Page 104 of The Bratva Sinner

Maybe that’s why I couldn’t leave her there.

Maybe some part of me knew, even then, that letting them take her would ruin me.

Afterward, she sprawls across my chest. She belongs right here, with one of my hands on her ass and the other stroking her shoulder.

Her breathing slows within minutes. She makes a small sound in her sleep and tucks closer. I tighten my arm around her without thinking, making promises she’s too asleep to hear.

She’s mine. End of story. No one puts their hands on her again.

I stare at the ceiling and listen to her breathing.

I’m in trouble; I knew that before tonight. I felt it every time I looked at her and found one more reason not to let go.

There’s no pretending now. I would leave Miami with her.Forher. I don’t give a shit about the money, the clubs, or even the bratva. None of it matters if she’s the price.

If running is what keeps her safe, I’ll run. If burning it all down is what keeps her safe, I’ll strike the fucking match myself.

27

Lila

After a month in Miami, I have a routine. I’m not mad that it’s basic and involves me staying at the estate. It feels less like a prison now and more like my home. There are still fences and gates and guards. I would be stopped if I tried to leave. That is still a hard pill to swallow, but because I tell myself this is my choice, it’s easier to accept.

That’s the only way I can get through the day. If I see the fence and allow myself to dwell on it, I’ll lose my shit.

So, I just don’t think about it.

I usually have coffee on the back patio, shower, and then spend time in the stables while the morning is still cool. Sometimes, I have lunch with Ava if she's around, and then do whatever I want the rest of the day. It's a small life compared to the world Maksim moves through, but I realize I need the quiet. I need the routine and stillness.

Dare I say I’m healing? Not just the physical injuries. Me. My heart. My soul.

Maksim finds me in the kitchen in the late afternoon. He usually checks in before he heads out to the club.

“Hi,” I say.

"I have something for you," he says.

He sets a small envelope on the counter beside me.

“I don’t think there’s a horse in there.”

“Nope.”

"What is it?"

"Open it."

I set down an apple and pick up the envelope. It’s unsealed, with nothing written on the outside. I reach in and pull out a photograph.

My heart squeezes. My mom. She’s probably in her early twenties. She's laughing at something off-camera, with one hand raised like she's waving at the person behind the camera. She looks happy and unguarded. A woman who had no idea how her life would end.

My throat closes.

"Where did you get this?" My voice is barely a squeak.

"Old social media account. Before she went off-grid." He's watching me. "My people can find most things. I thought you might want it."

I stare at her face. I don't have a single photograph of her. Our trailer in Texas has probably been cleaned out by now, and everything’s been thrown away. We had nothing of value,anyway. Did anyone wonder what happened to me? Did they find my mother’s body? Did anyone give her a funeral?