“We formed a brotherhood that night,” Sevastian had laughed, his mustache flecked with ash from his cigarette. “A brotherhood that revolved around her cunt.”

“She squirmed too much,” Pavlov complained. “I expected better. I had to put her in her place before I could even enjoy myself.”

“Kolya,” June whispers, her tone rich with all the pain that I refuse to let myself show.

I don’t look at her. It’s easier to watch my fingers roam over the piano. I’m not playing anymore, just touching the keys without making a sound. “After my father’s funeral, I launched a full probe into my mother’s whereabouts. I thought maybe she could still be out there. She could still be alive.”

I can practically feel June holding her breath. “And…?”

“It came up empty. Her trail went cold,” I explain. “She could have been a rich man’s toy. She could have escaped. She could have died for all I know.”

I flinch when her fingers slide onto mine. My eyes meet hers and she smiles sadly at me. “I’m sorry, Kolya. Everyone deserves closure.”

Is that what I’ve been searching for this whole time? Closure?

It seems stupid not to have thought about it all these years. I just thought I was searching for her, the woman who taught me how to play the piano. The woman who told me to look after Adrian.

But maybe it wasn’t her I was searching for. Because deep down, I always knew I wasn’t going to find her.

Maybe I was just looking for an ending.

“Can I ask you a question?” June presses.

I cringe inwardly. I don’t talk about my mother for a reason. Because, even after all these years, the wound is still fresh. But I can withstand the pain of a few questions.

As long as June is the one asking them.

“Go on.”

“Does Adrian know?”

I shake my head. “No. I decided not to tell him.”

“Why not?”

“He was already in a dark place. He was out on his own, away from the Bratva and my protection. I saw him sporadically and when I did, he always reeked of alcohol. He’d also…” I hesitate. “He’d also just gotten involved with you. There was a moment there that I thought your relationship would mark a turning point for him.”

She lets out a humorless burst of laughter. “Turns out I wasn’t enough,” she says bitterly. “That must have been as disappointing for you as it was for me.”

“It was wrong to assume that anyone else could change Adrian,” I say. “But if it’s any comfort, I think you did make a difference in his life.”

She looks up at me as though she’s surprised by that claim. “Y-you do?”

I nod. “He tried to change,” I point out. “That counts for something.”

She takes a deep breath. “He never really spoke much about his parents with me. Of course, I knew he had them. But he never once mentioned he had a brother.”