Roman chuckles. “Oh there’s definitely someone she wants to be with,” he says to no one in particular.
Daniil clears his throat.
“Who did the clean up?” Maksim asks Daniil. “It was extraordinary. The only reason we knew what our uncle was saying was true was because we took up the carpet and saw the blood underneath.”
“A friend. I’ll pass on your compliments.” Daniil grins. “And his number to you, if he okays it.”
Maksim nods. “It would be appreciated.” He turns back to me. “Can I ask how you did it?”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. That’s the last question I expected. “I slit his throat,” I whisper. The diner isn’t crowded but the last thing I need is for someone who has no idea of the situation to overhear me discussing how I murdered someone.
Maksim nods thoughtfully.
“She cut his throat so deeply I could see bone,” Daniil adds, with a hint of pride that should make me feel sick. But it doesn’t.
“I was warned about what he likes to do…in bed.” I keep my eyes on Maksim’s, refusing to let any shame or embarrassment creep in. “I wasn’t going to let him do that to me, or anyone else, ever again.”
Maksim nods.
Roman looks proud. “A true Vasiliev,” he says, and some of the weight I’ve been carrying since I found out who I was to marry, eases.
“So, what now?” I ask.
Maksim turns back to me. “Stay low for a couple of months, let everything settle. We’ll deal with your father but it’s unlikely you’ll see him again.”
I wait for a moment, expecting the words to have some sort of impact on me. But nothing stirs. I just feel flat, as though someone is telling me the time, or reading from a menu.
“Okay,” I finally say. “Do I need to ask your permission if I do choose to get married at some point?”
“No,” Maksim says. “But we’d appreciate an invite to this one.”
My cousins stand from the table and begin to leave, before Roman stops and turns back to me.
“Oh,” he says, “this belongs to you now.” He hands me a slip of paper with names and numbers that make no sense to me. “He’ll know what to do,” he adds, gesturing to Daniil with a nod. Then they leave and I’m left feeling adrift with confusion.
Daniil squeezes my hand again. “Are you okay?” he asks.
I want to sayno. Then I realise I want to sayI don’t know. Instead, I nod and simply say, “Yes.”
Daniil
The road back to the cabin winds through forest so dense it swallows the headlights. Rain slicks the tarmac, painting the early night in shifting silver. Sienna’s beside me, her head turned toward the window, eyes on the blur of trees. She hasn’t spoken since we left diner, and I can tell she’s trying not to think about the note folded in her lap. The one with the bank details and passwords written in Roman’s neat, slanted hand.
It’s a fortune.
A parting gift.
Or a curse, depending on how you look at it.
“It could be millions,” I say quietly, watching the wipers drag across the glass. “He’s given you everything Andrey had. At least what he had in bank accounts.”
She doesn’t answer. Her knuckles whiten around the paper, then she folds it tighter and stuffs it into the pocket of her jacket.
“I don’t want it,” she murmurs after a long silence. “I hate everything about men like Andrey. I don’t even want to look at it.”
Her voice cracks a little on the last word, and something sharp twists in my chest. She’s been through hell, and she’s still standing. Still trying to come to terms with the world she was raised in. I slow the car as we turn off the main road, the gravel crunching under the tyres.
“You could disappear with it,” I say, half meaning it. “Start over somewhere warm. No more Bratva, no more blood. You could buy yourself peace.”
