Page 123 of Bratva Menace

“I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head. Damn. “We’re going to talk about this.”

“Do we have to?”

“Yes.” There was no debate on the matter. He was using his Pakhan voice, even though the fucker wasn’t even Pakhan anymore.

“What if I don’t want to?” I picked up the cloche covering another plate of food. It was a big bowl of creamy carbonara pasta. Yum.

“Is there a reason why?”

“No.” Yes. I worried how he would react when he found out who Lyla was. Feared it might dredge up the past he had worked so hard to put behind him. It didn’t bother me who she was. But my father? I honestly didn’t know.

He sighed, shaking his head again. “When are you going to learn? You can’t lie to me.” Actually, I could. There were things I’d been hiding for a while. From everyone. I was an excellent liar when the occasion called for it. “Let me tell you what I think happened. I think you spent some time with her, and now you like her. Lyla. The woman who tricked you into marrying her and kidnapped you.”

I said nothing, twirling my fork into the pasta. The spaghetti wrapped around the utensil, and I shoved it into my mouth. “That would be a fair assumption.”

His foot slammed onto the ground, and he leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. “What kind of like are we talking about here?” he asked seriously. “A passing like? An I like to fuck her and that’s it like⁠—”

“An all-consuming like,” I answered honestly.

He stared at me for a moment. “I see.”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Enter,” my father called out. A man walked in, carrying a small tin case. He handed it over and left without a word. Father passed it to me. I opened it to see three perfectly rolled joints and a small lighter inside.

I plucked one out and lit it. Inhaling deeply, I let the substance fill me. It didn’t help nearly as much as I was hoping it would.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I said, taking another drag. “I’m not sure if she’ll forgive me.”

“Forgive you for what?”

“For leaving.”

If the situation were reversed, I’d be pretty pissed, too, if I found out she’d left without a word. I couldn’t even deny that.

“Leaving…the house she was keeping you locked up in?” my father asked, searching for clarification.

“Yes. She has a possessive streak that rivals anyone I’ve ever met, and is prone to spontaneous acts of violence.”

“And you like that.” It wasn’t a question, and he said it with zero judgment. My father knew me very well.

“I love it. But like I said, she won’t forgive me. She trusted me, and I let her down the first opportunity I could.” Why didn’t I leave a note or something? Scribble something down and tell her I wasn’t leaving forever. Just to sort out this family shit. That I would be back for her. Why?

Everything had happened so quickly I didn’t think of doing it at the time, and now, I was kicking myself for it.

“Why don’t you call her? Explain the situation?” he asked, trying to help. I appreciated it, but⁠—

“I don’t have her number.” Lyla was sneaky. She had numerous burner phones, and I wasn’t sure which one she used as her primary. I highly doubted any of them survived the blast anyway.

“Well, that’s an easy fix. Nikolai can find that out for you, can’t he?” He pulled out his phone. “What’s her full name? I’ll text it to him and get him right on it.”

I hesitated.

Father looked up at me when I said nothing. “What?”

I didn’t want to tell him, but I knew I had to. I loved Lyla. I wanted to be with her. There was no question about it. If we had any chance, I had to tell my family who she was and hope they would all be okay with it. The moment I had been fearing for so long was finally here, and it terrified me.

I took another deep drag of my joint. Instead of liquid courage, it was smoke courage.