Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(133)

“This is what you wanted, Misha. Take it as a victory. I’ll admit now: I did have feelings for you.

Strong ones. But they’re gone. I buried them, along with my hope for our future. It took that fight to make me realize that we never really had one in the first place.”

Then I walk past him and head upstairs to my room.

I manage to make it inside and onto the bed before I collapse into a puddle of tears.





101

MISHA

I’m not sure how long it’s been since Paige left. Seconds. Hours. Days. I keep staring at the door, waiting for her to walk back through it. Waiting for this to be some nightmare I can wake up from.

But Paige doesn’t come back, and I remain alone.

Or, mostly alone. Until I hear a familiar heel click in the hallway.

“Really, Niki?” I call. “Eavesdropping at your age?”

She rounds the corner without a trace of apology on her face. “Eavesdropping has no age limit.

Especially when you’re as good at it as I am.” She drops her smug smirk and pulls out a cigarette from her back pocket. “You look like you could use a smoke.”

“Mother would kill us if she knew we were smoking in her house.”

She pushes open the tall, vertical windows. “I smoke in here all the time and Mom never notices. Do you want one or not?”

I wave her away. “I’m good.”

“Boring. But suit yourself.” She lights up and gestures for me to sit down opposite her. She takes a drag of the cigarette and then rests it against the sill so the ashes tumble down onto Mom’s prized begonias. She winks at me when she catches me noticing. “I’m pretty sure this is why they grow so well.”

“Is this really how you entertain yourself?” I ask. “Snooping on your brother and sneaking a smoke in the house while Mother is out running errands?”

“I’ve gotta get my kicks somehow, don’t I? Petty rebellion is like crack to me.” She puffs the cigarette again, sets it back down, then crosses her legs and glares at me reproachfully. “You should have gone after her.”

I don’t have to ask to know she’s talking about Paige. “She needs space.”

“She’s had space. What she needs now is for you to be there for her. Properly.”

I throw my arms wide, gesturing around. “What the fuck do you think I’m doing here?”

Niki shakes her head impatiently. “I’m not talking about just showing up, big brother. I’m talking about showing up. You gotta check back in, emotionally speaking.”

I think about brushing off her suggestion, but something about my conversation with Cyrille a few days ago has stuck in my mind.

When did things change for me? When did I stop doing the things that scare me?

“I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to do that,” I admit.

Niki looks at me, half-surprised at my admission and half-exasperated with it. “Maybe it starts with telling Paige how you really feel about her. And don’t roll your eyes at me.” She waves her cigarette dangerously between us. “Don’t deny it, either. We both know you’re in love with her. I’m just trying to figure out why you seem to think that’s such a bad thing.”

I glance sidelong at my sister. If I’m going to do this, I might as well fucking do it.

“Do you remember what Cyrille was like right after Maksim’s funeral?”

Niki’s jaw tightens. “I prefer to think of Cyrille when Maksim was alive. Do you remember how the two of them would make out under the mistletoe every Christmas?”

A bark of laughter escapes my lips. “I do. Felt a touch unnecessary, if I’m being honest.”

“Right? Honestly, they acted like they didn’t have a room right upstairs.”

“He was an oversharer,” I recall. “He spared no detail of their exploits in the bedroom. Changed my whole opinion of Cyrille.”

“Wildcat in the sheets, huh?”

I chuckle under my breath. “She’d be horrified if she knew I knew. But that’s what Maksim loved about her. She was a surprise. He was used to clocking people right from the get-go, but Cyrille wasn’t predictable. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she’d go and do something unexpected.”

“Is that what made you fall for Paige?” Nikita asks innocently.

The denial is right there on the tip of my tongue. But what is the point in my great charade when Niki sees right through me?

“I remember the day we buried Otets,” I say softly. “The atmosphere was somber at the cemetery.

Typical fucking Bratva stoicism. But then we left and came back home and suddenly, everything felt

—”

“Lighter?”

“Lighter,” I agree. “And Mom—Jesus Christ, the change in her. He hadn’t even been buried an hour and she looked ten years younger. The relief on her face… I can still picture it to this day. That seemed to me like the ideal scenario. Simple. Clean. Easy.”

“Keep your heart locked away so that no one can ever break it,” Nikita summarizes, as though she’s

reciting a verse from a story book. “You think you’re the only one who’s come to that conclusion, Misha? Why do you think I’m still single?”