Page 113 of The Wrong Brother

It doesn’t make sense.

I know Rus well enough now to understand that he doesn’t abandon goals halfway through, especially not something this personal.

Which means either he has changed his mind, or he’s planning something bigger.

Neither possibility helps me sleep.

A soft knock echoes faintly through the suite. I sit up, hand going to my hip as a reflex from days long past, back when I carried a Glock. Not necessary now, since I have a six-foot-two crime boss guarding the door.

Another knock.

No response, but Ruslan must be listening too. Waiting.

A few moments later, I hear footsteps walking away.

Frank.

It has to be.

Earlier this evening, I’d heard his voice through the door while Rus continued taking calls. Frank had sounded irritated, which wasn’t unusual, but there had been something else underneath it. Concern.

That fact makes me uneasy. Frank knows him better than anyone else. If Frank is worried, maybe I should be too.

I glance toward the bedroom door. A sliver of light glows beneath it.

Outside, a cool wind rattles faintly against the windows, carrying the first real hints of autumn across the city. The season is changing. My life is changing. Everything feels uncertain.

I rest a hand against my stomach. It hasn’t changed in any real way—I can’t be that far along. Weeks, maybe. But that doesn’t stop the unconscious gesture.

Is it protective? Questioning? Hopeful?

I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to.

I don’t know whether staying with Rus is brave or reckless. I don’t know if we’re running toward something or away from it.

What I do know is that somewhere beyond the bedroom door, a man who once swore he would burn Colorado to the ground is ignoring his oldest friend, making secret phone calls, and refusing to come to bed.

All for me, and the baby I haven’t even decided to keep yet.

Then the bedroom door opens so abruptly I jump. Rus steps into the room, tie gone, sleeves up to his elbows—just like I’d imagined. There’s a sharp focus in his pale eyes that sets my nerves on edge.

“Get dressed.”

“What?”

“We’re leaving.”

The words hit me like cold water.

“Leaving where?”

“Now,l’vyonak.”

That’s not an answer, and I open my mouth to argue, but Rus’ chin tips down and his eyes darken.Therehe is—the Bratva boss.

It’s almost 11:45 now, and thinking better of it, I throw back the blankets. Rus is already moving toward the closet, pulling out a coat for me before I can protest. Whatever has happened, he has clearly made up his mind.

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