Page 39 of Echoes of Sin

“Most of them are just rites of passage. This one I got when my training was complete, and this one is in honor of my father.”

“And what about this one?” Her fingertips danced up and down the length of the Tokarev pistol down the right side of my torso.

“I always thought the Tokarev was the coolest gun I’d ever seen when I was a kid. I always dreamt of having one.”

“Do you?”

“I do, but I don’t use it as much as I thought I would.” Back then, I pictured my life like the old American westerns my father enjoyed. “Looks good, though, right?”

Her lips tugged into a grin. “It does, but it could also be the canvas.”

There it was, the smile I longed for. “My turn. Why did you drop out of college?”

She froze. It was almost imperceptible, but I saw it before she worked hard to relax her limbs. When she did relax against the pillow, she shrugged. “Life just got in the way.”

It wasn’t the full truth, but I knew there was a lot of truth in those six words. I wanted to push like hell, and I would. But not yet. I knew she had been at college with a scholarship, so perhaps something happened, and it was withdrawn. “That’s too bad. You were the smartest girl at WVU.”

“I’m almost finished with my degree. A few more semesters and it’ll be done.” She seemed proud and yet resigned.

“You no longer want it?”

“No, it’s not that. I want it and I’ve worked hard to achieve it and pay for it. But at this point, it feels like another item to check off the list, you know?”

“I do. After my father was killed, becoming part of the bratva just didn’t hold the same appeal, the same excitement as it did.”

“But you’re happy with it now?” My answer seemed important to her. Brooke leaned in a little closer and her gaze was fixed on my face.

“I am, yes, but I am also resigned to this future. This is my legacy. It is what my father wanted for me.”

“Is it what you want for you?”

“I don’t have an answer to that yet, but I am working on it.” I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the half-empty bottle of wine and refilled both glasses. Telling her the truth would require alcohol. “You are one of the only people I can trust.”

She frowned. “You don’t know me anymore, Ilya.”

A fleeting shadow passed over her face, I wanted to comfort her and ask what was wrong.

What about your family?” she asked, before I could question her.

I took a breath, I had been loath to tell her, but she deserved the truth. “You want to know who put the hit out on you?”

She put her wine glass down and turned to me, her eyes wide, “Who?”

I stared at the liquid in my wineglass and sloshed it around, the color reminded me of blood. Blood that would be spilled no matter how this turned out.

“Who? Ilya. Tell me,” she urged.

“My uncle, Oleg.”

She sat up abruptly, making wine slosh over her naked breasts. “How does your uncle know my name, Ilya? Does that mean he also knows where I live? What else does he know about me?” Her questions came in rapidly like an automatic weapon and they grew more panicked with each one. “Ilya!”

I reached for her, but she pulled back.

“Answer the question, please.”

“I don’t want to scare you, but I also don’t want to lie to you.”

“I need the truth, the absolute truth.” She looked panicked and I couldn’t understand why. She was safe with me—my uncle couldn’t get to her here.

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