Avenge :Romanian Mob Chronicles(40)

The anger that bubbled in my throat was more a reflection of my own guilt and not my anger toward him, but I was too close to the edge, too ragged to respond. So I ignored him, continued down the hall with my resolve intact.

Braden lay there, silent, watchful like he had been for more than a decade, and for the first time I envied his tranquility. It was terrible, yet another sign of my weakness, but I felt it nonetheless, was jealous because my brother didn’t have to betray me as I was him.

As I got closer, I frowned, seeing spittle that had pooled and dried at the corners of his mouth, his uncombed hair, his entire physical body an embodiment of my own failures.

I wet a cloth, letting it run under the almost scalding water until it was warm, welcoming the burn against my hand. It was no less than I deserved.

Then I returned to him and wiped his face, pleased when some clean skin was revealed. Even now, after all these years, Braden was still handsome, and if I’d closed my eyes I would have easily envisioned the bright smile that had covered his face, how loved and protected he’d made me feel. How he was the only one who had ever made me feel that way.

Our father had tried to be there for us after our mother died. That was what Braden had told me, anyway.

I barely remembered the man. He’d always been on the periphery, a shadowy figure that sometimes came home but always left again and then finally one day didn’t come back at all.

I was five, maybe six, when Braden sat me down and told me that the man I called Daddy on those occasions I saw him wouldn’t be coming home anymore. It was terrible, shameful, to think of my reaction, how I hadn’t had much of one at all.

But I hadn’t. Daddy was gone, and I’d been sad, but only because Braden had seemed so. His absence didn’t hurt me, didn’t even cause a ripple, because Braden was still there, my family, my rock. He’d been my best friend, my entire world, even after almost all of him had been taken from me.

Until Anton.

I stopped, returned the cloth to the sink, and sat beside Braden and grasped his hand. No time to delay, not any longer.

“I’m sorry, Braden. I failed you.”

I stopped, looked up at him, searching for any hint of reaction.

There was none.

Braden couldn’t help me out of this, would give me no respite, so I squeezed his hand, and continued.

“You always told me to be brave. Be strong. To trust myself. I never was, you know? I faked it, always pretended because I wanted to make you proud. Would you be proud of me now, Brade?” I asked, the imploring tone of my voice only softened by the tears that had started to fall.

I looked to him again, and was again confronted with that same serene silence that had been his response for so many years.

I shook my head.

“I don’t think you would be. You deserved better—you deserved justice. But I won’t be able to get it for you.”

I lowered my head, the shame making it almost impossible to keep it lifted. My voice dropped to match my posture. “I can’t do it, Braden. I tried, and I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

I exhaled, let my brother’s hand go. It wouldn’t be right to touch him when I was telling him of how I’d wronged him.

“I’m sorry. I hope wherever you are, you can hear me. I hope that you’ll forgive me.”

The last word was barely audible, but I prayed he had heard me anyway.

I sat with Braden for a few hours more. Then I left.

My confessions for the day were only beginning.





Fifteen





Lily





I was in a daze when I got home, so deep in regret—and my feelings for Anton—that I didn’t even notice the black luxury sedan parked in front of my building until I was on it. I moved to go around, my heart speeding, but when the door opened and Christoph stepped out, I stopped.

“Lily, I expected you at the house today,” he said.

I paused and then started to move, but stopped when he shifted to block my path. I swallowed hard, trying to push away the worry that had sent my heart beating triple time. That worry was not so easily deterred. So I swallowed again, exhaled hard before I dared open my mouth.

“I spoke with Mrs. Constantin, and she said your father was resting and that I should take the day off. Has something changed?”

“No, Father was fine the last I checked,” he said.

“So is there something I can help you with?” I asked.

He shook his head and smiled, the expression far too bright and so happy that it set me on edge. “No. Something I can help you with. After you,” he said, gesturing toward the open door.

No way.

There was no way I was getting into the car with him. Everything inside of me screamed that I shouldn’t. But then I looked at him, saw his hard, uncompromising countenance and questioned if saying no was even an option. I’d try though.