Page 27 of Vendetta Vows

"You think I don't know my own son?" Lev's voice rises and for a moment, he almost sounds like Father. "The bratva needs strength, not someone who cries on command."

I shake my head, disgust rising in my throat. "Have you ever considered giving it all up? For your kids' sake?"

"What?"

"You heard me." The words flow out, fueled by whiskey and years of buried rage. "Are you really okay with the fact that one day Mikayla will have to marry some monster who'll beat her the way Father used to beat Mother? Or that you're okay with Stella and Sofia being forced to marry men twice their age?"

Lev's face darkens, a familiar storm building. "Don't you fucking dare."

"Tell me I'm wrong," I challenge him.

"It's easy for you to criticize from the outside." He stands, pointing at me accusingly. "Those aremychildren, Ruslan. Not yours. Mine."

"At least I treat them like children." I step closer, refusing to back down. "Not like goddamn pieces on a chess board."

Something flickers in Lev's eyes. Doubt, maybe even shame, before it's buried again. He sinks back onto the couch, suddenly looking exhausted.

"You'll still increase the shipments when I ask?" he asks after a long silence.

"I'm a man of my word."

Lev nods, studying the carpet. Then he looks up, that familiar calculated gleam returning to his eyes. "I know what you've been doing, by the way."

My heart skips a beat. "What are you talking about?"

"That girl you've been watching." He smiles when he sees my reaction. "The one who avoids cameras and appeared in Los Angeles seven years ago out of nowhere. You're digging up something. And if I know you're digging up something, then so do others."

"Are you threatening me, Lev?" I ask, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

My brother holds his hands up, a gesture of mock surrender that does nothing to ease the tension between us. "Not threatening you, Lanchik. I'm warning you."

"The past won't repeat itself." My fingers tighten around the whiskey glass. "I won't let it."

The memory of Leslie's terrified eyes flashes through my mind. The last living moment before the knife sliced open her throat. I blink away the image, focusing on Lev's face instead.

"That's not your choice to make. As much as I can make my presence felt within theZapadniye Vori, this is ultimately something out of my control."

He stands, straightening his jacket with practiced precision. "If theZapadniye Vori, or more accurately, if Gregor Belov decides thattheywant to force you back into the fold, they'll do it. Whatever it takes."

The implied threat hangs in the air between us. I've seen what "whatever it takes" means in our world.

Screams. Pleas. Blood.

"Is that why you're here? Did you ask me to come at your own initiative," I ask carefully, "or are you still dancing to Gregor's tune like a good little puppet?"

A flicker of something—annoyance, perhaps, or maybe guilt—crosses Lev's features.

"What does it matter?" He spreads his hands. "You're on the outside looking in."

I step closer to Lev, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "Listen to me very carefully. If Gregor or anyone else in theZapadniye Voritries to touch the people I care about—inside or outside the family—I won't hesitate to make them my enemy."

I lock eyes with him, making sure he understands the weight behind my words. "I may be on the outside looking in, but don't think for a moment that I haveeverstopped being Vitaly's son."

Lev holds my gaze, his expression unreadable. But I see the slight twitch in his jaw, the almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment and pride.

He believes me. Good.

"You know, Lanchik, this is why I want to bring you back into the fold." His eyes gleam with something like pride. "One way or another, you are still a Dragunov."

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