What’s worse, part of me still wants to believe her.
That’s exactly why she’s so dangerous.
My father’s voice rolls over me. He always warned me about people. Said I didn’t have the brains to tell truth from lie, so I shouldn’t bother trying.
I didn’t appreciate the insinuation back then. But clearly, he was right.
I let the cold part of me take over. Thepakhan,not the idiot man who got tricked by the fox in his bed.
I swore I’d lead this Bratva and protect my brother’s legacy, and that’s what I’m going to do.
Dimitri comes first, always. And if I let myself be deceived again by Sima’s acting, there’s no telling what will happen to him.
His life is worth more than my weakness. Whatever I may feel when I look at her—it doesn’t fucking matter. If she’s guilty, then I’ll drag the truth out.
And if she’s innocent?
“She’s not.” I speak those words out loud. Convince myself whatever way I have to.
It’s not impossible. That Sima was telling the truth and this is all a big misunderstanding. Someone else may be pulling the strings, though God knows it’s not Lev.
But I can’t risk my brother’s life on a maybe. I won’t. I need to keep my focus razor-sharp. No more distractions.
Finally, the city thins out. Street lights fade behind me. Warehouses rise in the dark, windows black, roofs jagged against the sky.
I suck in a breath through my nose, let it out slow, then slamthe car door behind my back and walk inside. To get my answers, one way or another.
But the second I step in, I know something’s wrong. I can smell it—literally. The air is thick with the stink of copper and gunpowder, and someone is barking orders in a panic.
That someone, I realize, is Mikhael.
“Clean it fast,” he snaps at his recruits. “We don’t want the cops sniffing around this. Or worse, fucking Anatoli.”
His men fall silent, and that’s when he realizes I’ve arrived.
“Petyr,” he says. Not “cuz,” not some mocking version of “pakhan.” Just my name, like when we were kids.
That’s what tells me it must be bad.
The rest of the scene doesn’t make much more sense. Ivan is crouching by a folding chair, whispering hushed words of comfort to someone whose shoulders are shaking. Whoever it is, they’re crying.
I turn the corner, and I see her.
Kira.
Her chair sits near the far wall. Her hands are limp in her lap, eyes blank and streaming with tears. She looks like a doll someone dropped and forgot to pick up.
“Kira, look at me,” Ivan says gently, kneeling in front of her. “Just breathe, alright?”
She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even fucking blink.
I whirl back to Mikhael. “What the fuck happened here?”
He hesitates. Shifts on his feet. “See for yourself,” he says eventually, and steps away from the corpse on the floor.
That’s when I see who it is.
No.
