Page 7 of Toxic Salvation (Krayev Bratva #2)

VESPER

I can’t be angry when I’m with Luka. Every time I look at those sunken cheeks or the spark that’s slowly, cautiously brimming to life in his eyes, I feel a pang of guilt that threatens to overwhelm me.

I can’t be mad and love this boy who needs loving at the same time.

So I shove my fury into a box. Lock it tight. Tuck it away in the corner of my mind where it can’t hurt him.

“I’ve missed you so much,” I tell him, pulling him against my side as we sprawl on the carpet beneath his planetarium ceiling.

He giggles—that happy, carefree sound I’ve been starving for—and scoots closer until he’s practically glued to my hip. Above us, stars and planets drift in lazy circles, casting shifting shadows across his bedroom walls.

Everything feels manageable from down here. The world seems smaller, quieter. Less likely to fall apart and crush us beneath the rubble.

“Were you serious about the science museum?” he asks, his voice careful in the way children get when they’re afraid of disappointment. “Because I haven’t been since the last time we went.”

I turn my head to look at him. “Really? How come?”

His shoulders lift in a small shrug. “I was mad at Uncle Kovan. I wanted to go with you.”

I reach for his hand, threading our fingers together. “Seems like you’re mad at everyone these days.”

He goes rigid beside me, trying to pull away, but I hold on. After a moment, the fight goes out of him and he relaxes back into the carpet.

“I don’t know what happens to me,” he admits. “I just hate how everything is now. And that makes me want to hurt people.”

“Is that why you’ve been picking fights at school?”

“I figured if I got in enough trouble, Uncle Kovan would eventually miss a call and they’d have to contact you.” He turns his head to meet my eyes. “Pretty smart, right?”

My chest hurts. This kid is nine years old and he’s already learned how to manipulate the system to get what he needs. “You’re brilliant, Luka. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. But you’re also way too smart to be throwing punches at school.”

“I don’t mean to start real fights,” he protests. “It just happens. Someone says something stupid and I get so angry I can’t think straight.”

“I know.” I push up onto my elbow so I can see his face properly. “And I get it. Sometimes, the world feels out of control and that makes us act out. It’s normal. But it’s also making things worse for you.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, staring up at the artificial constellations. “I don’t understand why he broke up with you.”

I hesitate. It would be so easy to trash Kovan right now. I could tell Luka exactly what kind of coward his uncle really is. Explain that some people run the moment things get real.

But I’m better than that. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

“Some things don’t make sense until a long time afterward.” I bend down and press a kiss to his forehead. “Come on. Time for bed.”

Getting Luka settled takes longer than usual.

He keeps finding reasons to delay—he needs water, then he can’t find his favorite stuffed animal, then he remembers a question about his homework.

I know what he’s really doing. He’s trying to make this moment last as long as possible, terrified that once I leave his room, I’ll disappear again.

Finally, he’s tucked under his covers, dark hair spread across his pillow. I’m adjusting his blankets—when something strange happens. A fantasy image appears.

For just a moment, it’s not Luka lying there.

It’s another boy. Smaller, with sandy blond hair and deep green eyes that look at me with complete trust. He reaches up with chubby fingers, trying to touch my face, and I stoop down to kiss his forehead, and he looks up at me and his lips start to pucker up like he’s going to say Mama, and I say back?—

“You look worried.”

I blink hard, and Luka is there again, watching me with concern creasing his young features.

“I’m fine,” I lie, pulse thundering in my temples. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About how much I’ve missed you.”

He studies my face for a long moment. “I don’t want you to go away again, Vesper.”

I shouldn’t make promises I can’t keep. I shouldn’t give this kid false hope when his uncle made it clear where I stand in their lives.

But when I look at Luka’s face—at the fear there, the desperate need—the words he needs slip out anyway.

“I’ll try my very best not to.”

“He’s asleep.”

Osip and Pavel are in the living room when I come downstairs, cigars balanced between their fingers. They stub them out the moment they see me and jump to their feet with the guilty expressions of men caught doing something they shouldn’t.

“Don’t break up the party on my account,” I say sarcastically, heading for the front door. “I was just leaving.”

They exchange a look and file out of the room without argument.

Which leaves me alone with Kovan.

He’s slouched in his chair, attention fixed on the crystal tumbler of whiskey in his grasp. He looks like he’s been drinking for a while, but knowing him, it probably takes a lot more than a few glasses to make a dent.

“It’s late,” he remarks without looking up. “You should stay the night.”

I actually laugh. “Are you kidding me? In case you missed the memo, we skipped right past the ‘cute sleepover’ portion of our relationship. In fact, I’m pretty sure that ship sailed when you told me I was nothing to you. I’m going to get an Uber back to the school so I can get my car and?—”

“Osip already collected your car from the school and had it delivered to your apartment. You’re welcome.”

“Great. Then I’ll just take the Uber straight back to my?—”

“No. You won’t.”

The emotionless way he says that makes my blood pressure spike. “What is this, Kovan? You won’t let me leave now?”

“We have things to discuss.”

“Fine.” I plant my fists on my hips. “Let’s discuss Luka and the fact that his behavioral problems are a cry for help that you’re choosing to ignore.”

“Vesper—”

“Or, how ‘bout this: We could talk about the way you threw me away because you got scared. Would you like that?”

He snorts as he reaches for the whiskey bottle and pours himself another generous measure. “What the hell do I have to be scared of?”

“Loving me? Losing me? I don’t know. Take your pick.”

He drinks half the glass in one swallow, and I watch his throat work. “You think pretty highly of yourself.”

“Actually, I don’t give a shit! If you don’t want to talk about that, let’s discuss the Keres instead. How’s that for a conversation starter?”

His entire body goes still. “The Keres are not your concern.”

“Except they operate out of my hospital. And you’re involved with them. And apparently—” My voice cracks despite my best efforts. “So was my father.”

“The less you know, the better.”

“You lied to me from the beginning.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Bull shit ,” I snap. “You were trying to cover your own ass. And I was so stupidly infatuated with you that I bought every excuse you fed me.” I take a step closer, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

“We’re not friends. We’re not partners. We don’t owe each other anything except honesty. You owe me that much, Kovan.”

He sets down his glass with deliberate care. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“You told me you were stopping the organ harvesting. You said it was over.”

“For me, it is.” He’s still emotionless. “The organ market was my father’s creation. He and Ihor built it up, recruited surgeons they thought would make good soldiers.”

“Surgeons like my father?”

He says nothing. Neither a confirmation nor a denial.

“Tell me the truth,” I croak. “Was Ihor lying when he told me about my dad? Was he just trying to hurt me, drive a wedge between us?”

Kovan looks away, staring at the fireplace instead of meeting my eyes.

The sob that tears out of me sounds like it’s coming from someone else. My chest feels like it’s on fire, every breath a struggle.

“So it’s true then? My father was part of the Keres?”

“It was before my time, Vesper. I never met your father, never handled his accounts.” He pauses, combs a hand through his dark hair. “But I checked the files I have access to. It looks like he was their chief surgeon for several years.”

There’s suddenly not enough air in the room to keep me standing.

Everything I believed about my father—his integrity, his dedication to saving lives, his moral compass—crumbles in an instant.

The man who taught me that medicine was about service, about putting patients first, was harvesting organs from unwilling victims.

I feel nauseous.

“I want to go home,” I manage, shoving my hands deep in my pockets to hide the way they’re shaking. “Let me go home.”

“That’s not possible. Here is the safest place for you and our son.”

Our son. He says it so matter-of-factly, like he’s already adjusted to the idea. Meanwhile, I’m standing here on the verge of a psychotic break.

“You actually want me to stay?”

“I don’t want any of this,” he corrects. “But you’re pregnant and you’re here. Which means I have to take care of you.”

“I am not your charity case?—”

He’s out of his chair and in my face before I can finish the sentence, those green eyes blazing with fury and anguish. “You saw what the Keres is capable of, Vesper! You know what Ihor is willing to do! He already knows too much about you. Do you really want to put our baby at risk?”

I want to argue. I can take care of myself and I don’t need his protection or his pity.

Or at least, that’s what I’d like to believe. But the truth is, I’m terrified. Of Ihor, of the Keres, of the future growing inside me.

Most of all, of the man standing far too close for comfort.

“No,” I whisper. “I don’t.”

“Good. Then it’s settled. You’re staying.”