Page 89 of Shadows of the Past
I take a slow breath, feeling my heartbeat even out. I don’t know what life will look like from now on, but I do know the world is rid of one more snake and it’s time to go after the rest of his nest.
?
The next day, we’re on our way to Roman’s office. Even though our window of time is short, I know this talk is overdue. I have no idea what kind of relationship we’ll have going forward because you don’t just erase years of distance, years of building your own separate lives.
Stepping off the elevator, I spot a guy in a purple suit and a yellow tie. I raise an eyebrow as he gives me a once-over.
"Officially, you’re my favorite brother. Love the leather jacket, and you definitely got the ‘stole your bike and your girl’ look going," he says.
Julia bursts out laughing, and I can’t help but smile, too, even though I try to brace myself for whatever tension waits in that office.
The door swings open and Luna, Roman, and Niko turn to greet us. My eyes immediately find Luna, making sure she’s all right. She’s not my problem, but the truth is, she’s the main reason Ivan Rastovski just died of a "sudden heart attack."
"Are you okay?" I hear myself ask, catching the tension in my twin’s stance.
“If she hadn't been kidnapped by you yesterday, she probably would be," he snaps, and I almost laugh.
"She’d be dead if Julia and I hadn’t been there," I say quietly.
He knows I’m right. The Irish would have taken her, and at best she’d have ended up trafficked, at worst, dead.
I can see how raw his nerves are, and honestly, I can’t blame him. The thought of Julia ever being in that kind of dangermakes something burn behind my eyes, a fury I couldn’t hide if I tried.
"Roman, I know you have questions, so let's answer them. We all have other crises to resolve," Julia speaks up, her voice calm, no-nonsense. She’s right.
Moscow is chaos. Ilya called this morning, and there’s paperwork piling up, deals to close, a funeral to arrange. Time isn’t on our side.
"How long have you known about us?" Niko’s question draws my eyes to him.
"Since I was fifteen."
They both look stunned, and I can already see Niko’s next question forming.
"Why did you never reach out?"
Fear.Fear of giving a monster leverage over me. Fear of being rejected because it’s obvious how close you are, how you’ve always had each other’s backs. I never had anybody.
The anger simmers, at the universe, at them. Sure, they both suffered, but at least they suffered together. I went through hell alone until I met Julia.
"I didn’t need you," I say, the lie sour on my tongue serving as a shield against the ache squeezing my chest. Because admitting I’m jealous of what they have is a wound I’m not ready to show. Because I always wanted to belong here, even if belonging would have been another brand of hell with Alexei.
Roman just mutters, "’Until now," his voice tight with frustration.
Part of me wants him to be upset. Part of me wants them to hurt—just a little, just enough.
"Bingo."
Julia’s beside me, watching like I’ve lost my mind. I usually keep my bitterness to myself, but today I can’t stop it from slipping out. The way they all communicate with a glance, it gets to me.
"Maksim!" she scolds, her patience thinning. "Can't we be adults and talk normally?" Before I can answer, she keeps going. "You want to know everything? I'll tell you everything. Max was adopted at age six from an orphanage near Moscow. His new adoptive father was human garbage, a predator who abused Max for years."
Their eyes fill with pity, and it makes me want to disappear. I don’t want that look. My story isn’t one you tell kids at bedtime. It’s jagged, ugly, the kind that breaks a person and remakes them harder. I look down because it’s still mine.
"But Ivan Rastovski didn't just want a new toy. He wanted an heir. A successor to take over all the family horrors and carry them forward. At fifteen, Max had his first mission in Atlanta. That's when he accidentally saw a picture of you and your family in the newspaper. It was obvious enough what had happened."
I remember that day. Passing the newsstand, catching a glimpse of my own face, only it wasn’t me. Somewhere out there was a version of me who hadn’t been beaten, starved. Who didn’t flinch at the smell of whiskey and cigars. Who didn’t learn to fear the dark.
Later, I learned Roman’s life wasn’t easy either, being Alexei’s oldest son. But he had something I never did—comfort, a shoulder to lean on. He had Niko.
