Page 37 of Corruption

“No wonder you’re glad she’s dead.”

“I shouldn’t have told you that. It makes me sound like a sociopath or something.”

“I don’t think it makes you sound like that. Even if it did, I grew up in theBratva. Being a sociopath isn’t uncommon amongst the ranks. Besides, I get it.”

“Get what?”

“Being glad that a family member is dead.”

“Who in your family is dead?”

“My entire family. My entire immediate family anyway.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Were they terrible to you?”

“No. I had a very loving family. They could be overbearing and protective. But that’s what happens when you’re the youngest in the family and a girl. They were everything I could have asked for.”

“But you’re glad they’re dead?”

The answer to that is very complicated. An answer that would make me look like the sociopath that Kiya was afraid to look like. Because what else would I look like if I admitted that I sold my family out, by accident though it may have been. That in the end, when it came down to it, I fed my loving family to the wolves. No matter that they planned to betray theBratvathey’d raised me to love, including the men who did and would rule it.

“It was them or the brotherhood. When I found out they planned to betray my husband’s family, I chose a side.”

“Betray them?”

“Politics and all that,” I say vaguely because Kiya’s not part of the family yet. No matter how much I like her. She doesn’t need to know all the gory details even if they’re part of the reason she’s here right now. Especially considering how observant she is.

“You don’t miss them?”

“Sometimes. But I can live without them. I couldn’t live without theBratva. Without my husband. My nephew. They were the family I chose.”

“Well, that’s where we’re different. I don’t miss my mother at all.”

There’s more to unpack there. But this isn’t supposed to be a therapy session. This is supposed to be a date. So I don’t ask any more questions. We don’t talk anymore at all until we’re at the exclusive club after skipping the line after they see my last name on my identification. The Vorobev name goes a long way in a good chunk of the city.

I pull Kiya along to the closest of the three bars and run my thumb over the back of her trembling hand.

“You okay?” I say over the loud music.

“It’s loud is all.”

“You’ll get used to it,” I assure as we arrive at the bar. “A Negroni for me. What do you want, Pretty Girl?”

She shrugs and says, “I don’t know.”

I frown. “Was the wine you had with me the first time you drank alcohol?”

“No. I’ve had it a few times. Just… not in this kind of place.”

While turning back to the bartender, I say, “What’s your favorite fruit, Pretty Girl?”

“Pineapple.”

“A Malibu cocktail.” Then I turn to Kiya and continue, “Only a few times, hm? I’m just surprised with the amount we drank, you weren’t flat on your ass. Someone knows how to hold their liquor.”

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