“Yes. Magnus Sokolov and your mother had a years-long affair.”
“And you came here,” I say slowly, “to kill him.”
“You are your father’s daughter,” he mutters. “Yes. I came to kill Magnus.”
The world narrows to his face and the words leaving his mouth. The garden falls away. The sound of distant ravens becomes a dull roar.
I sway, grabbing the stone fountain for balance. “No... how did they meet?”
“A weapons deal.” His voice is dull. Flat. Like he has stripped it of all emotion just to get through the story. “I found letters. At first I thought they were just business messages. Talk about imports, routes, small talk. Then they got worse. More personal. Then your mother started disappearing for weekends. Girlfriend trips, spa days, extended visits with relatives. I followed one of her flights. It led me here.”
He gestures at the castle.
“I arrived furious. Hurt. I expected a fight with Magnus. Maybe a negotiation. Maybe a duel on neutral ground. Instead, I met his wife first. Sophia.”
Sophia. The name I have only heard in whispers.
“She was beautiful,” my father says. “Young. Poised. Too composed for what I was about to tell her. I was so angry I didn’t care. I told her everything. The letters. The trips. The affair.”
My stomach turns. “What did she do?”
“Nothing at first,” he says. “She went very still. Then she asked where Magnus was. We found him in the foyer. I remember the exact spot. He was coming in from outside, coat over his arm. He saw us together and knew immediately what had happened. He denied it of course. Said your mother was obsessed. Said it wasn’t serious. I could tell he was lying. So could she.”
My father’s gaze slides to the main entrance, like he can see the ghosts of that day playing out in front of it.
“She pulled a gun,” he says. “I thought she was going to shoot me. Instead she walked right up to her husband and put a bullet between the eyes.”
My breath leaves my body.
“She shot him?” I whisper. “In front of you?”
“Yes,” he says. “And then she just stood there over his body, staring down like she could not understand what she’d done. I heard footsteps. I realized Gustav was coming in. I tried to warn her. I said his name. She didn’t move. She was frozen, like a statue. I had a choice. Stay and get caught up in that mess, or leave and let her deal with the consequences. The guards were already coming. She didn’t stop me. I left the country that night. Later I heard she lost her mind.”
I picture it. A young man walking in, seeing his father dead on the floor, his mother holding the smoking gun. The sound of ravens outside. Blood on the polished stone.
I want to vomit.
“And Janice?” My voice cracks. “What did you do to my mom?”
He takes a shaky breath and meets my eyes. For once, he doesn’t look like a mob boss. He looks like a guilty man.
Chapter 52
Peighton
Dad steps closer, the tension thick.
“Found Janice back home. I confronted her,” he says. “I held up the letters. Told her I knew. She tried to lie for five seconds, then folded. She said she loved Magnus. That he understood her. That being a boss’s wife in America felt predictable. I told her infidelity is a sin and that if she wanted to worship him, she could join him in hell. I pulled my gun and pointed it at her, but I couldn’t shoot. I loved her too much. I lowered the gun and told her if she wanted to die for him, she could do it herself.”
My chest is tight. “Dad.”
“She looked me right in the eye,” he says hoarsely, “and said she would rather die than live without him. Then she took the gun out of my hand and pulled the trigger. I thought she wasbluffing. I thought she was trying to scare me. She was not. I watched your mother kill herself, and I let my anger push her there. That is what I carry.”
The garden spins. All those years of vague stories about witness protection, hushed tones, sudden silence when I said her name. Gone. Replaced by something more tragic.
My father presses his fingers to his eyes. When he drops his hands again, they are wet.
“I have spent every day since knowing she chose another man over her own family,” he says. “That I pushed her over the edge. That I did not stop her. I regretted it the second the gun went off. It was too late. So yes, when you ask if I killed her, I feel like I did. But I did not pull the trigger. She did. And none of that was your fault.”
