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Avraam
Iwish I could spend the rest of the night eating Kimberly’s sweet mound, but Damien is coming over and I need to prepare things for him. After a second and third round in the lounge, I leave Kimberly alone to get ready while I prepare dinner.
All she has to do is look pretty and smile when he arrives. I’ll do the rest.
As I’m in the kitchen dicing an onion, I think about what Damien told me over the phone this morning about the shooter.
Someone you know.
That’s what he said, but how could it be someone I know when I don’t know anyone at all? He has proof that it wasn’t him, at least, because the shells found at the scene belong to a type of gun they don’t sell ammunition for in Montana.
In fact, it’s banned, so there’s no point in carrying one when you could just as easily carry a different firearmlegally.
So, it’s someone from out of state, but who would that be? I haven’t been outside of Montana until a few days ago, unless we dial back time twenty-five years. Would someone really wait that long to hunt me down and make an attempt on my life?
Damien seems to believe so, and he’s going to explain everything to me when he’s over for dinner, because if he doesn’t, I’m kicking his sorry ass to the curb.
I hope he’s able to convince me that everything he says is true and it’s not some kind of elaborate hoax. I’ve had plenty of time to consider the way that I walked out on my brother, and ultimately, I’ve come to the conclusion that it wasn’t the right thing to do.
Mom told us to stick together, and he made a genuine effort to follow through with that. I’m the one who pushed him away.
I curse myself under my breath as tears well up in my eyes.
Fucking onions.
I toss the half-diced onion to the side and work on the other vegetables. Damien never liked onions, anyway.
I wipe the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand, shaking my head at myself. This girl is making me soft. Kimberly. I almost died when she told me she was pregnant, and now I can barely hold back tears at the thought of making up with my brother.
No, it’s just the onions. They’re right beside me. Too close.
I move away from them, washing my face in the large stainless steel sink next to the fridge. The cold water feels good against my hot skin, and I probably needed to wash Kimberly’s pussy off my beard, anyway.
That would’ve been an awkward conversation with Damien.
It makes me wonder if he has a girlfriend, or if he really is just a single man on the rise to the top. I’m proud of what he’s achieved in Montana since I was locked away. He’s kept the family name intact, and that’s no easy task.
Meanwhile, what have I done? Dug up buried treasure in an attempt to restart my Bratva and gain a foothold in the modern world? To anyone on the outside, it sounds like a pipe dream, but it’s real and Damien is the only man who will understand it.
For that alone, he’s valuable.
But even if he wasn’t worth a single flake of gold to me, he’s my brother, and in the Bratva, Family comes first. Maybe that’s why I didn’t fully succeed the first time, and maybe that’s how things are going to be different this time around.
I smile to myself at the realization that I have the best time coming together that I could ever want. Damien, Kimberly, and my future child.
When the time comes for the table to be set and the towering iron gates to be opened to Damien, I find myself pacing around the house, unable to concentrate on anything. I’m nervous like I’ve never been before, sweating for no reason as my stomach does somersaults.
I stand by the front door as the black SUV carrying Damien rolls down the basalt driveway outside. Kimberly is right next to me, squeezing my hand and being the strength and support I didn’t know I needed.
“Oh my God, he looks exactly like you,” she says, her eyes lighting up when she sees Damien step out of the car.
I chuckle. This better not be a moment of jealousy for me. If Damien even looks at her the wrong way, I’m jumping over the table and going for his throat.
“He’s your twin. Jesus, Avraam, I didn’t know you were twins,” she gushes.
My face burns but I turn to hide it. “We aren’t twins, and we don’t look that much alike.”
“No, of course not, you’re far more handsome,” she assures me with a pat on my arm.
