Page 60 of Bratva Bastard

The cab pulledup to the familiar house that I hadn’t seen in years. For the first time in over a decade, my mother and I stood outside of my grandparents’ home, unannounced.

I could only hope that my grandmother could put aside her grudge and let us in. She and my mother had had a falling out years ago. I’m still not totally sure what happened, I only remember visiting my grandparents a lot as a child, and then one day my mother said we wouldn’t be seeing them anymore. Any time I asked about it, she always said, “I’ll tell you when you’re older,” or she’d change the subject. It was too painful for her to discuss, so eventually, I stopped asking.

But now that we stood outside, I wished I’d have pushed my mother further so I could know what I was walking into.

We walked along the trail, a cobblestone pathway surrounded by foliage that led up to the front door. I raised my hand to knock, but my mother’s small fingers shot up to stop me.

“Wait. I don’t think I can do this,” she said, her eyes pleading with mine to turn around. But we couldn’t go back. It was time to resolve whatever happened between them.

“Mama, whatever happened, it’s in the past. It’s time to face Abuelita.” My tone was soft, meant to calm her, but when she still wanted to turn away, I said, “It’s too dangerous to go back.”

Before she could stop me, I knocked on the door, hoping my grandfather would be the one to answer. But when the door opened, it was my grandmother who stood on the other side of the threshold, my breathing hitched.

How angry were they? Would she smile, frown, laugh, cry, or punch my mom in the face? It was a toss-up, and my grandmother was a woman who—although she was kind—had a feisty side.

My grandmother stood in the doorway—silent, with an unreadable expression. Meanwhile, my mother cowered behind me, standing there, just as silent as my grandmother.

I guess I’d be the one to break the ice.

With a big grin, I extended my arms and said, “Abuelita!” in the cheeriest voice I could muster.

She welcomed my hug, but stared at my mother with daggers in her eyes. When I pulled away, she gestured us inside, still not speaking.

“Carlos,” she called out to my grandfather. “We have guests.”

Guests.Not family, but guests.

My grandfather stepped around the corner, and his eyes lit up seeing us. “Crissy! Sandra!” He rushed over to us, grabbing us both in for a hug. “Dios mio, what are you girls doing here?” His eyes landed on our bags that sat outside the open front door.

“Hola, abuelito. Can we talk? I need to ask you something important.”

He walked us into the living room, me and my mother sitting on one couch, while my grandparents sat on the couch opposite.

“What’s going on?” my grandfather asked.

“It’s a long story, but we need somewhere safe to stay for a while.”

28

Maxim

Misha stared out the second floor window as he listened to us explain every detail about the phone call, and our theory of Sorokin.

“We need to talk to that assholenow,” I said.

“I will arrange a meeting with Sorokin, demanding that nothing with the wedding continue until after Crissy is returned safely.”

“We ought to put an end to this fucktard’s miserable life right this second,” I thundered.

But Misha, being the eldest, always had the final say. “Absolutely not. We need this truce, and we will continue with our plan.”

Great. I’d still be marrying that pain in the ass, Ana. Why did life take such pleasure in fucking me?

We arrived at Sorokin’s home hours later. Thankfully, Ana wasn’t there, so I didn’t have to deal with her bullshit.

Sorokin invited us in, leading us to a private room where none of us had been before. Like at the nightclub, there were two guards who took our weapons, and we sat on the large golden couches—Misha and Dimitry on one, and me on the other—while Sorokin sat on what I could only call a throne, a large chair in the center of it all.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Sorokin asked in his too-sweet voice that was nothing but a lie.

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