Page 71 of The Bratva Betrayal

"I'll think about it," I tell him, which is a lie.

But it's the only answer that gets me out of this room without a war tonight, and I am very, very tired of wars I didn't start.

He nods like that's settled.

I turn, open the door, and walk out.

The hallway is bright and warm, and sounds drift down from the dining room. Killian laughing, someone's chair scraping back, and the comfortable noise of people who don't know anything is wrong.

I stop for a moment.

My hands aren't shaking. That's the thing about being raised the way I was raised. Your body learns to hold things until you're somewhere private enough to put them down.

I take a deep breath and check my reflection in the hallway mirror. I find myself composed, pleasant, and absolutely fine.

When I walk back into the dining room, Killian is holding court about something, gesturing with his fork like it's a conductor's baton. Rian refills glasses without being asked. My father settles back at the head of the table as if he’s wrapped up his business for the evening.

No one notices that we were gone for too long.

No one notices the smile doesn't go all the way up.

I slip back into motion, laughing at the right moments. The whole time, underneath all of it, I'm thinking.

Not about Misha or Artem, but about what I have. What I've squirreled away over years of not trusting that any of this would hold. Cash in places my father doesn't know about. Contacts who owe me favors and have no reason to call my family. A passport that's mine, not family-issued.

I'm thinking about the difference between “I'll think about it” and “no.”

I'm thinking about how far the word “no” can take a person if she's smart about when she says it.

Killian blows out his candles, and I clap with everyone else and mean it, because I love him and I'm genuinely glad I could give him this night.

I just don't know if I'll be here for the next one.

I watch Killian pull Rian into a headlock while Rian stands with his whiskey held carefully out to the side, perfectly level, not spilling a drop, which is the most Rian thing that has ever happened, and it makes my chest ache. I love him for letting Killian be who he is without making him feel like it's too much. He quietly holds everything together while the rest of us pretend we don’t need him to.

I love both of them in a way that makes what I'm planning feel like swallowing glass.

But I'm still going to do it.

The alternative is standing at the head of a table that isn't mine in a house that isn't mine, beside a man I didn't choose, while my father raises a glass to the life he built for me without asking what I wanted it to look like.

My father catches my eye across the table and raises his glass.

I smile back.

I'll think about it, I told him.

And I will.

Just not the way he thinks.

16

Artem

Benedikt's office exists to make people feel small.

Nothing Benedikt Volkov does is accidental.