Did it stop her? Not for a damn second.
Her allegiance to him was purely because of what it brought to her—a sense of purpose. With me, her need is fulfilled. She thinks she can fix me. She thinks giving me her sweet pussy every night will change my mind about my commitment to my Bratva.
It hasn’t.It won’t.
I loosen my fists and step toward the crib. The fresh wood smell clings to the air, hiding the usual stale musk of the attic. Muscle memory takes over when I’m close enough to touch the toolkit. Knees bend. Fingers flutter over needed screws. Hands grip tools.
Everything happens in its own time. I don’t rush. I barely check the instructions, feeling a rush from putting things together on a whim. It’s a great puzzle for me to put together that doesn’t require me to make endless demands.
I don’t have to think much at all.
Except when I do.
New Zealand is gorgeous.
It’s hard to picture Liya anywhere that isn’t New York. She was born and raised here. This city runs deep in her blood. Even when she was just slinging drinks behind that bar at Blaczak’s. This city is as much a part of her as she is a part of it.
But if she leaves, I don’t have to worry about her safety anymore. She’ll be protected by people like Berkowitz. People to whom the law answers, not people whom the law aims to destroy.
And I’ll be free to run the Bratva unhindered.
My hands pause over the wooden slats of the crib door.I’ll be free.
The wedding band on my finger suddenly feels heavy. When did that happen? Has it always been heavy? Why haven’t I ever noticed?
A rugged voice circles my mind.Tired of your wife yet?
“No.”
But the scary part is, I think I’m getting there.
The interview added a few huge slats of concrete to the wall between us. Any remaining weak points are quickly disappearing. If I don’t make a decision now, she’ll make one for me.
Maybe I need that.
I stare at the screwdriver in my hand.
It’s not just my reputation that’s been sullied. It’s my business. It’s my contracts. It’s the connections I’ve sweated over for years. Everything that I’ve worked for since I was a boy. The number of people I’ve hurt—the number that I’ve killed. Everything was in service of the Bratva.
And now, with a single article, my terrifyingly brilliant wife has sent those glorious plans crashing to the ground. And in the rubble, a new thought emerges.
Maybe walking away is for the best…
A thrilling sensation provokes me. It’s a strange and sudden impatience, a weighted rock living in my chest that’s somehow made of helium. I’m rising and sinking simultaneously.
It’s lust for a new existence.
Maybe Iwantto walk away from this life. Maybe I’ve been looking for something topushme out of this life. That article has given me a push in the right direction—Liya has done that. She’s giving me an out. The only thing left to do is take it.
Disgust forces me away from the crib. The screwdriver clatters to the ground as I hold my forehead in my hand. Shame, irritation, regret—all of it comes crashing back.
Selfish child, comes my father’s voice.This is your responsibility. To ignore your Bratva is to ignore your duty.
This is my life.
My father gave me this life.
If I throw it away, I’m spitting on his grave. I’m wasting his effort. I’m squandering his time. Don’t I want to show him that he can rest easy with me in charge?