Chapter 44
SIMA
Time slows to a stop.
Maksim is at the door, looking lost. His boyish face is sharper now, much older than I remember, but the glint in his eyes is the same. The scar on his cheek, too—unmistakable.
Countless questions crowd my mind as I stare at the man who was once my baby brother.
What’s Maksim doing here? How did he even find this remote little café, far away from our family’s territory? Why are we crossing paths, today of all days, after twelve years of not seeing each other?
Why here? Why now?
He’s here for you, a tiny voice whispers in my head. I want to shut it off, but after years of living off of fear and paranoia, it’s hard to think of something like this as a coincidence.
Seeing him sends a jolt through me, equal parts recognition and dread. For a heartbeat, I’m twelve again, sneaking candy bars and laughing until our sides hurt.
Then reality slams in: my little brother is here, in Petyr’s territory, an adult in a pressed suit with an obvious gun bulge in his side, and nothing about this is innocent anymore.
We lock eyes.
I see him.
He sees me.
I can’t look away. Like a train wreck, I’m powerless to stop what’s about to happen.
“… Sima?”
Panic rolls through me like an icy wave. It steals my breath and locks my body into place. I can’t move, can’t think. The café hallway shrinks around me, trapping me between the past I thought I buried and the present I can’t escape.
But every instinct is telling me to run, so I do.
Try to, at least. I twist to turn away, but he’s faster. His hand shoots out, gripping my arm tight. Not cruel, but firm enough to freeze me in place.
“Sima.” His voice is a low rasp of disbelief. “It is you.”
“Maksim—” My throat closes on his name. I shouldn’t say it out loud, shouldn’t even let myself taste the syllables, but it’s too late.
Stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I should have feigned ignorance. Pretended I had no idea who he was, or what the name “Sima” meant. Answered in fucking French—anything.
Instead, like an idiot, I called out his name.
And now, he knows.
“I… I was walking by.” His eyes search my face like he’s trying to reconnect it to the girl he knew. It guts me to see it happen. To watch the consequences of my actions twist my brother’s face with pain. “I saw you in the window, and I thought… I thought, ‘It couldn’t be.’”
“Maks, please.”
But he keeps talking, as if in a trance. “We buried you. Mom and Dad—they think you’re dead.”
“Good,” I snap. “Keep them thinking that.”
My brother’s face changes. Shock replaces relief. “What the hell are you talking about?”
My gaze darts around. People are starting to watch. “Maks, please, let’s go somewhere else.”
“I agree.” His jaw sets. “You’re coming home.”
He starts dragging me towards the exit, but somehow, I resist. “Will you stop for one second and just listen?”
“Listen to what?” His eyes are hard now. “You’re alive. Now, you’re telling me you don’t want our parents to know. They’ve mourned you for over a decade, Sim. Do you have any idea what that did to them? To me?”
Guilt floods me. I’ve lived with that guilt all my life, but hearing it all laid out before me like this—I can’t bear it. Not now, with so much more at stake.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” I say sincerely.
“Then why the fuck did you run?!”
Suddenly, I realize we’re right against the window. Petyr’s car is parked right outside, with Luka at the wheel.
If he catches sight of Maksim, he’ll recognize him on the spot. He’ll see nothing but a threat. And then…
He’ll do to my brother what my family did to Petyr’s.
No. I can’t let that happen. I can’t watch Maksim be gunned down in front of me. Bratva or not, he’s still my baby brother.
And I have to protect him.
“Forget me, Maks.” My voice trembles despite my attempts to steady it. “Pretend this never happened.”
“I can’t do that, Sim.” His grip tightens just a fraction. “Just come home. Explain to me what happened, and I’ll help you tell Mom and Dad—”
“I don’t want to tell Dad,” I say. “I can’t, Maks. Please, don’t make me.”
I have no idea what Maksim hears in those words, but the mention of our father is never a neutral event in our family. It always means something to bring him into a conversation.
My heart is pounding so hard I swear I can feel it through my sleeve. If Maksim decides to use force, Luka might not be enough to save me. I’ll be back under that roof, with my husk of a mother and my monster of a father, and be married off within the week.
“Please,” I repeat, locking eyes with Maksim, willing him to understand. “Walk away. Right now. If you ever cared about me at all, you’ll pretend you never saw me.”
He stares at me like I’ve slapped him. His mouth keeps opening and closing with words that don’t come.
I take that hesitation for mercy and rip my arm free. My legs move before my brain catches up, carrying me down the hallway and out the door.
The cool air slams into me as I stumble onto the street. I spot Luka immediately, sitting behind the tinted windscreen. He straightens when he sees me, putting away his phone.
I yank the back door open and slide into the backseat. “Let’s go.”
“Is everything okay, Miss?” Luka’s eyes narrow a fraction. “You don’t look so good.”
“Yes,” I lie. Not my most convincing lie so far, but with the state I’m in, it’ll have to do. “I’m just not feeling well. Need to lie down a bit. Take me home, please.”
Luka studies me for a long beat, like he’s trying to peel away my skin and see what’s underneath. He doesn’t seem to like it any more than I do, though.
“Lady troubles,” I add, hugging my belly. “Cramps. Really bad ones.”
Suddenly, Luka’s cheeks flush a deep crimson. His gaze drops mine like a hot potato from the rearview mirror. “Understood,” he mumbles, and starts the engine.
I turn my face to the window, willing the tears stinging my eyes not to fall. If Luka sees them, he’ll start asking questions again, ones I can never answer.
Once he pulls into traffic, I see Maks from the window, growing smaller and smaller on the curb. I pray he didn’t jot down the license plate. I hope beyond hope that he never finds out who owns the car that just took his sister away.
Because if he ever does, it’ll mean war.