Her lips curl slightly. “Fat lot of good that does me. I’ll still be the childless wife of a deadpakhan.”
“You thought you had more time.” I let my fist unfurl on the armrest. “You both thought you’d have your whole lives to start a family. No one could have predicted this.”
“I should have.” She bites her bottom lip, brow furrowing in self-directed rage. “I was his wife. I should have seen the signs. Isn’t that what a goodpakhanshadoes? Check threats before they become a problem?”
I don’t tell her that no one ever expects anything from thepakhanshaother than baby-making. I doubt it’s what she needs to hear. “You have nothing to punish yourself for, Kira.”
“Does it matter?” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “As soon as Dimitri’s gone, I’ll be out on the streets.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Why’s that?”
Her eyes search mine, like she’s looking for some kind of promise.
I can’t give her that. Promises are worthless. Bonds waiting to be broken. In my life, I can’t afford to commit to much. Beingpakhanalready takes up all that space. Keeping my Bratva running, fulfilling my father’s will, carrying on my brother’s legacy—that’s all I have the bandwidth for.
But I still give her the only reassurance I’ve got. “I’ll always look after you, Kira. You’re family.”
“I’m a burden.”
“No, you’re not.” I squeeze her hand once. “And I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. You have my word.”
Kira’s eyes go hazier. Muddled, by wine and by grief. Before I realize what she’s doing, she leans closer, her hand brushing my arm, her lips?—
“Kira.” I catch her shoulders firmly and stop her from kissing me. “Stop.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t want this.” Her voice turns desperate, panting.
But mine hardens. “I don’t. And you don’t, either.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I could be your wife.”
I shove her off and push to my feet. “I already have a wife.”
Her face turns stony, the hurt flashing in her eyes quickly replaced by something defensive. “Right,” she spits. “Theperfect wife. Maybe you wouldn’t mind me so much if I was the one giving you an heir.” She scoffs. “Not that she’s doing a great job with that, either.”
“Careful, Kira. I’m willing to cut you slack, but if you’re going to insult her?—”
“No need to threaten me.” She flaps her hand drunkenly in the air. “I’m gone. Sorry to have disturbed you.”
“You didn’t disturb me.” Something uncomfortable coils in my gut. The feeling of having failed my brother, again, by proxy. “Just don’t try that again.”
“I get it—I’m pathetic. You don’t have to rub it in.”
“I’m not,” I tell her, steady this time. “But this isn’t the way to cope. You’ve had too much to drink and you’re hurting. That’s all this is.”
Her gaze slides away. Without another word, she snatches up the bottle and carries it upstairs, unsteady on her feet.
I wait for her footsteps to fade, then head to my wing of the mansion. On the way up, I’m already rationalizing what just happened. Kira was hurt, heartbroken, and insecure about her position in this household. Most of all, she was drunk off her ass.
I’m not going to do her the discourtesy of taking anything that just happened seriously.
When I step into the bedroom, I see Sima curled up in bed. Her books are scattered around her—she must have tried to wait up for me.
