Page 70 of Brutal Unionn
She nods, swallowing whatever fear is bubbling in her throat. Isee it. I ignore it, because this is more important than her fear. More important than her tears.
“Aunt Nadi?” She whimpers, the excitement of being cool like Aunt Nadi has worn off and now all I hear is her fear.
I crouch forward, placing one knee in the dirt and tuck a loose strand of her honey-blonde hair behind her ear. “Yes Mia.”
She blinks up at me, tears crusting over her bottom lashes. “I think I cut myself.”
I glance down at her hand, and sure enough, a small bead of blood trickles down her arm, thin and bright against her skin. It's not deep. Barely more than a paper cut. But that doesn't matter. Because something inside me shifts.
A part of me snaps—old reflexes urging me to scold her for letting her guard down. For being careless. But another part… stares at that blood like it’s a mirror. A line between human and monster. Between what she is and what I became far too young.
The will to be empathetic rises like something foreign, something I once buried. I force every violent instinct to heel.
I nod and pull away, slowly, carefully taking the ninja star from her hand. “That you did, Solnyshko,” I murmur.
I press a kiss to the center of her tiny palm, a gesture I’ve never seen done, just felt was right, and then I lift my voice toward the house. “Gwen! Mia cut herself.”
The porch groans as footsteps rush forward. Gwen emerges, radiant even in faded denim jeans and a white t-shirt, her thick black curls piled into a high ponytail. There’s a kind of grace in her I’ve never had—no matter how hard I pretend.
She runs to us, barefoot and smiling, that perfect softness etched into her like it was inherited. She scoops Mia into her arms and whispers something low and soothing against her ear, her voice coated in honey.
I stare at the two of them. This family… all the goodness in it lives in everyone else but me. And sometimes, quietly, I hate them for it. What did I do in a past life to end up with all this bad fucking luck?
I don’t wait for Gwen’s mothering to make me ill. I don’t wait for Mia to tell me that next time she will hit the mark, or look at me without anxiety and fear. I turn and walk away, boots crunching against the dirt path as I make my way toward the house.
The kitchen smells like rosemary and spice—Nik must’ve been up for a while. He stands at the stove, shirtless, tattoos half-faded under the afternoon light, my name carved into him in thin sharp marks along his torso and a pan of steaks sizzling in front of him like he’s trying to pretend things are normal.
“Practice go well?” he asks without turning.
I pour myself a glass of water and lean against the counter. “Your children are not fighters.”
He lets out a low whistle, shaking the pan slightly. “Three years ago that would’ve made me proud.”
I glance at him. “Three years ago I would have said no child should know how to fight.”
He turns toward me, face drawn, mouth tugging into something grim. “I think I raised them to be too soft.”
I shake my head, holding the cool water in my mouth for a moment too long before swallowing. “I think you raised themthinking you would always be alive. It is my fault you may not see their thirteenth birthday.”
He sets the pan aside, leans both hands against the edge of the counter, and sighs through his nose. “I will not tell you again, Nadia. It is not your fault. If Aleksandr feels no shame, then you shouldn’t either.”
“Aleksander has a safety plan that you do not,” I snap, looking to see Mia’s head curled into the crook of Gwen's neck as they laugh. I take a sip of my water, eyes fixed on a crack in the tile. “You put everyone in danger. I am their aunt and Godmother, and since I have no children they are the closest thing anyone can kill. We need to get you out of here. We need a new plan.”
I hear the sharp clatter of a knife hitting the sink, followed by a long, heavy sigh from Nik.
“We have a safety plan,” he says, voice low but fraying at the edges.
I don’t look at him. I keep my eyes on the cracked tile floor, on the condensation sliding down my glass, anything but him. “The safe houses aren’t an option,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. The thought of losing more family makes something hollow in my chest ache. For a stupid second, I wish my mother were still alive. The ache sharpens. I haven’t wished for that in years—and now isn’t the time to be so fucking sentimental.
“No,” he says, even quieter now. “We have a place out in Bali.”
My head snaps up so fast my neck stings.
“Bali?” I bark, storming toward him. “Why the hell are you here if there’s safety for you there? Why are Gwen and the kids here?”
Nik straightens up, but he doesn’t back away. “Because I cannot leave you alone.”
I step in closer, practically chest to chest now. “Nikolai. This is yourwifeandchildrenwe’re talking about.”
