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"Et tu, Brute?"

I swallow.

"He was my little brother," I say, my chest tightening. "I protected him. I loved him. When we were younger, I held him accountable for things, but I never imagined I’d have to hold him accountable for this."

She doesn’t flinch.

She doesn’t recoil.

She just absorbs it.

And the pain in my chest loosens just a little.

"I can see that," she murmurs. "What happens when someone betrays the Bratva?" she asks. "I know what the Irish do—something tells me the Bratva is even worse."

I let out a humorless laugh.

"I don’t know," I admit. "The Irish are pretty fucking brutal. We lose the privilege of our tattoos."

She cringes.

Her eyes widen. "Oh my god. So you… youremovethem? I’m guessing that doesn’t involve a laser.”

"Yeah."

I don’t tell her how.

I don’t tell her that, in my brother’s case, it involved a blowtorch.

The smell of burnt flesh still makes me retch if I think about it too long. I can’t even grill anymore.

I force a smile. She looks at me like she understands exactly what I mean.

"Oh, Jesus, Matvei."

"Yeah." My throat tightens. "That was just the beginning."

I drag a hand through my hair. "I made him state the code while he was dying. Semyon had already beaten the shit out of him. He was conscious when I finally got to him." I swallow. "I told him I loved him. But I was loyal to the process. And I was the one who pulled the trigger."

She doesn’t speak for a long moment.

"You shot him?" she finally asks.

I nod.

Rafail didn’t make me dispose of the body.

I was a fucking wreck after that.

I couldn’t sleep.

Couldn’t eat.

My mother tried to have me committed, but Rafail intervened. She didn’t know the half of it.

I shake my head, laughing bitterly. “Started smoking then.”

“Did it help?” she asks quietly.