Page 5 of Anton

Her hazel eyes darken as she stares at me, way too perceptive for her own good. “You absolutely are not allowed to daydream about fucking anyone in the mob. The last thing you need is more danger in your life.”

Of course Blair knows all about that, being the daughter of one of the dirtiest politicians in the country and one of my dad’s closest friends.

The Whitlocks are known for a lot of things—philanthropy, saving horses through the Whitlock Foundation—but Daddy can’t run his dirty business without greasing palms like Blair’s father’s.

“I don’t know what it is about him, but I just want to pull him into my arms and give him a big hug. He’s just so…”

“Intense? Homicidal?”

“No.” I narrow my eyes.

“Thora, he’s not some stallion you can fix. He’s a man. A man who clearly wanted nothing to do with you.”

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t say I wanted to date him. My God, Blair.”

Of course, I don’t tell her how attractive I think he is, but that’s not even what this is. I can’t put my finger on it, but something about him pulls me in.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe I just like having something broken to fix. But what’s so bad about that? If half the people in the world took their time helping just one other person, how much better off would we be?

“Not a word of this to my sister.” I cut her a look as I pull us back onto the road.

“I wouldn’t do that to you. Plus, Greer scares the fuck out of me.” She grimaces as she reaches for her seat belt and clicks it into place.

“She’s not so bad. She’s got a heart of gold. That is, when she doesn’t want to kill you.”

We both laugh.

Even though I’d never say it to her face, I love my older sister. She and my four brothers have spent my entire life trying to shield me from every bad thing that could happen—which, if I’m being honest, is also incredibly irritating. I hate being treated with kid gloves, like I’m something fragile.

There’s more to me than that.

ANTON

Family dinners with my brothers are as appealing as being asked how I feel. But they’re mandatory. Konstantin insists, and I’m not in the mood to argue, so here I am, parking my Ducati sportbike in the driveway and heading inside.

Blyat, I’m going to have to suffer through small talk. I hate small talk. I much prefer discussing strategy and death.

As soon as the guards open the door and I walk in, the smell of something heavy with garlic hits me straight in the face. I am actually quite hungry.

“There he is.” Konstantin approaches, slapping me on the back as the voices from the dining room carry through the house. “How are you, brother?”

“Great. How long do I have to stay?”

He shoves me lightly, his mouth pulling into a grin. “Come sit down. Everyone’s already here.”

The second I enter the dining room, every eye turns to me.

“Privet,” Kirill says.

Aleksei only nods, and both of their wives greet me next.

A second later, Emilia, Konstantin’s wife, walks in carrying a large tray of ribs. He’s on his feet in an instant, taking it from her before leaning down to kiss her temple.

They look at each other, and it’s strange, the way they all do that. The way they see one another. I’ll never understand. It’s like watching aliens, wondering what that must be like. To care.

Sure, I want my brothers alive. They matter. They’re family. But that’s where it ends. Whatever bond they all seem to share with each other and their women, I don’t have it. Maybe that should bother me, but it doesn’t.

They all keep talking, and from my periphery, I catch Lev, Kirill’s nine-year-old son, staring at me. I force a smile, because that’s what you do with kids, right? You smile at them. Try not to look like the boogeyman, especially to a child who has autism.