Broken Sins (Volkov Bratva 3) - Page 109

“Didn’t I just tell you that I’m in charge now?” I snapped. “Do what I said.”

The brothers looked back and forth at each other. Then, with a smile playing subtly at the corners of his lips, Mateo knelt down. Each of the others followed suit, and when they were down, I rose. “Look at my dad,” I ordered. “And ask for his blessing.”

It was Leo’s turn to interrupt. “His blessing for what?”

I turned my gaze on him. Like Vito, he shrugged and fell silent.

Again, Mateo took the lead. “Mr. Volkov, sir,” he said deferentially. “I humbly request your blessing.”

“Good,” I said approvingly. I looked at my dad. “Say yes.”

“Lubimaya …”he started to say.

“No!” I shake my head. “I am not yourlubimayaright now. I am Milaya Volkov, head of the Volkov Bratva, and I am telling you what I want you to do. I don’t give a damn if you’re my dad. It’s my time to talk, and your time to listen.”

Dad looked shocked for a moment, and I was struck again by how similar he and the Biancis were. But just like them, he smiled just the tiniest bit and nodded. “I grant you my blessing,” he said.

“Good. Great. Thanks. Now,” I said, turning back to look at the brothers kneeling in a row by the side of the table, “ask me to marry you.”

Vito’s jaw fell open. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

I fixed him with my fiercest expression. “Do I look like I’m kidding you, Vito Bianci?” I asked in the venomous voice I’d heard my father use long ago. “Do I look like I’m in much of a kidding mood?”

He said nothing for a long beat, just looked around in amazement as if he couldn’t believe this was happening. Finally, his stare settled on my dad, who was still seated on the other side of the table. “Luka, surely you can’t …”

Dad shrugged. “Did you not hear my daughter? I would advise you to do as she says, son.”

I bit back a smile of my own. On the floor to my right, Mateo nudged Vito in the ribs with his elbow and nodded subtly. Dante and Leo looked at each other and both shrugged. They all turned their faces up to me. Vito still looked lost, until he coughed and blinked hard like he was clearing away cobwebs in his head. He looked down at the floor between his knees.

That moment was the one I remember most clearly. It was pregnant, full of promise and disaster alike. The question that hung in the air was,Could these broken men let go of their hate?It had clouded their hearts for as long as they’d been alive. They’d been steeped in it. It drove them and they sought it.

But it was poisonous, dirty fuel. It was consuming them alive, and if they kept along the path they’d charted for themselves, they wouldn’t have much longer left. Surely they had to realize that. And surely they had to realize that there was an alternative. It was standing in front of them in the shape of the prisoner who had become their queen. The hunted who had become the huntress. If they wanted out, they had to say yes now. They wouldn’t have another chance.

Vito looked up. “Milaya Volkov,” he said in the way that only he could say it, the way that inevitably sent shivers racing down my spine. “Will you marry us?”

* * *

“Getting cold feet?” Dante teases. I hear a second thump. Someone has punched him again. “Ow! Motherfucker. You’re lucky I don’t have my ’chucks.”

“You’rethe lucky one. I’d wrap them around your throat if I could.”

“That’d be the day.”

“Enough, both of you,” I scold, though I’m still laughing inwardly. “It’s our wedding day. You’re supposed to be on your best behavior.”

“Tell it to the runt of the family here,” Mateo mumbles.

I can picture Dante getting worked up on the other side of the door as they all tease each other back and forth. It never stops with them. But it makes me smile, so I allow it.

It’s crazy to think of spending a lifetime with them. When I first proposed the union that night in the LA safe house apartment, I was careful to pitch it as a peace offering. Nothing more, nothing less. Mostly because I was scared of what it would mean if I confessed that I wanted it for more reasons than that. And also because I was downright terrified of what it would mean if they confessed that they did, too.

Can a girl love four men? Can four men love one girl? Can my father let me go? Can my enemies become my lovers, my guardians, my husbands, my kings? I still don’t know. I won’t know for sure until we all take our last breath, I suppose. I’ve learned that nothing in this world is for certain. Nothing can be taken for granted. At any moment, it could all go up in flames. You can think your life is headed one way, but all it takes is a few men in ill-fitting cop uniforms to yank you down another path altogether. So I’m slowly figuring out how to take things one day at a time.

That’s not to say that the questions don’t overwhelm me though. Because they definitely do. Like a swarm of hornets I can’t get away from, buzzing around on the inside of my skull. They keep me up at night sometimes. Often, actually, if I’m being honest with myself. The things I’m doing have never been done before, at least as far as I’m aware. I’m trying to build bridges between worlds that were never meant to be joined together. Every now and then, I feel like I’m the last little thread keeping it all from tearing in two. But then other times, I feel so lucky to be able to straddle these universes. To be the glue that keeps it all connected. That’s a unique power, a unique privilege, a unique calling. And it’s all mine. I try to remind myself of that when I’m feeling overwhelmed—that I’m doing what I was always meant to do.

Right now is more like one of the “feeling overwhelmed” moments than a “feeling like queen of the world” moment. I catch sight of myself in the mirror across the room and feel for a second like I’m a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s closet. What is this dress? What are these heels? Who is this girl in fancy makeup and an absurdly elaborate up-do? I want so badly to feel beautiful, and part of me definitely does. But another part of me feels like I should stop pretending and instead go join a nunnery or something. Who do I think I am?

I need reassurance. I am the queen of my men, aren’t I? Yes. But I most certainly am not feeling that way at the moment. And even a queen needs to feel the weight of her crown every now and then to be reminded of her station.