Page 21 of Scarlet Vows

I numbly choose mud cake, and when the staff disappears, Santo reaches into his pocket and presents Ilya with a business card.

“I heard about Aleksandr’s passing.” He nods at the card he places in front of Ilya. “Reach out to me once you gain control of the family. I’ve got a business proposition for you, one I’m confident you’ll like, Ilya.”

I take a bite of the cake, and I know it’s sublime, but honestly, it could be cardboard for all the attention I pay it.

If it were Demyan here, he would throw the card back. He’d taunt and bring Santo down a peg or three. Ilya doesn’t. And I’m pretty sure it’s partly because I hate that kind of thing, and partly because he’s different from Demyan in important ways.

It’s why they work so well together. They balance each other.

It’s not to say Ilya isn’t arrogant when he wants to be. He’s as pigheaded and stubborn as my brother, but there’s a softer, more in touch with the modern world vibe about Ilya, one Demyan was denied by our father. One he’s learning with his family, with Erin.

Ilya nods. “I’ll do that. When I’m ready. And of course, there are no promises if I’ll be interested.”

“Of course.” The smugness returns to Santo, and I think it may be his default setting. “Eat up your dessert. Have some drinks at the bar on me. This has been fun, but I’ve got other places to be.”

I take another bite so that I don’t have to say goodbye to Santo. Once he’s gone, I set down my fork.

“What the hell, Ilya?” I demand.

He takes my plate and calmly starts eating the cake. “What?”

“What?” I hiss, looking at him. “Was any of that true?”

He looks down at the plate and eats another bite before pushing it away and pouring the rest of the bottle into his glass. A dark blush stains his cheeks.

Ordinarily, his embarrassment would delight me, but not right now.

“It’s all true,” he admits.

“How long have you known? How did I not know?”

“I found out two days ago.”

“When we had coffee?”

He nods.

I glare. “You didn’t tell me?”

“You had a lot on your mind.”

“Had a lot…” I stop, finish my wine. “Ilya, I thought we told each other everything…”

I suck in a breath.

“So…” I switch to speaking Russian. “Bratva? You inherited your own bratva?”

“Yes, I just found out I’m meant to take over my family’s bratva. My grandfather’s. A man I didn’t know still lived until after he died last week.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I whisper, the words coming automatically.

He touches my hand. “Alina, thank you, but I didn’t know him. The rest… I didn’t know that either.”

I don’t know what to say. He’s immersed in the bratva world, working for my brother. But there’s a difference between being someone Demyan relies on and needs to being a separate powerhouse.

Ilya got shot, for crying out loud. I lost my love because of wars within organized crime. It’s deadly already without Ilya being another Demyan.

Erin is remarkable in how she’s accepted what my brother is, and even Demyan’s softened a little. This step back to Russia, even for a short period, is something I’ve never seen.