“Yul, please!” He keeps writhing, trying to kick his feet free of the new “shoes” I bought him. Cement shoes—for one last swim. “It was Prizrak who pulled the trigger! Not me!”
“You sold us out to them,” I snarl. “It might as well have been you.”
Remorse clutches my chest. For trusting him, telling him about that dinner. If I hadn’t, my family would still be alive.Kirawould still be alive.
But I’ll fix it. I can’t give Kira’s family their daughter back—can’t stop Nikita from crying herself to sleep—but I can give them something else.
Justice.
Finally, Desya drops the pretense. “I did it for us,” he whispers, a deranged note to his confession. “So that your family wouldn’t get in the way. So that that bitch Kira wouldn’t trap you. So we could rule together!”
“Get Kira’s name out of your filthy mouth,” I say, grabbing his collar. “A traitor like you doesn’t deserve to speak it.”
“She was going to ruin you!”
“She was our friend!” I roar. “She was Nikita’s sister!”
“Nikita will be heir now,” he insists. “She’ll be happier growing up outside of Kira’s shadow. Easier to mold, easier to control. A better bride for?—”
My punch collides with his face. His shattered nose cracks once more under my knuckles, making Desya howl in pain. It’s nothing compared to what he did to me or the Morozovs—nothing like what he deserves.
Death is too good for him, too.
“That’s enough,” I seethe. “You’ve taken something from me. So now, I’m going to take something from you.”
He blinks. “You’re… going to kill my family?”
“No, I’m not like you,” I reply. “Your parents’ only sin was having amudakfor a son. They’ll leave the Bratva world quietly. I already made arrangements.”
“S-so, what…?”
“The only thing you care about is yourself. So I’ll take a piece of that. An eye for an eye.”
Horror dawns on his face. “Yul, don’t.”
I ignore him. “Maks, keep him still.”
“Yes,pakhan.”
Pakhan.It feels odd to be called that. Until twenty-four hours ago, that moniker belonged to my father. I wasn’t supposed to take over for ten more years—until I’d learned everything he could teach me.
But now, he’s dead. He’ll never teach me anything again. And I’ll never teach my sister Alina.
Desya took that from me, too. He took everything from me.
And if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make him feel at least an ounce of the agony he’s wrought on me.
I pull out my knife. Desya’s eyes widen as he sees it, realizing what’s about to happen a split second before it does.
Then he’s screaming.
It goes on forever. I don’t do a clean job—don’t even try to make it clinical. This is personal. It’s supposed to be messy, bloody. It’s supposed tohurt.
He has himself to blame for teaching me that.
Once I’m done, I toss his eye into the water. Food for the fish—like he’ll be soon.
It doesn’t make me feel better. Taking his eye, taking his life—who fucking cares? Nothing can fill the gaping void inside me. Nothing ever will.
