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The corner of his mouth quirked. “Do you want me to kill him?”
I didn’t think he was kidding.
“That’s my job,” I replied with a laugh.
Channeling the older man within him, he said with certainty and a sprinkle of pride, “It was mine long before you came along.”
I settled the debate with a pat on his chest. “I don’t doubt that.”
I never thought about how all these people around me had been in the game for most of their lives. Look at Maxim, sworn in as a teenager. His brothers? Same deal.
They had served the Bratva for just shy of my entire life. Some still considered me a newbie. I didn’t bother correcting them.
Through the dark lenses of my sunglasses, I watched the Galkins greet each other. Alisa talked to her brothers with a wide smile on her face. No bad blood between them. Not a drop.
Deciding their type of peace shouldn’t be disturbed, I told Enzo, “Surprisingly, I like them all.”
Some in different ways than others, but all were growing on me.
Enzo leveled me with a pointed look, forcing me to admit further. “Even if they have big mouths that never shut up.”
Satisfied, he went back to relaxing.
The Galkins joined us on the patio shortly after they shed their clothing, like the rest of us. Except for Enzo, of course, whose idea of letting go was undoing the top buttons of his dress shirt and kicking his shoes off. I’ll give him credit for mixing it up with a linen shirt, looser pants, and moccasins.
He was out of the suits, for once.
The afternoon sun warmed my skin, but didn’t come close to matching the effect the earlier encounter had on me.
The Galkin brothers were all gorgeous in their own way. Whoever started the line had to have some great genes. My hungry eyes roamed Maxim’s body, not bothering to look elsewhere.
Earlier, I convinced myself that I was just attracted to the competition.
After all, that was what had brought me thrills lately.
Wrong. But also, right?
There was more to the attraction. I might need to see this through to gain clarity on the subject.
Maxim neared the edge of the pool and stepped in. The dark gray swim shorts exposed his thick thighs, but it was his wide chest and broad shoulders that made his frame unmistakably him.
The entirety of his body revealed what I had expected from previous glimpses: an uncountable number of tattoos. Compared to his brother standing nearby, Maxim was dipped in ink.
I attempted to get a closer look, fascinated by the art. It was a hard task, given the mix of colors and images, the sun, and the present company.
Right away, one stood out above the rest. It wasn’t because of its size, but because it was unquestionably the least expected choice. Certainly not with the typical gangster tattoos of skulls, roses, lions, or biblical references.
Not Maxim.
Mindful of Alisa’s proximity, I peeked over the rim of my wine glass.
A butterfly tattoo covered the left side of his chest. Detailed work filled the outline, with the wing spread wide, occupying a major space. The insect’s body appeared to be cut in half, split almost perfectly above his heart.
The other end? Red ink mixed with black, creating a collision of colors.
The lines formed a pattern resembling brush strokes.
Even from a distance, the meaning behind the art was obvious, but I wished to hear the origin from his own mouth. Like scars, a story worth listening to hid behind that ink. I would know; I had a handful of them myself. Unlike his, mine were simple quotes, representing the feelings ofevents I’d lived through. A type of coping mechanism I relied on. Surely, there were healthier ways to process, but this one worked best, among other, more frowned-upon actions I often found myself doing.