Page 17 of Unbroken

“More juice?”

I pour him a little more and can already imagine Vadka’s stern look. The shake of his head. The quiet, parental disapproval.

He wouldn’t let him have any more. Whatever.

“Are you excited?” I ask, forcing brightness into my voice like sunlight through a crack in the wall. “We should go get you some clothes and shoes and things. A backpack too.”

He nods, face lighting up like I’ve just promised him the world. And maybe, for a little boy, I have.

He's starting preschool in the fall—something Mariah never wanted him to do. She liked being his teacher and had decided, with Vadka, that they would enroll Luka in schoolwhen he turned six years old, something quite common in these parts.

There was a waiting list though—a long one. The kind that takes years, not months. I remember when they first put his name down. Mr. I Plan Everything—Vadka—figured that if Luka could get in by the time he was five, he’d ease into childhood school a little more smoothly. I know Vadka wants him to have the routine though.

"Help me put the dishes in the dishwasher," I tell him with a smile. "We're gonna do some cleaning before we head to the supermarket."

He gets up from the table and eyes his plate. “I don’t want to.”

I lift a brow at him and wonder if he would have the audacity to tellVadkahe didn’t want to.

I first met Vadka when I was only fourteen years old. He was my older sister’s boyfriend, and I crushed on him at first, but then quickly squashed it. She was madly in love with him.

We all had shitty backgrounds. His dad was an abusive asshole, and my mom was almost a child herself. So he eased into our lives, and once he came, he never left.

I knew him before he was brought in, and I knew once Rafail became guardian of his siblings—and thepakhanof the Kopolov family Bratva, it was only a matter of time before Vadka would follow his best friend.

Vadka and Mariah made sure I went to school. They were serious about it, about schedules and clean clothes and grades and parent-teacher meetings. His dad was a memberof theNight Wolves,kind of like Russia’s version of Hell’s Angels. He took his temper out on Vadka as a punching bag. I still remember the night Vadka said he would never raise his hand to his child, no matter what, and that he would be the dad he didn’t have.

He and Mariah agreed. They were an excellent team. They were the kind of parents I wished I could’ve had. Sometimes, it just works out that way.

I stare at my nephew and wonder. We have a whole day together. He’s being naughty now—that's going to make for a very long day. Is he trying to get attention, or what? I don’t know anything about raising kids. So I tilt my head to the side and give him a look.

"You ate off that plate. I made you breakfast. The right thing to do is to put it in the dishwasher."

“No,” Luka says, crossing his arms over his chest. He still has those little dimples in his arms that remind me of him as a toddler.

“Would you tell your papa no?” I ask, and it feels weirdly reminiscent ofWait until your father gets home, so I immediately regret it—but it has the desired effect. He opens his eyes wide, then shakes his head and hangs it a little.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I would get in trouble with Papa.”

I cross my arms and muster up the sternest look I can manage. Why is it so easy for me to stand up to adults, but I’m learning a four-year-old can get the better of me?

“Do you think you won’t get in trouble with your auntie?”

He’s right—he won’t. But maybe I can bluff?

He frowns and looks as if he’s thinking it over.

“I told you we were going shopping, and I’m not going to buy you a treat if you’re not going to behave yourself,” I explain. “Don’t you know that?”

I totally will.

He thinks this over, then picks up his plate and brings it over to me. I blow out a breath. Crisis averted.

Okay. So bribery. Bribery works.