Page 93 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)
“No,” I say, knowing he’s misunderstood. “I’m not talking about Astra Tyrannis. I’m talking about Kian. Cillian. Artem.”
“Your father and your uncles. I’m familiar with them.”
I resume pacing. “They made it their mission to dismantle sex trafficking rings in their cities. They extinguished that kind of crime ring from the territories they ruled. But once they started, they realized how deep it went,” I continue. “They realized how many women were forced into it. How many men profited off it. It was their cause before it was mine.”
I let the words sit for a moment, remembering the early days, when I was just a snot-nosed little kid trying to keep up with the big boys.
Uncle Kian had always been passionate about what we do. It’s why he staffed his homes and businesses with women who needed a second chance at life. Women who’d suffered. He gave them freedom.
He used to refer to it as a “cause.” He still does. I suppose I caught his passion and ran with it.
“All the rings my father and my uncles put a stop to—they soon realized they were connected to a bigger organization. One that was far more extensive than we ever realized. It was easy to jump on board then. I wanted to prove myself. I never stopped to think about what I would be risking.”
Matvei fixes me with his knowing gaze. “You have to forgive yourself, Phoenix,” he says quietly. “Aurora and Yuri—their deaths… It wasn’t your fault.”
“Wasn’t it?” I retort. “I failed to protect them.”
“The house was secure. Aurora was accompanied by guards wherever she went. What more could you have done?”
“More,” I answer. “I could have done more.”
“Short of lock her in a room and keep her there indefinitely?” Matvei asks. “She would have been miserable.”
“At least she would have been alive.”
“That’s your grief talking,” Matvei says firmly. “A life of captivity isn’t worth living. Isn’t that what you say to every single woman who comes across your doorstep?”
I grit my teeth and turn away from Matvei. For five years, he’s insisted on trying to exonerate me for Aurora and Yuri’s deaths. He still doesn’t seem to realize that forgiveness is not what I seek.
It’s vengeance.
“Phoenix—”
“I’m done talking about them,” I snarl. “Don’t mention their names again.”
“Fine,” Matvei snaps back. “Then how about Elyssa and Theo? Are you willing to talk about them?”
He’s caught me in a bad moment, and he knows it. But he’s trying to force a confrontation with me. Probably because he knows I’ll reveal something to him in my anger.
That’s the problem with Matvei—he knows me too fucking well.
“No.”
“Of course not. Because anything hard, you just choose to ignore.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, fuckyou,” Matvei throws back at me.
While my chest rises and falls with aggression, Matvei’s anger burns slow. You can hardly tell he’s enraged at all. All the emotion is contained in his eyes. But right now, they simmer with a dangerous burn.
He never allows it to crack through the surface, though. It always stays just out of sight.
Another trait I find infuriating about him.
Probably because I’m jealous I can’t mimic the same type of restraint. Then again, Matvei never lost his wife and child as a result of his own shortsightedness. He hasn’t suffered like I’ve suffered. Suffered in his own way? Yeah, of course. His story is filled with pain.
But you don’t know pain until you’ve seen all the bloodied fragments that remain of the woman you vowed to cherish and protect. Until your son’s screams fade from hearing forever.
