The drive to the warehouse feels endless, even though I take every turn too fast. My hands are locked on the wheel, knuckles scratched and bleeding.
It’s a mistake to leave her alone.The rational part of me knows I should have said something to Luka. Better yet, I should have stayed behind myself. Ensured that my prisoner had nowhere to go.
But if I’d stayed, I would have caved. I’m not so stupid that I can’t recognize weakness when I see it, even in myself. And Sima hasn’t just exploited my weakness—she’s become it.
If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll stay exactly where she is. Because I may be soft on her, but I know how to follow a trail if I need to. I’ll sic every hound I’ve got on her and drag her back by any means necessary.
And she won’t like what happens to her freedom after that.
Stop it. You won’t do it.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl at that nagging voice inside me. Usually, it sounds like my father, but today, it’s Dimitri I’m hearing. His calm, reassuring baritone calling me out on my bullshit. “I’m doing this for you.”
No answer comes to that.
I bite my tongue until I taste blood. Sima’s face—it just won’t leave me. Her teary eyes, her wrecked expression. She was staring at me like I’d gutted her.
“You… you knew?”
Guilt hits me, even though I’ve got nothing to feel guilty about. She’s the guilty one.
And she didn’t even have the balls to acknowledge it to my face.
Still, her face keeps floating there. The hurt in her eyes hit me harder than I care to admit.
I slam my palm against the steering wheel. “Fuck!” The shallow cuts on my knuckles split open again. The sting helps ground me. Pain is useful. Easy to control.
Unlike the gnawing ache I feel in my chest whenever I close my eyes and see hers. That’s another brand of pain, one I can’t allow myself to feel, because it makes me fucking weak.
And I can’t afford that.
My Bratva is relying on me. More importantly, my brother is. He’s got no one else. Either I step up, or I lose him.
And I won’t lose another piece of my soul. Not tonight.
“Idiot,” I growl at myself and pound the heel of my hand against the dash. “Fucking idiot.”
She’s a Danilo. Always has been, always will be. She’s not a piece of me—she’s a piece in my game, nothing more. No matter what sweet lies she whispers in my ear, or how soft she looks curled up naked in my bed, that fundamental truth doesn’t change.
She’s been feeding her family information. That means I’ve been played from the start.
Nothing between us was ever real.
The only thing that matters right now is getting answers. And since Sima won’t give them to me, I’ll get them from her pet assassin. Even if I have to peel him like a goddamn orange, I’ll get everything.
Then we’ll see who’s lying.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Anatoli wants to kill you. He has Lev under his thumb. That’s what I came to tell you. That’s why I came clean.”
“What—what happened to your brother?”
I hate that she managed to sound genuine then. As if she ever gave a rat’s ass about my brother’s wellbeing.
For a moment, I almost believed her.
The way she swore she had nothing to do with the attack on Dimitri—it sounded real. Too real.
