We leave the bodies of The Thieves to litter the ground where they’ve done their dirtiest work and return to our compound. In our absence, the men of lesser rank removed bodies and orchestrated a full cleanse of our compound.
The rules of battle are clear. We’ve killed their leader and the majority of those who came after us. They will rebuild, but they no longer have reason to ambush us. We’ve remained victors in this battle and they may not attack us without reason going forward. They will have to form a new hierarchy, appoint a new leader. But now that Yuri’s daughter is mine, they will have to leave us be.
Still, I don’t trust them to. And as we drive back to the compound and Olena sits on my lap, my mind spins with the possibilities that lie ahead of us.
“The traitor is in my room,” I tell her. “Bound and hogtied and awaiting punishment.”
“You can do whatever you want with him,” Olena says. “I don’t want to deal with that, Maksym.”
Demyan went back with Nicolai, and the rest of our men wait for us. I want to spend the night with her. We have much to talk about, and I don’t want her to have to be alone after what she’s been through. But the traitor needs to be dealt with.
I call Demyan and make plans for Filip to be taken out of my room before I get there.
“I want to be alone with her tonight,” I tell him.
“Understood, brother. Do you want a hand in this?”
I know exactly what he’s asking. Do I want to exact my revenge on him for his act of betrayal?
“No,” I say.
“You sure?” Demyan asks. “We found out more information, Maksym. He was responsible for your abduction by The Thieves.”
I shake my head and look out the window, fury rising in me like the tide coming in. Strong. Uncontrollable. Destructive.
But then I feel her, her soft hand on my knee. I look to her and swallow hard.
“No,” I repeat. With a sigh, I rub my hand across my brow and pinch the bridge of my nose. And then I know. And as the realization hits me, I tell Demyan, and I know he’ll understand this. “I don’t, Demyan. No more. I don’t want this anymore.”
A beat of silence passes before he responds. There’s surprise but empathy in his voice when he talks to me. “Is it time for you to retire?”
I smile grimly to myself. I’m barely in my mid-thirties.
“I need to leave Russia,” I tell him. I can’t resign.
“You deserve to,” he says. “You deserve the highest honors. You’ve served us well.”
It’s an odd thing to say. It feels like I’ve earned some type of badge. But when I look at Olena, a feeling of deep peace washes over me.
I haven’t earned a badge, or honors. I’ve earned her.
Somehow, against all odds, I’ve earned this woman by my side.
But you don’t just resign from the Bratva.
“We have options, Maks,” Demyan says. “We will talk.”
I nod before I speak. “Yeah.”
I don’t know what my options are, but I trust Demyan. I’ll keep in touch with him, as he’s the one who means the most to me, the one who’s earned the title of “brother” more than anyone else.
We hang up the phone and Olena burrows into my chest.
“Maksym, I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.” Holding her in my arms like this, I know I can do it. I can leave this all behind. A part of me died in the cell under Yuri’s torture. And the thirst for vengeance no longer satisfies as it once did.
Did it ever?
I shake my head at her.
“I’m the one who needs to apologize. I gave you every reason not to trust me. And then I shut you out, and I can’t imagine how that made you feel. But you were so brave. When I saw you give yourself over to your father like that…”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about that,” she whispers. “Please.”
I take her chin between my thumb and forefinger and bring her gaze to mine. “We have everything to talk about.”
Swallowing hard, she nods. “Yeah,” she whispers.
“You shouldn’t have left, but that’s over now,” I tell her. “I didn’t want you hurt, Olena. You are no longer my captive.”
She lays her head on my shoulder and sighs.
“Can we…” her voice trails off.
“Can we what?”
“Is there any hope for us?” she whispers. “I know it’s a crazy thing to say. After everything that’s happened. Because of who I am and who you are—”
“You listen to me,” I tell her. “Our pasts have formed who we are, but we aren’t slaves to them. Our pasts will not determine our future. We will.”
She closes her eyes and nods. “He killed my mother,” she whispers.