Page 17 of The Brat: Prequel

I am so sick of being treated like a child!

“You were born a Bratva princess. Princesses do not become whores. He was trying to stir shit, katyonok. He wanted to know if you were in contact with me, and he’ll find out the answer when I return. Do you understand?”

“I-I do.”

“You are not a whore. Say it. I want to hear you say it. You are not, and never will be, a whore.”

I swallow. “I’m not, and never will be, a whore.”

“Victoria?”

“Yes, Maxim?”

“Never speak his name again. He is not Timofai to you. He is nothing. Do you understand?”

“I understand. T-Thank you, Maxim.”

Because I want to ask him if he’s been to Petrov’s for pierogis and whether Misha was annoyed that the Knicks lost last season or if Moskva’s weather’s nice and to tell him to visit one of Mama’s favorite bakeries to see if the bird’s milk cake is as good as I remember, I end the call.

He’s not the Max who drove me around anymore.

My friend’s gone.

I gnaw on my bottom lip, trying not to mourn the loss of a friendship I didn’t realize I held dear.

“You didn’t know because you’d never dare think it. Father would have killed him if he thought you liked him,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself.

But our friendship wasn’t anything dirty. On his side either. I know perverts. I can read our coach like a book, after all.

Max was … kind.

And he seemed young back then.

I don’t stop the tears from falling. What’d be the point?

I have to accept that, now, he’s older. More mature. A Pakhan, not a boyevik.

I can’t help but miss the boyevik…

SIX

MAX <3

Victoria: Are you the reason everyone’s whispering around me?

Maxim: Whispering? In what way?

Victoria: Inessa looks like she’s seen a ghost. Eoghan keeps messing with that switchblade of his. Brennan’s double the grouch he usually is, and Camille made me my favorite kasha.

Maxim: Didn’t you receive your gift?

Victoria: What gift?

Maxim: The boy’s hand

Victoria: You sent me Stepanov’s hand?!

Maxim: The left one