A tension I didn’t realize I was carrying until this moment loosens in my chest.
“We found something.” I toss MJ’s notebooks and folder on the table. They land with a soft thud, dust puffing up from their pages. “Proof that MJ didn’t kill himself.”
Vitaly straightens in his chair. Vanya’s expression remains unchanged, but his eyes sharpen. Kirill’s fingers stop their endless tapping against the tabletop. And Kolya—still as death behind Roman—shifts his weight almost imperceptibly.
Roman doesn’t move. Just watches with calculating eyes. “Sit.”
I pull out a chair for Aurora, positioning her between myself and Vanya, who slides sideways to make room. He offers a genuine smile to my wife and a respectful nod to me.
Roman gestures to a man standing by the bar cart. “Something for Mrs. Kozlov.”
The butler hurries forward. “What would you like, madam?”
Aurora’s hand finds mine under the table and squeezes once. “Vodka. Neat.”
The hint of a smile touches Roman’s lips. “Strong choice.”
She doesn’t flinch under his gaze. “Strong night.”
I flip open the notebook to the page with the map. “MJ was investigating what happened on the island.”
Everyone freezes at the mention of the island, and I swear the temperature drops a few degrees.
Roman’s face hardens into stone. “What exactly did he find?”
“This.” I pull out the yellowed newspaper clipping and slide it across the table. “And these.” The map follows, Xs taunting the eyes of everyone here. Last, I hand over MJ’s notes.
Roman reads in silence, the others watching his face for cues on how to react. His expression gives nothing away until he reaches the bottom of the article.
“Diamonds.” The word drops into the room like a quiet bomb.
Aurora leans forward. “Gio mentioned diamonds the night I overheard him. Claimed MJ lied about them and tried to keep them for himself.”
All eyes settle on her. The butler returns with her vodka, placing it before her with a slight bow. She takes the drink without looking, her focus on Roman.
“Gio was at the gallery tonight. Before the shooting started. He tried to get Aurora to leave with him.” I motion to my wife, and she explains to everyone what happened before the shooting started.
Vanya hisses through his teeth. Vitaly mutters something under his breath that sounds like “fuck that guy.”
Roman sits back, fingers drumming on the armrest of his chair. “So we have Reznik’s men with Reznik’s weapons attacking your wife’s art show. We have Gio Falcone present, attempting to isolate her. We have MJ’s lighter in a dead man’s pocket. And we have a fifteen-year-old newspaper clipping about an incident on an island we haven’t visited since.” He turns to the others. “Thoughts?”
“War.” Vitaly slams his hand on the table. “Full-scale, no mercy, burn their fucking houses down war.”
“With what army?” Vanya’s voice is mild, but his eyes are sharp. “We’re already stretched too thin.”
“Precision strike.” Kirill speaks for the first time, his voice a low rumble. “Take out Gio, then take out the Rezniks. Cut off the heads, and the bodies die.”
“And if they’re working together?” I scan the room, meeting everyone’s gaze one by one. “If this is some alliance we don’t know about?”
“Then we find out.” Kolya’s voice comes from behind Roman, surprising us all. He rarely speaks in these meetings. “Before we move.”
Roman observes the exchange like a chess master studying the board, calculating moves and countermoves. Finally, he raises a hand to silence us.
“Alexei was right.” His eyes lock with mine. “About MJ. About everything.”
The sudden vindication shocks me, leaving me dizzy. For months, I’ve been searching, questioning, pushing against Roman’s insistence that we accept the suicide ruling. For months, I’ve carried the weight of suspecting my brother didn’t kill himself.
Aurora’s hand finds mine again under the table and squeezes tightly. She understands what this means to me. What hearing that admission from Roman does to the guilt I’ve been carrying.
