Page 121 of The Wrong Brother

She can’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to.

I know.

God, I know.

Kate would become national news overnight. The forgotten daughter, the abandoned child—the politician’s secret. Every camera in the country would descend on her during a vulnerable time in her life.

I picture her lopsided smile, hear her bright laughter when she has friends over terrorizing the house. Can I do that to her? To endthis,a war that is mine, and not hers?

Emma’s voice is quiet when she finally speaks.

“You could destroy him. And ruin her.”

It isn’t an accusation; it’s the truth. The one I’ve been avoiding since following the thread from Emma to Victoria, to all the women before.

The fire crackles softly. Somewhere outside, a bird calls through the trees, starting up an insistent chatter.

Because Andrei deserves to fall, but Kate deserves peace. Which do I choose?

Chapter 32

Emma

Our second fullday in the cabin feels strangely normal, considering the revelations from the morning before. Sleeping was restless, but waking was easy. As was watching Rus crack eggs into a cast iron pan and move around the cabin thatshouldfeel too small to hold him, but is somehow just right.

After everything that has happened over the last few weeks, I never thought I’d find myself sitting in the passenger seat of a pickup truck while Rus drives us through a mountain town that looks like it belongs on a postcard. I don’t ask where the truck came from; the caretaker, I’m assuming.

West River is small enough that I almost miss it when we come around a bend in the road. Nestled between pine-covered slopes and a winding river, the town consists of a handful of historic brick buildings, a grocery store, two cafés directly across from one another, and what appears to be a combination hardware store and bait shop.

People wave at each other. Nobody seems to be hiding a criminal empire.

It’s refreshing.

“You’re staring.”

I glance toward Rus.

“I’m judging your taste in hideouts.”

“The consensus?”

“The jury is still out.”

The smile that threatens his mouth makes something warm unfurl in my chest. God help me. I like him, and that still catches me off guard sometimes.

The clinic sits on the edge of town beside a small pharmacy and a veterinary office. It’s modest but well-maintained, with flower boxes beneath the windows and a handmade wooden sign hanging outside.

Not exactly the sort of place I’d expect a Bratva leader to visit, but Ruslan also seems like a man who can make do with the resources at hand. And he’s insisting that I see a doctor.

Within twenty minutes of arriving, we’re ushered into an exam room. I don’tthinkstrings have been pulled, but I can’t rule out the possibility. No one seems to bat an eye at his Burberry jacket, despite the fact that they’re in Carhartt.

The doctor arrives shortly afterward. She’s a woman in her late fifties with silver hair, hiking boots, and absolutely no interest in being impressed by Ruslan Smirnov.

I like her immediately.

Especially when she spends approximately ten seconds looking at him before saying, “You can sit down. Looming isn’t helping anybody.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. Rus actually looks offended.