Novel & Cerita The Brothers Karamazov

Liam waited in the courtyard. He stood alone, no servants, no guards, just a single figure in the gray morning light. His face was ravaged by dark circles under his eyes, his clothes rumpled, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. When he saw Kaelan approach, something flickered across his expression. Pain. Rage. Love. Loss. All of it, tangled together. Kaelan stopped ten feet away. Close enough to see, far enough to survive. "Liam." "Don't." His brother's voice was raw, scraped clean of pretense. "Don't say my name like you have any right to it."

He turned first to Hope and then to me, before closing the door behind him and standing there with his hands dangling loosely at his sides. “I’m Dmitri Volkov,” he said. His English was exact, accented, every word carefully chosen. "You know who I am." "I know who you are," I said. “Your husband killed my brother,” he said. "Seven years ago. A territorial dispute that Vivienne Morano manufactured solely to take my family off of a shipping route she wanted for herself. It was my brother who attended the meeting. It was Caelum who made sure he didn’t return.” He said all this without any particular emotion, as if someone was reciting a thing they had repeated many times in private and handled

(Dante's POV) The atmosphere in the Blackwood mansion was suffocating. Don Salvatore Blackwood sat in his high-backed chair, his face a mask of cold fury. At fifty-eight, he'd seen it all, but he never imagined his own sons would bring such shame upon the family. Across the long table, Dante’s older brother, Vincent, scowled at a stack of newspapers. Every front page was a variation of the same story. "Chicago Mob Family Implicated in Bullying Scandal."

His words landed like shards of glass. Alexander Westwood. The eldest son. Disciplined, ruthless, calculated. A man who commanded boardrooms with a single look and never wasted words he didn’t mean. Where Ethan was warmth and fire, Alexander was shadow and steel. The one who looked at me as though I were an inconvenience he had to endure. He wasn’t just cold. He was winter itself. And now he was waiting at the altar. “I need a moment,” I whispered hoarsely. Richard gave a curt nod and left.

Of course, it swelled my heart to see my brother having a life of his own like I wanted—but a child? “And this Sofia! How old is she ?” I asked. “Sofia Vladimir, the youngest and only daughter of the Vladimir family, is twenty-three—three months ahead of Matteo,” Antonio explained. I didn’t get it. Why were they all sounding so calm and relaxed over things? This was trouble, and they knew it. The Vladimirs held down the Russian Bratva, Luca held down the one in the States and around the neighboring countries. They never clashed publicly, but it was obvious they were always at each other’s throats—first the cops sniffing around, and now this?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I’m Luca, Damien’s brother.” My mother blinked. “Damien’s brother?” Luca nodded politely. “Yes. I heard about Mr. Valenci, and I just came to check on him. I didn’t want to disturb your rest, so Selena and I spoke out here.” Her brows lifted slightly in surprise. I could see the questions swirling behind her eyes. “Damien never mentioned a brother.” “I’ve been away for quite some time,” Luca said smoothly, not missing a beat. “Business overseas. I recently came back.”

“No, you don’t care?” “No, I’m not answering you.” His hand twitched. I saw it this time. I braced. But he didn’t hit me. Not yet. He walked away instead. Picked up the bloody handkerchief. Looked at it. “My brother isn’t a good man.” I said nothing. “He has killed people.” “I know.” “He has tortured people.” My stomach tightened. “He has collected debts from men who begged him for mercy.” “I know what he is.” “No.”

He had called me mean and said that I was pinning the blame on Tommy, who was only three years old. But now, that same three-year-old showed not a trace of fear or sadness as he stood before his own brother's charred corpse. Instead, he complained that his toy was broken.

It had nothing to do with me. Absolutely nothing. I repeated that thought all the way home. It did not become more convincing. Ethan was in the living room when we arrived. He looked up from his phone. "You two went out together?" I froze. Knox didn't. "Food," he said, dropping his keys into the bowl by the door. "Your brother was threatening to eat the furniture." "I was hungry," I protested. Ethan laughed. "Sounds like Kai." "He's worse than you think," Knox said solemnly.

“I’m not going through that again. Here, sign it before anybody changes their mind.” Nikolai smiled. “Are you referring to me or to yourself?” “I don’t go back on my word. I’m not like your damn brother.” “My brother?” Nikolai ůsaid, frowning. He had five of them, the youngest being six year old. There was also an eight-year-old and a twelve-year-old and the oldest next to him were nineteen-year-old twins. He loved all his brothers, though they were rather loud and annoying, especially the younger ones, but he couldn’t figure out how Akari knew any of them or what she might have against them.