THIRTY
Luca
P assing me to go back to his bedroom, Max squeezes my arm. It sends electricity through me. Even though I wince in pain from the knife wound.
“Shoot, can I patch that up for you?” he drawls in a sexy voice, so black-cat of him.
Mine...
“Get some sleep. That’s more important. Sam will stitch me up.”
His eyes adorably widen at that. Like every second that passes, he gets more of a glimpse into what life would be like with me. A murdering husband with a sister who patches up his wounds then dumps the body.
When he leaves though, it all washes away into a useless fantasy that will never happen.
With Max gone, I turn my attention back to Samara who’s watching him go. When the door closes, Sam lets go of a whistle.
“That is one hot motherfucker,” she says, like she too isn’t wanted dead by Ivan Belova because of our joint defection from his house.
I was not leaving my sister behind.
I silence her with a look and then pounce on her, gripping her throat. “When I text you, you fucking text me back.”
We play a game of how much she can take. It’s to make her strong. Being married off was never in the cards for her. A bratva husband would have killed her for being so bratty and hard to handle. Guys in the brotherhood don’t exactly like outspoken wives .
I recognized that and had no interest in changing her. She might have killed me.
Finally, she gasps and I let go. Red fingerprints bloom on her throat.
“Fucking anyone?” I ask.
“Not at the moment. Care to share your friend?”
I bark a laugh. That would be a first, but I peer at her. “No.”
“That’s okay, the way he looked at you, he clearly wouldn’t want me.” She fans herself.
“How’s Pennsylvania?” I ignore her comment.
“I want to kill myself,” she scoffs.
“I cashed in a lot of favors to get into that safe house.”
“At least it’s close to Manhattan so I can do jobs.” She looks restless.
“Belova bought a hockey team,” I blurt.
She visibly staggers. My sister is a badass, but she’s also smart enough to understand what she, what we’re up against, having the head of the Chicago Bratva out to get us.
“Not the Crushers.”
“No.” I shake my head. “After this, I’m going to swear my allegiance to another house. I want you to come with me.”
“Who?” Her cheek twitches at the idea of being sworn to another king.
In this case, a queen.
“In time,” I say, because she’ll do all kinds of snooping in places that might get her hurt. “Do you not trust me?”
“It’s not that.”
I see it in her eyes, how she knows I got us into this mess. I’ve been in adjustment mode all this time. I have to consider something more permanent for Samara. I can’t expect her to live in the shadows and be a cleaner for the rest of her life.
But really, our father sealed our fate, owing Yuri Belova so much money. When our parents died for that debt, she became my responsibility. Yuri Belova took us both in.
Yuri trained both me and his only son, Ivan, to work for him. Made me do things to make sure I couldn’t go anywhere else.
When Yuri Belova was killed, Ivan took over. I expected he’d give me my freedom. We were best friends.
Instead, he made me marry his sister who had a crush on me. That brought me deeper into his web. Branded me family, knowing enemies punish family when they can’t get to the head of the snake.
“Swearing to another family is what’s best for us, Sam.” I’ve been worrying about her for five years.
She loves this work, and God knows her skills are in demand. She’s almost thirty. I want her to have more, but I’m not even sure she knows what she wants in life.
“I’ll worry about that tomorrow,” she says, all snide and snarky.
I trained her. She can handle herself. And being a female gives her an advantage because most motherfuckers don’t know what hits them when she strikes.
“Let’s get this mess cleaned up. Max and I have to travel again for a couple of days.”
“Be careful,” she says to me. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I watch her walk away, thinking, That’s a given, sweetheart.