Page 76 of The Wrong Brother

“There you are,” he says softly. “I was wondering how long the leash would hold.”

I hit him hard enough to send him crashing backward into another table.

Glass explodes across the terrace. People scream.

The restaurant erupts instantly into chaos as Andrei recovers and lunges back at me with years of hatred behind the movement. But he’s unpracticed, messy; I do this for a living. Beat men to death.

We slam into each other brutally, fists colliding, security shouting somewhere nearby while phones rise eagerly around us.

This will be a scandal, a political disaster.

Good.

Andrei drives me into the railing overlooking downtown, fury finally stripped bare from his face. “You unstable piece of shit?—”

I slam my fist into his ribs hard enough to cut the sentence off. Camera flashes burst around us now. Somehow, a few reports have managed to make it to the terrace. Security wedges between us unsuccessfully as we continue trying to tear each other apart like animals dragged back to old instincts.

Then Andrei grabs my collar sharply and leans close enough that only I hear him.

“Emma works for the FBI.”

The world narrows instantly. Not because I fully believe him, but becausesomethingclicks into place.

Something suddenly makes sense.

The awareness. The lies. The insistence that I don’t look into her past.

For one brutal second, it feels like the ground disappears beneath me.

Andrei sees the hesitation immediately and smiles through blood.

“You didn’t know. I didn’t think so; why would a criminal choose to court the FBI? Looking to get yourself put away, Ruslan?”

Rage detonates so violently inside me I nearly kill him right there. Security drags harder between us while voices shout about police. Somewhere nearby, someone is already talking to the reporters.

I stare at my brother for one long moment. Then I smile.

“You should have finished the job years ago.”

For the first time this evening, Andrei looks genuinely uneasy. I straighten my coat slowly before turning away from him. Denver glows beneath the darkening sky beyond the rooftop.

Mycity.

Not his.

Before this ends, Colorado will belong to me again.

Chapter 19

Emma

As soon asI set foot in the studio, it’s chaos. This is thelastplace I want to be.

Assistants hurry across polished concrete floors, carrying garment bags and steaming cups of coffee while makeup artists orbit around models beneath harsh white lighting. Cameras flash every few seconds. Music pulses softly through hidden speakers, something electronic and expensive sounding. It lights anxiety on fire under my skin.

And somehow, in the center of all of it, Ruslan looks perfectly calm.

He stands near the main set while someone adjusts the sleeve of his dark wool coat, one hand shoved casually into his pocket. Today’s shoot is apparently for some major fashion magazine doing a feature on “visionaries shaping luxury fashion,” which sounds pretentious enough to suit him perfectly.