Chapter 16 Julian
SIXTEEN
JULIAN
THE PAST
“So, is your big brother still an asshole?” Lana asks as she takes a sip of the wine I brought over to London from Kalliste.
It’s a small batch I created as part of my end of studies project.
I’m pretty proud of it. I think the Bartoli vineyard could scale and make this an exclusive product, just as coveted as the drug my dad has created.
It’d be a legit avenue for business, a way to cover our tracks like we’ve always talked about.
It would also spread our influence to the outside world, something we’re lacking.
“He’s the same he’s ever been. I think he just needs to get laid, honestly. He’s broody and he always cuts me off when I speak of Kalliste, you know? It’s nice to have a brother and all, but sometimes I feel like he doesn’t really want me there.”
“Did he throw you out?”
“No.”
“Then, he wanted you there.”
She makes it sound so easy.
When Lana went to London for her studies and I stayed on Kalliste, Igor and I decided that a long-distance relationship wasn’t that bad of an idea, and though we’ve made the most of it and I cannot complain with the dirty texts I got, I’ve missed him.
We made dick pics an art at that point, but more than his body, it’s his mind my soul has been craving.
I found a way to see him more often by getting in contact with my half-brother.
My dad and him are not in touch. In fact, Lisandru hates him, but he tolerates me.
He didn’t even know I existed and I believe a part of him wanted to make it work between us.
Neither of us grew up with a brother so maybe showing up at his door with a carry-on luggage and telling him I was staying over for two weeks wasn’t the best idea.
But hey, it worked out. I got to meet my brother, and spend quality time with my boyfriend, with my parents and the Moretti patriarch being none of the wiser. It was important for Igor that I had ‘an alibi’, as though Lana wasn’t enough.
Sometimes, it makes my heart wither a little when he keeps pushing me away. I know it’s not because of me. He still fears the repercussions his sexuality could have if he ever goes back to Russia. I don’t even want to think about it. He’s still in service of the Morettis for another two years.
Lana refills her glass before taking a deep breath.
I turn my attention back to her. That’s one of her tells. She doesn’t have many but that bracing she does before she says something important has always clued me in on her intentions. And if that wasn’t enough, Igor left us half an hour ago to give us time one-on-one.
“Oh, oh,” I say.
She sits on her comfortable sofa with her legs tucked underneath her, a queen in her palace.
Literally, because Miss Moretti doesn't live anywhere in London. Oh no. Her dad purchased a flat in a converted townhouse in Belgravia. The mouldings on the living room ceiling and tastefully decorated place always make me snort, because Lana is a maximalist. If she could she’d have painted every wall black. This place is all her mum.
Sliding a strand of black hair behind her ear, she takes a big gulp of wine before speaking, gathering courage. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“You fucked a hot dude. Don’t worry, the whole gang already debriefed me.”
Her jaw hangs open, and I cackle at her shock.
“Did you really think both Igor and Giulia wouldn’t rat you out? To me? Your best friend in the whole wide world?”
“Igor would never,” she scoffs. “But Giulia loves to gossip, that’s like her whole motto.”
“She’s good at spying.”
“It’s not spying if she spills the secrets she learns.”
Her annoyance is short-lived as her face goes slack, as though she’s recalling what happened on her last night in London.
“That good, huh?”
She smiles shyly, but behind the lift of her lips is a tightness she can’t hide. “The best,” she says dreamily. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“Why not? You had a torrid weekend with a man who makes you smile like I’ve never seen. What’s the problem?”
“I’m already engaged.”
She drops the news before sipping her wine again. Downing it in one go, actually. And I just stay there, mouth open so wide I’d catch a fucking fly.
“What the hell do you mean, Alana Michelle Moretti?”
“That’s not even my middle name.”
I give her a look that says don’t fuck with me right now.
She averts her eyes and refills her glass. Again.
This is bad. So fucking bad. Lana never gets drunk.
After the first abduction attempt, there was a second, one night after we drank too much and partied all night, back in London, her first year of college.
Igor took care of it, but she vowed to never have more than one glass of wine, or one gin and tonic on the rare occasions she indulges.
“Speak,” I command.
She tilts her head to the side before smacking her lips but obeys nonetheless.
“A few weeks ago, I met Eduardo Garcia at a gala in London. One dad couldn’t attend. We ended up talking about his hotels, and his whole real estate empire in the Baleares.”
“No.”
The dude is a mogul. Powerful on a market we don’t have a foothold in. And fucking fifty.
“He has something we need, Jules.”
“Don’t tell me you already negotiated to fuck him just to expand our territory.”
She stands up so fast I barely see her move, cheeks red. This is the Lana others see. Ready for war. Fighting for the family with everything she has. Always thinking about everyone else but her. And she’s angry when someone points it out.
“I do what I have to do for our families, Jules. I do what I have to do so our legacy remains. Eduardo is a good choice. A sensible choice. Through his network of hotels, casinos and clubs, we can distribute our products. It’s a good strategy.”
“He’s fifty, Lana,” I scream back at her, trying to get through her thick skull that she doesn’t have to throw away her life to make us prosper.
“He’s fine for fifty.” Her tone is so dismissive, I know she’s trying to convince herself, not me.
Silence falls between us, the street almost silent underneath the open window save for a few cars passing by.
We’ve always bickered like siblings, but this feels like more.
I don’t want her to leave, yet again. I don’t want to miss my best friend every day.
I’ve already been there. For four agonising fucking years.
I didn’t just lose Igor when he left for London.
My rock, the foundation I based my whole life on, was gone, too.
Lana sighs and flops down on the sofa. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
I scoot closer to her, looping an arm around her shoulders and pressing her to me in an embrace that feels too much like a goodbye.
“I understand why you want to do it, but aren't there any other ways? You don’t have to have an arranged marriage. We can draw a simple business contract.”
“They can be broken.”
“And a marriage can’t?” I raise a brow. Considering my father divorced his first wife to marry my mum, she knows she has no feet to stand on. But she squares her shoulders regardless.
“It’s done, Jules. It’s for the best.”
“Why do you always have to sacrifice yourself?”
“It's not a sacrifice if I do it for the people I love most.” She kisses my cheek.
It’s my turn to drink my wine in one gulp.
What a waste. This bottle was meant to be savoured and we just finished it in half an hour during an argument.
Maybe I should name it Passionata just to remember when our lives changed again.
Some days, I wished we were eighteen once more. That time seemed so easy.
“When are you leaving?” I ask.
“At the end of summer.”
“Well, we better make your last hoorah epic.” I grin at her, taking her back into my arms, and she lets me. The latent sadness in my body morphs suddenly into panic.
“Wait, is Igor coming with you?”
I withdraw from our hug and meet her deep green eyes. She smiles kindly. It’s the smile of someone who knows something I don’t.
“No. He’s staying here. You’ll be together. Finally.”
“Fat chance of that.”
“He missed you so much while we were at uni. Give him time. He’ll come out when he’s ready. You know he’s scared of what his brother will think of him.”
“Speaking of his brother…” I brace myself for the conversation that needs to happen. Both with Lana and Igor. I’m not even supposed to be privy to this information but I have a bad habit of eavesdropping. “I heard your dad talk to mine about him.”
“They talked about Misha Petrov?” Her brows dip.
“Yeah. Apparently, he’s second to the Moscow Pakhan now.”
“How is that even possible? He’s what? Two years older than Igor? How the fuck did a twenty-seven years-old man become second to the Pakhan of the Moscow Bratva, the most dangerous and ruthless crime syndicate in the fucking world?”
I shrug, and she whistles.
Yeah, this is bad news. Misha would have had to work his way to the top and become one of the most influential members in just a few years. Which isn’t unheard of. But getting to that level of clearance without resistance, that’s almost impossible.
“You need to tell him,” she declares.
“I know.”
I sigh and drop back into the sofa, a hand over my forehead. “When did life get so complicated?”
“I think it always was. We were just too young to see it.”