Page 124 of Bratva Menace

“Her name is Lyla Voznesensky.”

He stiffened, going deathly still.

“Her father was responsible for Mother’s death. She was just a kid at the time, and you dropped her and her brother off at an orphanage⁠—”

“I remember,” he said roughly.

It all came tumbling out like word vomit. I was powerless to hold it back any longer. I told him everything—minus the kinky sex stuff, of course. I told him all about her relationship with her father. That Lyla didn’t care that he’d killed him. If anything, she was glad for it. That Lyla wasn’t looking for revenge—just in case he assumed she was. I told him about how we connected, having endured the same feelings growing up. Feeling like we were too much. Too crazy. Too unpredictable. Like we were a constant disappointment to the ones we loved.

Father listened in silence throughout the whole thing, his face softening in sadness at the mention of the too much talk. When I was done, I felt a little better. Like speaking my mind had made the pressure squeezing my chest lighten just a fraction.

I kept my head down, my eyes locked on my clasped hands, almost too afraid to look up and see his face. What would I find there? Betrayal for consorting with the daughter of the man who murdered my mother? Disappointment for allowing myself to be in that position in the first place? Sadness over the fact that I was hesitant to return to my family?

I honestly wasn’t sure, and it terrified me.

“Do you love her?”

I finally looked up. None of the things I’d feared were showing on his face. Just compassion and understanding.

“Yeah,” I got out roughly. For far longer than anyone even knows.

Father nodded and leaned back, releasing a big sigh. “I get it,” he began softly. “I get what it feels like to love someone you think you shouldn’t love. To care for someone you never thought you would care for. It’s confusing. But it can also be one of the best things to ever happen to you. If you truly care about this woman, if she makes you happy, that’s all that matters to me.”

Relief settled deep in my chest. “It doesn’t bother you? Who she is? Who…who her father was?” I asked with trepidation.

“She’s not responsible for the actions of her father. Just like you’re not responsible for mine.”

“Do you think the rest of the family will care?”

At that, Father’s brows snapped together in thought. “I think Aleksandr and Nikolai will understand. Illayana? Well…that could go either way.”

“True.” I took three quick puffs of the joint before extinguishing it. With the assurance that Lyla would be accepted by my father, I nodded at him. “Okay. Let’s get Nikolai on it. I need to talk to her. Explain things.”

“Consider it done. It will also be the perfect opportunity for me to let them all know you’re safe.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You haven’t told them yet? I’ve been back for hours.”

“I knew if I did, they’d want to talk to you immediately. I had a feeling you might need a moment to get yourself acclimated.”

I appreciated that. He was right. There was so much going on in my mind. I needed time to collect myself. Get my wild and chaotic thoughts under control.

I allowed myself another moment to think about Lyla. To think about her face. Her touch. Her smell. The softness of her skin. The craziness of her brain. To think about how the fuck I was going to explain myself to her when I finally saw her again. And I would see her again. I refused to believe anything else. I thought about it all one last time, and then, I let the next problem take root, no matter how hard it was to focus on. The only reason I did it was because I had no choice.

Sergei.

“I want to see Grandfather.”

Father stiffened. “What? Now?”

“Yes. Now.” I cracked my neck left, then right. There was no better time than the present to finally complete the last step in my plan. “Is he here?”

Father hesitated briefly, almost as if he didn’t want to answer me, fearing what was about to happen. “He’s in his office.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

LYLA VOZNESENSKY

“He left! He just fucking left! I mean, who does that?! Who just leaves without a word? That’s rude, right?! Don’t you think that’s fucking rude?!”