Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (113)

“She sounds happy,” I tell Bree, unable to hide the wobble in my voice.

“She’s a happy kid, Cami. And that’s because you made the decision to give her a normal, stable childhood.”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better about being a shitty mother.”

“Stop that right now,” Bree snaps in her Mama Bear voice. “What you did was brave, Cami. It was brave and it was selfless and I could only hope I would have made the same choice in your position.”

The tears run down my cheeks as I listen to the ferocity in Bree’s voice. It’s impossible to deny. I wonder if she knows how much I need that reassurance right now. “Thank you.”

“I’m not saying any of this to make you feel better. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

“I love you, sis.”

Her tone softens immediately. “I love you, too, kid.”

Kid. She hasn’t called me that since we were teenagers. I like the way the familiar word hits my ears. It makes me feel young again. It makes me feel like my future is ahead of me.

“I know you’re going through a five-alarm internal crisis at the moment, but that was bound to happen with Jo’s father in the picture. All I can say to you is, you’re strong enough to get through it.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. You’re made of steel, Cami. You just forget sometimes.”

The moment I hang up, that sweeping feeling of isolation starts weeding its way back into my consciousness. In the end, it drives me right out of my room.

I head downstairs to the library, searching for the comfort I so desperately need. I’m staring at the shelves when Nikita walks into the room.

As usual, she’s dressed impeccably in black cashmere pants and a matching sweater in a neutral skin tone. There are moments when I look at her and see Isaak in her place.

But not right now. Right now, her features are too calm, her eyes too peaceful.

“Camila,” she says. “Are you okay?”

It’s not like a Vorobev to talk about emotions, so I’m taken off-guard by the question. Maybe that’s why I answer honestly. “Not really.”

“Is it anything I can help with?”

I have to remember that the last time we talked, she had accused me of being in love with her son. The fact that she may be right about it seems inconsequential at this moment.

“No. Nothing.”

She purses her lips and nods like she knows I’m full of shit. Her eyes shift upward to a portrait of the Vorobevs hanging over the fireplace. Vitaly, Nikita, Isaak, Bogdan. They all have the same hard glint to their eyes, the same cruel angle in their jaws.

“He was never an easy man to be around,” she says unexpectedly. “I understand that better than anyone.”

“He’s your son. It’s different.”

“I wasn’t talking about Isaak,” Nikita clarifies. “I was talking about my husband.”

“You mean the abusive monster you were married to.”

She arches one eyebrow. It’s one part laughter, one part surprise. Instantly, I blush. “Sorry,” I mumble. “That was over the line.”

She smiles. “Why are you apologizing?”

“For being… rude, I guess you’d call it.”

“Censoring the truth is uglier than proclaiming a lie, Camila.”

“Censoring the truth—is that what you did?”

I know I’m being a bitch. But I feel trapped. I told Bree that I’d made the decision not to tell Isaak about Jo. But the truth is, I’m still wrestling with it.

Do I really have a right to keep Jo away from her father? Do I really have the right to deny Isaak of getting to know his daughter?

And if Bree is right and it’s only a matter of time before Jo is found out, isn’t it best the truth comes from me first?

“Yes, I did,” Nikita answers after a while. “I hid things from my husband. I lied when I needed to. I deceived for sport and I held onto my secrets for as long as I could. But in this house, in this world, you must protect what is yours and take what you want. There is no other way to survive.”

“Then it’s not a place I want to live,” I whisper fiercely.

She nods like she understands every single subtlety of the emotions ravaging my heart right now. “I’ve been in this world for a long time. The men in it see women as merely playthings and objects. Wives may have respect and power, but they rarely ever have full ownership of their men’s hearts.”

“Are you telling me what to expect?” I ask. “Because I don’t plan on being a part of this world for very much longer.”

She gives me a sad smile. “I’m telling what to look forward to,” she says. “If you change your mind.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that what I had is not what you have. Isaak is as cold, cruel, and ruthless as they come when it concerns ruling this Bratva and protecting his men and his family. But he will not be the kind of Bratva husband I had. He is not his father.”

I scoff. “From everything I’ve heard, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

“You don’t know how wrong you are, Camila. Can I tell you something?”