I hit the button to allow them entry. Making them wait will only worsen things. “Get into the bedroom. Don’t make a sound.”
For once, she doesn’t argue. Maybe restraining her taught her a lesson after all. She scoops up the cat and disappears.
The elevator doors grind open.
Roman emerges first, his movements deliberately unhurried. Power doesn’t need to rush.
Behind him, Vitaly’s face is a thundercloud of barely contained fury and judgment. Kolya brings up the rear, shaking his head as he registers the broken window, the food on the table, and the woman’s shoes by the couch.
Idiot.The unspoken word hangs in the air between us.
I’ve been careless. Reckless. Sloppy. And they’re here to show me what happens when I fuck up. No one gets fired from the Bratva for bad work performance. There’s only one way out.
Roman soaks in the scene around him wordlessly. His silence is more effective than any shouted reprimand. He circles the space with measured strides, taking inventory of my sins.His hand trails over the back of the sofa where Aurora sat last night. He taps the counter with its extravagant display of food. He picks up a grape, examines it, then pops it into his mouth with casual entitlement.
Everything is his.
My loft. My loyalty. My life.
I’ve never questioned this hierarchy before. Never even wanted to.
Until now.
“Is she here?” Vitaly breaks the silence, his accusatory voice dripping with disgust. He already knows the answer.
I ignore him. My half-brother isn’t the real threat. My uncle is.
Roman stops at the wall of windows, his attention snared by the one Aurora escaped through that I haven’t had the chance to properly repair. He traces a single finger over the jagged, broken weld on the casement frame, then pivots back toward the counter laden with food.
His steel black eyes, when they meet mine, are cold as ice. “Oh, she’s here.”
No point in denying that truth. The evidence surrounds us.
Roman releases a heavy sigh. “The violence was unsanctioned, Alexei.” His quiet voice is all the more dangerous. “Explain.”
For a fleeting second, I consider fabricating some reason that has nothing to do with MJ and my quest to understand the truth about his death.
But that would be pointless. Roman can smell a lie like a shark smells blood.
“Benny was MJ’s cellmate in prison.” I risk a glance up. “I had questions.”
“We’ve been through this. I want you to abandon this hunt for MJ’s ‘murderer.’” His fingers sketch quotation marks in theair around that last word. “Let it be. You’re killing your father with this crusade.”
The mention of my father lands like a physical blow. Since MJ’s death, grief has changed him. That’s partially what drove me to seek answers. Dad’s religious and worries for my brother’s soul. And now Roman is using that against me. Using my guilt, my love for my father, as another tool of control.
“And this,” Roman gestures to the broken window, “looks careless. Reckless.” His eyes bore into mine, each word precise and cutting. “Like the old Alexei.”
The thing I’ve tried for six years not to be. The impulsive, unrestrained version of myself that got MJ killed. That put my brother in a position to take the fall for me and go to prison in my place.
“Where is the witness, nephew?” His voice remains soft.
I stay silent. What can I say? That she’s more than a witness? That she’s become an entity I can’t define or control yet refuse to surrender?
“Alexei.” My name on his lips is a warning, the disappointment in his eyes worse than fury. “Don’t force me to handle this.”
I still fail to summon a reply.
Roman nods to Vitaly. The slight incline of his head prompts my half-brother to move toward the guest bedroom.
