Page 91 of The Wrong Brother

Frank studies my expression for several long seconds before leaning back slowly in his seat. “You are upset.”

“I’m cautious.” Then I exhale sharply through my nose, because Frank knows me well enough to know where my mind goes. “She should have told me.”

“You’re a criminal, Ruslan.”

“She knew that when she agreed to this. It’s not something I hid from her.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He turns to me, a hand on my knee. The gold wedding band, worn now after forty years, fits snugly on his ring finger.

Everything in me goes quiet at the memory: two years after meeting Frank, his husband passed away unexpectedly. Quickly. And inhisgrief, I saw my own for my father. And the grief I wished I’d seen in my mother. The grief she hid before resolutely moving on, marrying, having Andrei and raising him as I stood in the shadows.

I couldn’t help it back then. Frank became a close friend, tangled in the legitimate business as well as the truth of my personal life. And now here he is, but why does it feel like he’s defending Emma more than me?

“Ruslan, from Emma’s perspective, admitting she worked for federal law enforcement to a BratvaPakhanmay not have seemed wise. Do you trust her? You must, if you’ve kept her here. Whether you want to admit it or not.”

Hearing the title aloud still feels strange after years of building myself into something larger than the frightened boy Colorado once knew.Pakhan. Leader. King. Monster.

“It’s not that,” I murmur, a half-lie. Because I do trust her, I realize that now. But—“ She stayed. Even after learning pieces of what I am. Even after the threats, violence, and manipulation. Emma still looks at me with anger, but she could have run again, and she didn’t.”

She still kisses me back like she can’t help herself.

Frank’s expression softens slightly. “She’s attached to you.”

“No.”

“You truly believe that?”

“She’s overwhelmed. Emotional attachment and trauma responses are not the same thing.”

Frank stares at me for a beat before laughing softly under his breath. “You sound desperate for that to be true.”

Unease presses beneath my ribs. Frank has known me too long to miss the signs. The distraction. The possessiveness. The way Emma has somehow worked herself beneath my skin despite every logical reason she should not matter.

“She’ll leave eventually,” I say flatly.

“Perhaps.”

“She should.”

Frank is quiet for a moment. Then: “And what do you want?”

Revenge.

Victory.

Colorado.

Emma in my bed.

Emma laughing in my kitchen with Kate.

Emma looking at me like I’m still capable of becoming something better than this.

“Be careful, Rus.” Frank’s warning is gentle, but firm.

“I always am.”

“No,” he says quietly. “You are usually controlled. This is different.”