Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(94)

I’m probably telling her way too much too soon, but there’s something about her presence that’s calming. It’s like the loneliness in me is reaching out to the loneliness in her.

“I don’t want to get hurt.”

She nods knowingly. “Neither did I. And yet, in the end, I’m here hurting worse than I ever could have imagined. But Maksim was worth it.”

I clutch my pendant and pray that that’s true. I’ve already lost one person I loved more than anything.

I’m not sure I’m ready to do it again.





70

MISHA

It’s late when I walk into the house.

Everyone should be asleep, but I hear a sound I haven’t heard in a long time. The soft, melodic peal of laughter that takes me back to a time before.

Cyrille.

Hearing her voice again makes it glaringly obvious that I haven’t seen or spoken to her in several months. Then I hear another burst of laughter. This one childish, but on the cusp of masculinity.

Crackling with the voice of the man he is going to one day become.

“Do you remember when Papa brought home that injured owl?” Ilya asks excitedly.

“He brought home an owl?” asks Paige in amazement.

“Maksim brought home all kinds of broken animals. Our home was like a rehabilitation center for anything with four legs and wings,” Cyrille explains. “Hootie stayed with us for almost five months.

He had an injured wing.”

Paige laughs. “You named the owl Hootie? Oh my God, I love it.”

“He used to fly around the house and sit on my head,” Ilya claims.

“Goodness! What happened to Hootie?”

“We took him up to the mountains and released him back into the wilderness,” Cyrille says. I can hear the regret in her tone. “It was one of Maksim’s rules. Anything wild must be returned to the wild.”

“I cried the whole way to the mountains,” Ilya says with a tint of shame. “But Papa told me that Hootie needed to be out in the trees with his family. It was important that every creature sticks with their own kind. He told me that’s why our family needed to stick together. We were the same kind, and we needed to stay with our pack.”

I peer into the room and catch a visual of the three of them. Paige and Cyrille are sprawled out over the large sofa that faces the fireplace. Their legs are up and there’s a blanket draped over their laps.

Ilya is sitting in front of the fireplace. Beside him sits a nearly finished model airplane.

“That was before Papa left our pack,” Ilya says, sadness creeping into his voice.

“Oh, honey…”

Paige climbs off the sofa and kneels down onto the carpet beside Ilya. She takes his hand. “I had a two-person pack when I was growing up. It was just me and my best friend, Clara.”

“What about your parents?” Ilya asks.

“They were around,” Paige says. “But they were not part of the pack.”

“Oh…”

“Clara and I did everything together. Up until we were seventeen. Then she left our pack, too. She passed away. Like your Papa.”

Ilya’s eyes widen. “What happened?”

“There was an accident and she got hurt.”

He nods with a melancholy understanding I wish he didn’t have. “That happened to my Papa, too.”

Paige gives him a sad smile. “I didn’t think I could continue life without Clara. It didn’t seem possible. But then I realized that just because she wasn’t with me physically, that didn’t mean I couldn’t keep her alive in my head. And in my heart. What I believe is that no one ever truly dies so long as there are people who still think of them and care about them. I think about Clara all the time.”

“I think about Papa all the time,” Ilya hurries to say.

“Then he’s not truly gone, is he? He’s out there somewhere in the wilderness. With Hootie, maybe.”

Ilya gazes up at her adoringly. “It’s nice to talk about Papa. No one ever wants to.”

“I talk about Papa with you,” Cyrille protests, sitting up.

“But it makes you sad, Mama. I don’t want you to be sad all the time. Grammy starts crying whenever we talk about Papa. Aunt Niki changes the subject and walks away if I mention him. And Uncle Misha… he stopped coming to see me.”

My heart pangs like I’ve been stabbed. It actually hurts to stand here and listen to how much I’ve hurt my nine-year-old nephew with my absence, my distance, my coldness.

“Listen to me, Ilya,” Paige insists. “Your uncle loves you very much. And he loved your father so much that he feels this big, huge, massive responsibility to protect the whole family. I don’t think he can rest until he’s made it safe for you and the rest of the pack. Even though Uncle Misha will never admit it, he’s hurting, too. He just has to keep up a brave face for the rest of us.”

How does she know all this? Who told her? Who showed her? Who gave away my secrets?

How has she managed to excavate the deepest reaches of my soul in just a matter of months?

Apparently, I haven’t been doing a very good job keeping her at arm’s length.

“Just give him some time, okay?” she finishes. Ilya nods and Paige gives him a hug. “I’m really glad you came today, Ilya. I enjoyed getting to know you.”