Thief (Boston Underworld #5)(52)

She was right to redirect our attention back to Talia, and I hope that Alexei will see it that way too. Like me, his temper often gets the best of him, and he finds it difficult to admit when he’s wrong. Not wanting to further upset Talia, we opt to continue our conversation in a mishmash of Russian and English.

“I should kill you for even daring to look at my wife,” Alexei says.

“Do what you must.” I sigh. “I was comforting her as you should have been, instead of playing this game you continue to play.”

Alexei looks at his wife, and still, his default reaction is to doubt her loyalty.

“If you wish to punish someone, Lyoshka, then it needs to be me. Not her. She has done nothing wrong, yet you treat her as if—”

“Do not tell me how to conduct myself. This is my marriage. My business.”

“I am not telling you as a Vor,” I say. “I am telling you as your brother. This is not the man I know.”

Silence settles over us. Alexei appears bewildered by my open admission of our shared DNA. He believes it to be Sergei’s greatest shame, but he should know it’s not mine.

“It’s time we put an end to this, bratan.”

He thrusts out his chest, and his mouth twists into a scornful smile. “Yes, I believe it is.”

There is no mistaking the words as a threat. He outranks me, and he has Viktor’s favor. It would take very little from Alexei’s mouth to turn Viktor’s opinion of me. If he ever chose to disclose my indiscretion with Katya, the pakhan would order my death without a second thought.

“I am sorry for the way that I went about things with Katya,” I say. “But I don’t regret doing it, Lyoshka. She had you fooled.”

“We are not discussing this,” he answers.

“You have to know that if you married her, she would have ruined your reputation within the Vory.”

“It’s your reputation that should be ruined,” Alexei sneers. “You may have Sergei’s approval, but you are not a man of honor. You are undeserving of the stars you bear.”

If the insult had come from any other man, I would have cut his throat. But this is my brother, and I am tired of this battle between us. I am tired of our wasted words.

“You have always been jealous of me, bratan.”

Alexei is prepared to deliver another equally vicious blow with his tongue when I raise my hand. “And I have always been jealous of you.”

He does not answer, and I doubt he believes me. The worst part of the cruel words Sergei gifted his first son is that Alexei believes them. If his father says he’s defective, it must be true. If his father says he’s worthless, how can he argue that? To compound the problem, Sergei’s affection for me has only added to his troubles.

“I am deeply sorry for any pain I have caused you, Lyoshka. Whatever you choose to do, I will respect your decision as a man and a Vor. If you must send me to my death so that you can have peace, then I implore you to do it. But I am done with this war between us.”

My appeal is genuine, and I hope that Alexei can recognize that. But he does not give me an answer, and we are left without a resolution entirely when Katya makes an appearance. As always, her timing is not ideal. But I refuse to give her one minute of my time or attention as I join Nakya at her side.

“Your wife looks ill,” Katya observes. “You must allow my maid to watch over her so you can come back and enjoy the party, Lyoshka.”

She is dangling the line, but Alexei does not bite.

He looks at Talia, and his eyes soften. “I am taking her home.”

“But you can’t,” Katya insists. “There is still so much more to come. I have worked so hard on the planning—”

“My wife is more important than your party,” he says. “She is the most important woman in my life.”





The car ride home with Nakya is about as pleasant as I expected it to be. She’s either tired or angry, but if I had to venture a guess, it isn’t difficult to decide where the dice fall.

It was not my finest moment, using her in the bathroom, only to abandon her for Ana moments later. There are probably many things I should say in this situation, but there is only one thing I can do.

I can’t afford to give her hope when none lives. I won’t do her the dishonor of lying about our doomed relationship. But it doesn’t change the fact that the thought of her with anyone else blinds me with jealous rage. She has every right to hate me. She has earned that right. But maybe just once, I would like to see honest affection in her eyes.

When we walk through the front door, she is prepared to go her own way. But I take her hand in mine, leading her up the stairs and down the hall.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

Her body is weary. I took her roughly today, and she is probably sore, but I suspect she’s more likely suffering from her indifference at this moment.

“You will stay in my room tonight,” I tell her.

“Why?”

I reach out to touch her face. The face of an enchantress with the eyes of an angel. I have never seen a beauty quite like hers before. Her eyes flutter closed as my fingers learn the line of her jaw, and when my thumb drags over her lips, her breath escapes her.

“If you were my wife, I would worship you every day.”

“But I’m not your wife,” she says. “And I never will be.”