Lev nods with relief. “Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you, Petyr.”
He reaches for the handle, then turns his back to me to step out of the car.
That’s when I move.
The blade flashes in the dim light. Only for a second. Too short for Lev to notice.
Before he can even make a sound, I drag it clean across his throat.
His breath catches in a wet choke. His hands rush upwards, claw at the wound as blood pours down on his chest.
“Shh.” I hold him there, my arms braced across the seat, and watch the life drain from the man I once called my best friend. “We’re even now.”
My stomach twists with nausea, but I still don’t let go. This is what apakhanmust do. My duty.
His eyes find mine for a second, wide, pleading. I know when I see it that I’ll carry that look with me for the rest of my life.
Then they glaze over. Lev’s body slumps, dead weight against the seat.
Only then do I let him go.
Pain spreads through my insides. It’s sharper than I expected. Killing him—it felt like cutting out a piece of myself.
But that piece was rotten. If I didn’t carve it out of me, it would have poisoned everything. Everyone.
And I won’t lose anyone else.
I wipe the blade on his shirt, slide it back into its sheath, and force myself to breathe through it. Steady. Calm. Empty.
This is the cost of betrayal. The price of admission to become a truepakhan.
And I’ll pay it, no matter how much it destroys me.
64
PETYR
When I step out of the car. Lev’s blood is still fresh on my hands.
If I turn, I’ll see his lifeless body slumped in the driver’s seat. But I don’t do that. Right now, I can’t afford the distraction.
I catch a glimpse of Mikhael in the shadows. As expected, he’s already here, waiting with a handful of our men.
His eyes flick once to the car, then back to me. If he’s wondering why Lev isn’t walking beside me, or why I’m wiping my hands clean on my handkerchief, he doesn’t ask.
Good cousin. He knows when silence is worth more than words.
A subtle nod passes between us. Speaking would be dangerous right now. We have no idea who might hear. One wrong word, and it all may come crashing down.
But that simple nod is all it takes. Mikhael turns, melts back into the darkness, and so do the men with him. They knowtheir job: hunt the hunters. Make them rue the day they picked the wrong side.
Anatoli’s men are here, somewhere, lying in wait, thinking they can ambush me. They don’t realize they’re the ones being ambushed.
I walk forward alone. Every step echoes against the metal and water around me. My hand rests lightly on the gun at my hip, but my eyes are fixed ahead.
I don’t have to walk long before I find him.
Anatoli stands near the edge of the dock, flanked by two bodyguards, the glow of his cigarette a bright spot in the dark. I catch a glimpse of his military haircut, the jagged scar across his face. He looks too at ease. Too fucking certain. He thinks Lev delivered me blind.
