“Oh, Mikhail. You didn’t think her timing was a little odd, showing up just in time to help you after our families’ shoot-out that night?”
What game is he playing? Why does he keep bringing Cassandra up? I force my breathing to remain even, the way I’ve trained myself through years of cleaning house, rooting out every one of his informants.
“...And I guess you bought that she just happened to gain access to your exclusive club and somehow ran into you?”
Sweat drips down my cheek as I shake my head numbly back and forth. No.No, no, no.
“Such a foolish, young boy. It really is a shame about your brother. He would have made a much better Pakhan for your Bratva.”
My forehead throbs in a steady pulse as I consider the betrayal being casually alluded to like a light conversation over a game of golf. All those years. All those careful interrogations, all those sleepless nights hunting down every last rat in my father’s organization. And I missed the one sleeping in my bed.
“I do assure you, though, at least Nikolai went down swinging. He wasn’t one to be taken down by the first bitch who could stand touching him.”
My carefully constructed mask begins to fracture. “What exactly are you trying to say?” The words ground out between clenched teeth.
“Oh, Mikhail. Who do you think coached her on how to handle your little touching issues?”
The phone trembles in my grip. Years of rebuilding trust within my Bratva, and it was all for nothing. “No. I don’t believe a word you say, Cassio,” I seethe, trying to sound more confident in the claim than I feel.
“People like her are easily bought, son. She was buried in debt and desperate for a way out. All we needed her to do was gain access to your office and send us your manufacturing contact list, which seems to have come through just a few minutes ago. She served as an excellent informant for us. In fact, I plan on compensating her handsomely if she manages to make it out of your little skyscraper alive?—”
I end the call and toss the phone to the desk, my fingers raking through my hair in feverish craze. The cold control I’ve maintained for years—through purge after purge, execution after execution—shatters completely. Spinning in a circle, I run my gaze over the office, heart dropping when I see the door to my safe cracked open.
No.
All the time and resources I spent in the past few weeks trying to find the leak in my organization, and it was right beside me the entire goddamn time. After everything. After systematically hunting down everylast vestige of Cassio’s influence, after rebuilding this empire from the wreckage my father left behind.
He’s right. I don’t deserve this position. I can’t help but feel like the foolish idiot Cassio wrote me off to be.
My training kicks in through the hazed loop of betrayal, muscle memory forcing me to assess the threat.
The last update I had from my tech specialist a few hours ago reported a blurred image of our supposed informant from the secret cameras we had placed around the drop site, and he was still trying to depixelate the image, the last I’d heard.
Now my chest squeezes at the very real possibility that Ilya will uncover the same beautiful face currently lying against my pillow.
I rise, recalling the state in which I found my office before the call: the door cracked open and the lock undone. I was outside for hours. I had assumed she was fast asleep, but—I need to confine her to a secure location while I figure out just how far my beautiful girl has gone to betray me.
If Cassio lets word of her transgressions out to my men, there is a very real possibility they will come for their pound of flesh. I’ve made it crystal clear what happens to rats in my Bratva. In fact, I went above and beyond to destroy each traitor as publicly as possible.
My slow, quiet steps down the hall thunder in my ears, rewriting every one of her seemingly innocent smiles with treacherous deceptions. Her little speech about issues with physical intimacy was likely all a ploy to reel me in further. Every gentle touch, every whispered word—all of it orchestrated by the same man who destroyed my family.
And it had worked.
It worked so fucking well.
I stand in the doorway of the dark room, my legendary composure finally, completely destroyed. The careful mask I’ve worn through years of brutal house-cleaning lies in pieces at my feet.
She looks so damn peaceful. Innocent. Her breaths raise her chest, deep and slow with sleep. I wonder if she’s faking that as well.
I pull back the blanket tucked around her soft shoulders and wrap my fingers around her arm.
Cassandra
“Get up.”
I startle awake to iron fingers wrapped around my upper arm and Mikhail’s penetrating blue gaze boring into mine. For a moment, I’m sure I’m still dreaming, because I’ve never once seen Mikhail wear this expression before.
Dead. That’s the only way I can properly describe the gaze that drowns me, suffocates me.
