Page 5

VADKA

As soon as I get to the bike, it feels as if a weight’s been lifted. Luka’s nanny was a middle-aged woman who taught him to sit at the table politely and chew with his mouth closed. But she was stern and a little detached, and even though I knew Luka to be safe, he cried every time I left.

He’ll be thrilled to see Ruthie when he wakes up. He loves her.

My phone connects to the Bluetooth on my helmet, revealing so many missed calls and texts from Rafail, I cringe.

He’s gonna kick my ass.

He might be my best friend, but Rafail does not fuck around when it comes to the brotherhood.

I ought to know. I’m one of the few members who wasn’t born into the Kopolov family by blood.

We’ve been friends since childhood, long before his parents died and he became the guardian to his siblings before he was barely an adult himself.

When we were just kids, neither of us could’ve imagined the way we’d both face the kind of loss you never fully recover from.

I hit the button and call him.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he growls.

“Fell asleep. I didn’t realize my phone was dead.”

I hear him blow out a breath on the other side of the line. When he lowers his voice and gets calm, heads are about to roll. I grit my teeth.

“Vadka. We talked. I can’t let this continue.” I can almost imagine him shaking his head on the other side of the line. “I swear to god, brother, you fuck up like this again, and I’ll demote you.”

Demotion in the Bratva is a punishment worse than death. I’d rather die than face the embarrassment.

“It won’t happen again, brother. I’m sorry.”

He sighs. “Ruthie’s at the house?”

“Yeah. She text you?”

“Yeah. Alright. Don’t come to the house. Meet me at Black Line. We have shit to go over, and it’ll be more fastidious that way.”

“Got it.”

I’m only a few minutes away .

I park my motorcycle in the Owner spot and tuck my helmet under my arm before I check my phone. Nothing from Ruthie.

Luka up yet?

I hate leaving him.

A few seconds later, I get a response. It’s a picture of Luka sitting at the kitchen table, grinning, eating something topped with billows of whipped cream. I can’t help but smile.

No juice until he ate first?

Ruthie

Yeah yeah

Little brat. I roll my eyes. I can still see her standing in the living room, eying my five o’clock shadow like she wanted to touch me.

My sister liked you clean-shaven.

It stuck with me for some reason, probably because I remember the way she and her sister used to bicker about it. Mariah hated beards, and Ruthie said she loved them and always teased me when she caught me first thing in the morning. Silly, pointless argument I thought I’d forgotten.

What the fuck’s the matter with me? I can’t think like this. God.

I move through the front of Black Line Security. My men nod. Some murmur greetings, but no one makes small talk. I get it. They don’t know which version of me they’re getting today. Hell, I don’t know which version of myself I’m getting today.

My father was a useless asshole, but he loved his proverbs and spouted them with regularity. I still remember some of them.

Gore ne sprosit, kogda pridet.

Grief will not ask when it arrives.

And isn’t that a bitch.

I swipe my badge at the entrance to the privacy room, the one with the maps, screens, and encrypted comms. This isn’t any old security firm but a fortress and a front. And every man here knows on which side of that line he stands.

Rafail is already waiting for me.

He doesn’t look up when I enter but just points at the screen. The motherfucker can hold a grudge.

“They’ve moved.”

Of course they fucking have.

I take in the red dots blinking on the map. “Any casualties?”

“None today, but it’s only a matter of time, Vadka. And this was near a fucking school. ”

“Jesus.”

My jaw tightens.

“And the thumb drive?”

“Still encrypted. Even Matvei hasn’t gotten shit. ”

I don’t answer. Instead, I walk toward the screens, take the mouse, and pull up the files. I move fast. The Irish aren’t stupid. They hit when we’re weakest.

“You can’t slip. Not now, Vadka,” Rafail says softly.

I still. I hate that tone. It’s worse than when he curses me out.

“I know.”

“Your phone was off. You missed the alert last night. You didn’t check until hours later, and only because Ruthie told you, didn’t she?”

I don’t answer. He’s right.

“You used to be the first on-site. Now I have to send men to cover for you.”

I turn to face him. “I’m sorry. Luka’s had a few rough nights.”

He raises a brow, cold and collected. “And you think the Irish give a shit about Luka’s sleep schedule? You think they’ll wait until you’ve had your morning coffee?” He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Brother, I’ve been exactly where you are.”

I know he has. I remember it vividly. It was the first night my father ever hit me, and I hit him back.

“I was eighteen when my parents died and left me with everything. I became a fucking father and pakhan overnight. I couldn’t fall apart.

” He shakes his head. “The same day of their funeral, I buried my parents, then went straight to the butcher shop to slit the throat of a traitor who thought to make good on our temporary setback. Fucking asshole owed us and thought he’d run, thought grief made me soft. ”

I nod. I didn’t know that. I wasn’t in the Bratva, not yet.

“You want to feel something, Vadka? Do it after the war. After you know your son’s safe. After you know you can wake up in the morning and depend on the sun to keep on rising.”

Rafail's voice slices clean through the fog in my head, cutting deeper than a blade. I don't look at him. I stare at the red lips still pulsing on the screen, glowing like fresh wounds. Targets.

An odd one. My jaw is clenched so tight that I can feel the tension throbbing behind my ears. Or is that a headache? I've lost track.

"I won't ever tell you to stop grieving," Rafail says, his voice rough.

I know he speaks from experience. "I don't know if that ever fully goes away.

But I'm telling you to weaponize it before someone innocent gets caught in the crossfire.

Be the fucking monster they're terrified of.

Not reckless, not going off half-cocked on a shooting spree.

Not the man who's burned himself the fuck out and is too tired to show up. "

My eyes snap to his. He's not calling me any of those things, but he's telling me that's what could happen. We’ve both seen it happen before. We both know we could see it happen again.

I think of Matvei, how he watched his sister die, and his brother—killed by his own hand because of betrayal. He continued to show up, even after we found out his parents betrayed him, too, that his whole fucking family was useless. And yet—he's still here.

But now he's in love, and I wonder if it hits the same.

I bite down the instinct to snap back at Rafail, that old defense mechanism. I could tell him I'm doing my best, that I'm raising a son alone, that I'm walking through my dead wife's ghost every single fucking day.

But I know him, and I know myself. He doesn't want excuses. And I don’t want to be weak. He wants results. So do I.

So I draw in a breath and let it out slowly.

And I find myself wondering, oddly, what Ruthie is doing right now.

Is Luka in her presence? Are they curled up on the couch watching TV?

Did he help her load the dishes after breakfast?

Is she sitting on the floor with him, pushing around his little race car that he loves so much?

She always had more patience with those things than I did—just like her sister—but Ruthie was crazier. Wilder. Mariah would be the one reminding Luka to brush his teeth, and Ruthie would be wondering how many more cookies they could have before bed.

Rafail clears his throat. I did it again—let my memory and focus wane. “What’s the plan? What do you need from me?”

He lifts his chin toward the screen. “This school right here? It’s not random. You know one of our shell companies owns the land behind it. What else can you tell me about this?”

I nod. I know one of our shell companies owns the land behind it. That site is clean. Untouched for years, but now? Movement.

“They’re using it as a base.”

My stomach sinks, and my hands clench into fists. Right near the fucking school.

“We have to keep the kids safe.”

“Yeah. It’s a fine line… Right now, no one’s said a word. Everyone’s still going to class like nothing’s wrong. Local police don’t know a fucking thing.” His voice is flat. Cold. “Fucking Irish scum using innocence like a shield.”

They don’t fucking care that the consequences for crime so close to school grounds carry a heavier weight.

I flex my hands, knuckles cracking under the pressure.

“We take them out.”

Rafail nods once. “Quietly. No casualties. No mess. You lead.”

Of course I fucking will. This is the price of coming back to life—of clawing my way out of the fucking bottle and putting my grief on hold. What did he say? Weaponize it.

I roll my shoulders, already calculating the angle of the approach. How many men. What time. What tools. “I’ll handle it.”

He studies me for a beat too long. “You sure I can trust you?”

There’s a lot on the line.

I meet his gaze. “I’m done fucking up, Rafail. ”

He nods again, slower this time. He believes me—or at least he wants to.

“You didn’t fuck up, brother. You’re grieving.

There’s a difference. Not once have you done anything I wouldn’t have allowed.

But you’re on the verge of making decisions that you might regret, and I don’t want that for you. Or for me.”

I know. My throat burns.

“I’ll have a file sent to your office. Clean team. Matvei will pull surveillance. Zoya’s on inside recon as usual. You’ve got until Thursday.”

“Thursday?”

He smirks, but it looks sad. “Luka’s school has an orientation parent breakfast Friday morning. Thought you’d wanna make it. That’s when they show him around, and he gets to meet his new teachers and all that shit. And…”

Fucker.

I blink, caught off guard. “You scheduled this around that?”

His smirk deepens. “I didn’t say I was heartless. Just mean.”

I’m already turning, my mind whirring. I can do this. Purpose. Rage—harnessed. I exit the ops room and move toward my office, my mind on Ruthie and Luka. Rafail’s on the phone, calling a meeting. So I take a second to tap out a quick message to her.

Don’t let him eat all the whipped cream, he gets a tummy ache.

Ruthie

Did you just say… tummy ache?

Seconds later, my screen lights up with a photo—Luka at the kitchen table, his bedhead wild, cheeks puffed out, whipped cream on his nose, his cheeks, and his chin, grinning like he didn’t cry himself to sleep the night before. I can’t help the smile that twitches at the corner of my mouth.

No juice yet, right?

Ruthie

What do you think, I’m new at this?

Fucking brat.

Ruthie

He said please. I bribed him with extra whipped cream and I regret nothing.

I have a quiet laugh. My thumb hovers over the screen longer than it should. What am I doing? I tap out a message before I can regret it.

He’s lucky you’re there. I mean it.

The typing bubbles appear. Disappear. Appear again. Like I’ve set her off-kilter. She’s always quick with a response.

So I send another one.

I have shit to do. I’ll be home late.

Ruthie

Oh no. Missing thrilling morning debates about cartoons and existential dread over coffee?

I groan.

You let him watch that stupid blue dog cartoon again, didn’t you?

Ruthie

Don’t come for me. That stupid fucking blue dog is holding this family together, Vadka.

I stare at the word longer than I should.

Family. It shouldn’t fit, but it does—too fucking well.

Maybe that’s the worst of it because when I close my eyes, I can still see her in my kitchen—barefoot, hair twisted up like a storm cloud, leaning over Luka with that half smile like the world isn’t ending around us, and her heart isn’t broken into pieces like mine.

Standing where she used to stand, where she used to sway her hips and hum when she made her coffee. Ruthie sings off-key. Mariah had the voice of an angel. It’s… different.

And I miss her.

I miss her so fucking much.

Luka reminds me of Mariah. And Ruthie… in a way I didn’t expect.