Page 29 of Bratva Wolf

“We’re all good. Papa is over the moon that Cynric’s marrying her and giving him a grandson.”

Damn. I’m missing it. Fuck! “That’s good, Sax. Did you call for something?”

“Arturo’s been asking about you. Have you heard from him lately?”

“No. Six weeks ago, I guess. Why?”

“Papa thought you should reach out to him and see what’s up.”

I make the turn into the parking spot I want. “Sure. I’ll call. Anything specific?”

“He’s been asking questions about Isabella’s dad and the Ivan guy who shot up your party.”

“That’s weird. Sure. I’ll tell you what I find out. Hug my brother and Isabella for me.”

“Yeah. Later.”

I disconnect the call, feeling dread settling on my shoulders. I should be with the family if Arturo is getting into family stuff. My mind wanders back to the day after my ninth birthday.

Voices echo in the foyer as we walk in through the front door. My father and his lead enforcer, my mother’s step-brother, argue in Russian. “He’s lost his damn mind.”

My father snarls. “Petrov tried to kill our family.”

“That’s why you should lie low until we find him.”

“Pfft. I’m not lying low. He’d already be dead if I’d had any luck last night.”

Wystan, my five-year-old brother, runs around us up the stairs as Cynric and I ease our heads around the corner of the room and skirt around to the edge of the kitchen as the men continue. We can both see them, but they wouldn’t see us unless they were really focused.

Uncle Daniel shakes his head. “Petrov had at least seven men with him. He’s declared war, and I’ll find him. There is no reason to risk you.”

My father raises his hand to brush off his statement. “You have a new child at home. How is my niece?”

“Isabella is beautiful. I’m not even sorry she’s not a boy.”

“Boys will come. Hell, you can have one of mine.”

“Ha! You don’t mean it.” He walks in the opposite direction, through the kitchen. I assume he’s going to say goodbye to our mother. Cynric and I ease away from the room.

“Boys?”

Our heads jerk to each other as we’re startled. Cynric lifts his head and walks toward his voice. “Yes, Papa.”

“How was school?”

His eyes focus on mine and dread pokes me in the back. “Fine.” I utter.

“Huh. Your mother got a call. You were fighting.”

I scoff. “No. Some boy had his hands on Wystan. I finished it.”

A small smile escapes my father’s scowl. “It’s your job to protect your brothers. Cynric will be busy leading the Bratva. You’re the hammer. He’s the tip of the spear.”

“I understand. The boy was picking on someone four years younger. Not a fair fight.”

He nods. “What was it about?”

Cynric clears his throat. “The boy teased Wystan about his name not being Russian.”

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