“Wait!” I cry out. The guard freezes. I turn back to the screen. I can just barely see Sergio’s silhouette through it, courtesy of the dim light offered by the gas lamp set to low overhead. “I have a question for you.”

“Yes?” he drones lazily.

“What color are your eyes?”

“My eyes?”

“Yes,” I say, nodding. “Leo is blue. Dante is amber. Mateo is green. Vito is black. What are yours?”

I hold my breath, hoping beyond hope that he falls for the stupid little bait I have dangling for him. I hear him shifting around on the other side of the confessional.

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