70

Mikhail
A guard pushes the front door open, and I march into Larissa’s home. I’m relieved to see the added security, but the atmosphere is contentious as men stand at attention as I pass. I don’t need to look far for Larissa. She sits in her favorite chair, ignoring my invasion of her happy home. She shuts off the television, and her guarded gaze meets mine. I know without a doubt that she’s aware of my intentions.
She knows everything. She knows too much.
“Good morning, Lara.” I approach her and lean down to kiss her cheek. She doesn’t move a muscle except her eyes, which follow my every move. She looks ready for battle, but we are no longer children fighting over a toy. “You look well.”
Her eyes narrow, and she sees straight through my charm.
“So, you’ve decided to visit me,” she says. “I wonder why?”
“I spoke to Rurik.” I sit down across from her and lean back. I rest my elbows on the armrests and place my feet on the ottoman. “Where is she?”
Larissa crosses her arms over her chest. “It took you two days to notice she was gone?” Her gaze could cut me, but there’s more to it than outrage. Larissa is worried … about me, about Maria, about everything.
“Are you really going to continue hunting the poor girl’s father?” she asks. “You’re fighting the same war our father did, and look where that got him.”
I stare at her for a long moment, considering my words. I could deny it, or I could come clean. But I can’t lie to my sister. I never will, even if she lies to me. So, I tell the truth in my heart, wedged so deep inside it will never come loose. I’ve been consumed by revenge ever since Desmier’s death, and now I’m caught in the same trap that ensnared my old man. But I can’t let go. I won’t.
“I will stop hunting Zakhar Budanov when he’s dead at my feet.” I lock eyes with her. “It’s what Father would want. It’s what Desmier would do.”
Her jaw clenches, and she fidgets in her seat. “You’re a fool, Mikhail.” Her straightforward words are sharp. “Your desire for revenge is blinding you to what you really are.”
I narrow my eyes. “And what is that?” I ask, my tone matching hers. “What am I?”
Larissa hesitates for a moment. “You’re not responsible for Desmier’s death. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.” She sighs, looking away. “Is this really about avenging them, or is it about proving something to yourself? Or to the brigadiers? Let them fight their own wars. And you go find something else to live for.”
I shake my head. “I can’t do that,” I reply softly, clutching my self-control. “He died because of me.”
Larissa stands and rushes toward me. Her hands grip my face as if she wants to shake me, but her touch is gentle while her words are desperate. “You were a boy then, Mikhail. A childless than ten years old. And Father asked you to kill.”
“He asked the same of Desmier,” I remind her darkly.
“But you are not Desmier!”
“As everyone seems so fond of reminding me!” I snap, knocking her hands away. “The hard facts are these, Lara. I didn’t do as Father asked, so Desmier took my place. Because of that, he’s dead. It’s that simple.” I stand up and pace the room, my voice rising. “His death is my fault. And I won’t let that go until it is avenged.”
Larissa looks at me with a look of disappointment mixed with concern. She struggles with her feelings about the Bratva, but this is something I have to do. Larissa is too kind hearted, caring more for actual family connections than what the Bratva represents. But on a larger scale, the Bratva takes care of all of us, so we must take care of it.
Family concerns may overlap, but the Bratva always comes first. When will Larissa finally understand that?
“I thought you came here for Maria,” Larissa says quietly. “Have you considered how your actions are hurting her?” She stares at me, and her spirit returns in a flash. “Because you are, Mikhail. You led her on.”
My chest tightens at the accusation. “I didn’t lead her on,” My gaze narrows on Larissa as if she’s the stand-in. “I told Maria the truth from the start. I won’t harm her. No one will harm her. I only want her father.”
“Mikhail.” Larissa hugs her body, and her face expresses a great loss as she stares at me. “I see you speak, but all I hear is Father’s cruel voice. When did you become him?”
“Maria knows the engagement is a fake,” I confess, avoiding her eyes. “She knows I used her for bait.”
Larissa laughs bitterly, and it jolts me to hear that sound coming from her. “She’s a naive little girl, Mikhail. She thought you fell for her. She thought you changed your mind and truly wanted to marry her. She thought you cared-and that’s the worst thing you did. You tricked her into thinking that you cared.”
Larissa walks past a table with several delicate blue and white vases. Her hand grazes the surface, and I wonder if one of those vases will end up aimed at my head.
I clench my jaw, trying to control my temper. “I don’t care what Maria thinks,” I lie. “She is a means to an end. She will have a choice when this is over. If she has sense, she will have a better family once the Bratva accepts her.”
“A better family?” asks Larissa. “She has a family, a family that the Bratva seems so intent on erasing. How can you do this to her?”
“It’s done, Larissa,” I reply coldly, moving toward her. “We’ve sent the message to the Lanzarre. Her father will die.”
“And you’ll sacrifice her for it, because she’s bait.” Larissa scoffs. “You can’t protect her if you don’t love her.”
The words cut deep. I know Maria could be in danger, but I have no choice. It’s for the Bratva and Desmier. They come first. Maria has to come last. But the thought of losing her bothers me more than it should. Her father is a traitor, and he has to be stopped. But I’ll keep my promise and protect her whether she wants me to or not.
“I didn’t think you were capable of being so cruel,” Larissa whispers, sitting down again. She stretches her body along the cushions as if our conversation has deflated her. “Let this war go, Mikhail Ivanov.”
“No!” I say, fully aware of her formal plea-like a boyar pleading with a tsar. “This isn’t my war, Larissa Gennadyevna. It’s ours. The Bratva’s. I’m fighting for survival, not just revenge.”
“Survival?” Larissa repeats bitterly. “What is there to survive? Take a good look around yourself, Mikhail! Father is dead. Mother is dead. Desmier is dead. What is even left of the Ivanov family? Just you and me. Maria doesn’t care about revenge or the Bratva. She cares about family, and she is ready to build a family with you. But once you kill her father, what do you think will happen? Do you think she’ll thank you, or do you think it’ll end with her plunging a knife in your heart?” Larissa sighs. “I’m tired of burying one Ivanov after another. Don’t make me bury the last one.”
“I can’t let the Lanzzare win, not now.” I take a breath, and I also feel worn down by all this talk. “I can’t let Desmier’s death be in vain.”
“Is that really worth sacrificing everything?” Larissa sounds angry again. “Is it worth losing everyone who loves you?”
“I love you, Lara,” I say quietly. “But this isn’t about love.”
“Get out,” Larissa says quietly. “I don’t want to see you again until you find some sense and stop listening to the same vipers who poisoned Father’s mind.”
I nod and walk toward the door. I didn’t come here to argue. I came to find Maria and talk to her, but I can’t now. I wanted to know if she had talked to her father or if she had any information. But knowing what I know now, she’d be a fool to tell me anything.
“Wait,” Larissa calls out. She dashes toward the front door and takes hold of my shoulder. My anger subsides when Larissa smiles at me-a tiny, hopeful smile.
“Don’t you want to see her?” she asks.
“No.” I pause and look toward the SUV and Anton inside, waiting.
She looks at me as if I have rudely crushed her expectations of me.
I hesitate, not wanting to admit the truth, but I do. “I’m afraid of what I might say to her,” I whisper. “She’s better off staying here with you.”
“So.” Larissa nods deliberately, her expression softening slightly. “There’s still a shred of the Kolya that I remember left in you.”
My gaze sharpens on her. “Tell Maria I will protect her.”
I leave the house, leaving behind the two people who matter most to me. As the door closes, I know I’m lost. I steel myself for the war ahead, knowing I must fight it alone. And knowing I will probably die and rest beside my brother. Revenge calls to me relentlessly, and its cold determination pulls me deeper into a world from which I will never escape.
But as the SUV drives on, I can’t help thinking about what Larissa said.
Father is dead. Mother is dead. Desmier is dead. Don’t make me bury the last one.