“Once again, no. I left you alone before. Maybe you don’t remember because you were drinking yourself into the ground, but we’ve done this whole shebang already.” He circles a finger at me and the glass I’m crushing in my fist. “You drank and worked out until you couldn’t stand. I understand what you were going through, so I let you grieve. But we don’t have time for this now.”
“I’ve managed this Bratva long enough on my own. I can manage myself.”
“You’re being reckless,” he spits, “and I deserve to understand why.”
“You don’t deserve a f*****g thing from me!” I roar. The anger hits me sideways, rising up from the place it’s been hiding all day. Simmering. Waiting. I fling my glass against the wall and jab a finger at my brother. “My personal life isn’t your f*****g business. If you are
