Page 34 of Bratva Sacrifice

“Sit, koshechka,” I say. “Eat.”

She has eaten nothing today. At first I thought her stomach was too sour, her head too painful. Now I know she was waiting for her moment to make her escape. It was clever of her, I can admit. Stupid, also, for reasons she could not have possibly understood at the time. But clever nonetheless. Resourceful. These are qualities I admire.

I lift the silver cover from her plate. Her steak is already cut into bite-sized pieces, no need for a knife. Her fork? Plastic.

“Oh, fuck you,” Katya scoffs in disdain as she sees it, and her cheeks burn. Not with a blush; with fury.

I feel a grin tugging at my lips, though the woman who brought the food to us here in the library jerks with shock at Katya’s coarse language. It is a disrespect I would not tolerate from anyone else. But this swearing she indulges herself in—which she has told me was once something forbidden to her by her papa—is amusing to me. The woman retreats hastily, as if she fears she might bear witness to a murder if she stays.

I don’t care if Katya says these words to me. I like her smart mouth, her little claws. She can be both things in turn, sweet and spicy. Perhaps I can turn her sweet for me again.

But for now, I let her have her spice. A consolation prize for what she has lost.

From across the room, she considers the food on the plate with suspicion.

“Is not poisoned,” I tell her.

Her blonde brows slash in sneering condescension. Her jaw tightens.

“Or drugged,” I allow. I snatch up her fork, pick a piece of steak at random and eat it. “For fuck’s sake, Katya,” I grumble. “No one drugs steak.”

She is hungry. It has been more than a day since last she has eaten. She would be foolish not to be wary, and Katya is not a fool. But she has no other options, and I know she knows this, too. Doesn’t matter if it is poisoned, if it is drugged. Still, she has no other option but to take what I give her, since she has already discovered there is no escape.

She ventures closer, a step at a time, and reaches for the plate when she is still so far away she has to balance on her toes to lean far enough to grasp it.

The fork is still in my hand. I hold it up, but she will have to come closer still to get it. Her expressive face reveals everything she is thinking, and I think this must be why she buried herself in blankets today. I would have known what she was planning if she had not.

She is considering another tantrum. Making a sacrifice of this new meal and throwing it at my head just as she did with the last. Even if she will remain hungry thereafter, she will consider it a worthy sacrifice.

“You do not want to do that,” I tell her. “I can be patient, koshechka. But there are limits.”

With a half-smothered sound of rage, she reaches for the fork. I catch her wrist in my hand before she can take it. Her pulse flutters beneath my fingers. The rapid beat of fear, despite her bravado.

The plate wobbles on the flat of her other hand as I pull her closer and pry open her clenched fist. I lay her plastic fork into her palm and her fingers close around it. “Sit,” I tell her again. “Eat.”

“You killed my brother,” she seethes with a lift of her chin, and I think she wants me to deny it.

I am not in the habit of lying when there is no need. “Nicola was a stupid thieving fuck. If I had not killed him, someone else would have. Your own famiglia, most likely.”

Katya startles, her hand tipping. Chunks of roasted potato sprinkled with dill roll off of her plate and onto the floor before she catches herself. Her eyes narrow into suspicious slits. “What do you mean?”

Of course she does not know. She is only Giulio’s bastard; not truly part of the family. Maybe she carries his name, but to Giulio that is ownership, not affection. He tells her nothing because the family business is not her business. Her only use is as a pawn to be traded for more power, to connect him to another family. “Nicola was skimming,” I tell her. “From the larger Russo family. Fake invoices, shell companies who exist only to put money in his pocket. I do not care so much about this,” I tell her with a shrug. It makes no difference to me whether Nicola was stealing from his own family. “But when he steals from me, he makes it my business. He stole from others, too. I just found out first.”

Her blue eyes glisten. Still sentimental, without reason, for a man who could not have given less of a fuck about her. “You could have looked the other way.”

“Da,” I say. “I could. Then it would be my weakness to let a thief go free. You think a weak man survives this life for long?”

In this moment, I have no doubt that she doesn’t care whether or not I survive.

“But you didn’t have to kill him,” she says, and swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. There’s a warble in her voice; a sympathy Nicola has never deserved from her.

“I don’t let such things happen without consequence.” Nicola was stupid, lazy, and careless. Exploitable weaknesses. Even Katya will not make me feel guilt for this. “Nicola owed me much; more even than your papa could repay. And worse still, he is stupid enough to leave behind evidence of this.” A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Of course, he also leaves evidence of his papa’s other child, a daughter Giulio keeps a secret from the rest of his family.”

A shiver slides down Katya’s spine, and I know she is remembering how she found Nicola’s phone in my pocket. His blood still filling its cracks and crevices.

“So I decide maybe there is something I want more than money. Maybe I will take Giulio’s daughter instead. I like her pretty face, her messy blonde hair in ponytails. I like these pictures Anatoli finds for me where she wears sweaters with leggings and chews bubble gum. So I offer Giulio a trade. My silence, in exchange for you.”

She stabs a piece of steak on her plate so viciously that the plastic tines bend. “Go fuck yourself, Alexei. You can’t keep me here.”