Page 56 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva
I feel sick to my stomach when I remember how they bragged about slitting an old man’s throat. Thesecan’tbe the same brothers who taught me to ride a bike.
What the hell happened to those restaurants they run? What more is there, lurking beneath, that I don’t know? My body is so numb that it protects me from falling apart. But my mind is still reeling, still grappling, still feeding questions into my heart.
I know Ilariy is worried. I can feel it in the way he keeps looking over at me to see if I’m okay, how he asks, every few minutes, if I am. I can’t bring myself to speak.
When we get home, I push open the car door before the driver can even reach my side. I begin to move toward the house to head inside, ignoring the guard who opens the door to thefoyer. I don’t want to be outside, around his men. They’ll only smile at me and ask how my day is going, and I don’t have a word of politeness or kindness left in me to give.
Ilariy follows me in, his quick footsteps catching up behind me. I stop at the bottom of the stairs, looking up, thinking I should just climb into bed, curl up with oblivion, and pretend today never happened.
But I can’t get myself to move. The idea of pretending sickens me, makes me feel weak. For months, I believed what Iwanted to, and not the truth Ilariy laid bare.
Look what that got me.
I turn to face him, needingallthe answers.
“What did you mean back there?” I meet his gaze and stand taller. “When you mentioned Nikandr and Lilibeth and said they were nearly destroyed—what did my brothers do to your family?”
Ilariy suddenly turns pale and shakes his head. “Arina, you’ve had enough shocks for one day.”
“Don’t patronize me!” My voice is shrill, and I see Ilariy wince. “I want to know everything. Tell me what they did!”
Ilariy looks torn, and I take a step toward him, clutching his hands between my fists, and meet his warm, caramel eyes with mine. “Please,” I beg.
Ilariy clenches his jaw, like telling me this is hurting him somehow, but he wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me away from the staircase.
“Not here,” he tells me. “Let’s get you someplace private.” He leads me to the drawing room.
He closes the door behind us and walks to the bar, pouring two glasses. I stand by the couches, watching him for answers, and when he comes back, he hands me a neat whiskey and motions at the sofa.
“If you want me to sit, I’ll sit,” I snap, my patience wearing thin.
He sits beside me and reaches out to take my hand, watching me with wary eyes.
“Will you please tell me already?” I say angrily. “If I’m going to lose my entire family in one day, I at least deserve to know why.”
“Fine.” He takes a sip of his whiskey, like he’s trying to buy time.
“Just tell me!” I narrow my eyes at him.
Ilariy’s eyes darken. “Your brothers, along with your cousin Viktor, targeted Nikandr a few years ago. He was the softest of us and very impressionable. They brought him into their circle. At first, it just seemed like they were being nice.”
“And then?” I prompt when he pauses.
“Then they introduced him to drugs. Not just recreational stuff—hard stuff. Heroin, crack cocaine, drugs we’ve never heard of. They deliberately got him hooked, Arina. They needed someone with access to money and power, and once they had him addicted, they used that to control him.”
My stomach lurches with disgust. “They couldn’t!”
“It is.” His voice is flat. “They had him running errands for them, stealing information, moving product. He was so far gone he couldn’t see what they were doing. By the time we figured it out, he was a shell of himself. It took us years to get him clean, and Agafon was beside himself, sending him fromrehab to rehab to rehab, until there came a point when Nikandr stopped speaking to us. Every day, we worried he might be dead in a ditch somewhere. And even now...” He trails off, his expression haunted, before he looks back at me. “He’s not the same. He’s clean, but that spark he had when he was younger, that fight in him, we can’t seem to find it.”
I think of how humorous Nikandr has been every time I’ve met him, but now I realize I’ve never seen him drink.
Now, I understand that harrowed look in his eyes, even when he laughs, one that makes him seem older than his years.
I remember how kindly he treated me despite who I was, and I’m filled with shame. I gulp back the scotch, needing to take the edge off, and set down the glass before turning to Ilariy.
“And Lilibeth?” I ask, petrified of hearing more, but needing to.
Ilariy’s jaw tightens. “That was about four months ago. They were already married, but your brothers and Viktor kidnapped her from Agafon’s cabin.”
