The assassin I tackled in Dimitri’s hospital room is sprawled on the concrete, a blackened hole punched straight through his brain. His glassy eyes are staring up at the ceiling. Blood pools under his head and seeps through the cracks in the floor.
The roar in my head spikes.
I came here to break this bastard myself. I needed to rip out the truth from him piece by piece.
Instead, here I am, staring at his corpse, the information still locked behind his dead eyes.
I was too late.
I’m furious. Whoever pulled that trigger just cost me more than they can imagine.
And judging by the scene before my eyes, I think I know who that is.
I walk to the culprit. Stand in front of them with a calm I don’t feel.
Then I speak.
“Did you do this?”
The culprit doesn’t speak. But eventually, their head dips once, a quiet admission of guilt.
“I’m sorry,” Kira whispers eventually, her voice broken. Her eyes drift to the gun by her feet. “I had to.”
62
PETYR
“Why?”
Kira doesn’t speak. Only keeps staring at her feet like she isn’t even here.
I turn sharply to Mikhael. “Explain what happened here.”
Mikhael’s jaw flexes. His frustrated gaze darts from Kira to the body.. “She followed us,” he admits. “From the hospital.”
“And youlet her?”
“We didn’t realize until she was already here,” Ivan cuts in. “We were focused on the assassin. Didn’t think…”
That we had to watch our backs from one of our own,his face says, but he keeps that part quiet. For Kira’s sake, I assume. He must think she’s shocked enough as it is.
“What happened then?” I ask, back to Mikhael.
“She had a gun.” He flicks his head to the weapon lying on the floor by Kira’s feet. “We couldn’t stop her in time.”
My gaze returns to her. She’s still slouched in her chair, her cheeks streaked with tears, eyes swollen. For a second, Sima’s face overlaps with hers in my mind.
I kick that thought away and walk up to Kira. “Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head once.
“Good. Now, tell me why you did it.”
Ever since I walked into the warehouse, she hasn’t looked anyone in the eye. Not Mikhael cleaning up her mess, and not Ivan whispering comfort in her ear. She didn’t even look at me as I entered.
But now, she drags her gaze up to mine.
“I had to do it,” she hisses. Her hands twist in her lap, white-knuckled, but her chin lifts stubbornly. “He tried to kill my husband.”
