“Watch your attitude, or next time, I’ll feed you to the wolves myself,” I growl, and hang up.
Fuck.
It is the wrong thing to say. I know it the moment the screen goes black. But I cannot take it back. The ghosts swell and hiss in my ears.
She doesn’t want you. She’s fucking someone else. You failed to break her.
“Mr. Sokolov,” says Rupert.
Rupert is young. Mid-twenties, sharp-eyed, curly brown hair pushed back like he’s trying too hard to look older. The glasses don’t make him look nerdy, just calculating. Ambitious. The kind of man who watches power long before he earns it.
I shove the phone in my pocket and follow him up the stairs to the rooftop deck where the Council waits.
They sit around a table with drinks and sunglasses, looking like politicians vacationing instead of executioners discussing which leader to eliminate next. Rupert gestures to the open seat. I take it.
The eldest councilman clears his throat.
“There is an open investigation into the disappearance of the Morozov boss. You are the prime suspect.”
I sip my drink. “Both of us had Yellow Cards. You do not trust either of us. So why care?”
He smiles tightly. “Because you are volatile, Gustav. We know you may fail. If you do, we will intervene.”
I shrug. “No need. I am following the rules.”
He continues.
“We interviewed the Morozov leadership. They claim four men went to your place and didn’t return. We know Vlad wanted Peighton. That gives you motive.”
Maybe I am paranoid, but what if it was them... These men. They partnered with Vlad to take Peighton so I would crack and break mafia law. They set me up.
Father speaks.
No. Vlad was not trusted. The Council doesn’t like Yellow Card men. Not enough to plot with them. Stay calm.
But I feel the twitch again. My eye. My jaw.
Rupert leans back, smirking. “She is very beautiful,” he says, too casually. “Radiant. Young. Sexy. I imagine other men notice her, no?”
Something snaps cleanly inside me.
“Keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth,” I say, voice low.
Rupert’s brows rise with amusement. “There it is. The temper. The jealousy. Enough to kill a rival, I imagine.”
I want to slit his throat. Right here. Right now. Throw him into the sea and let the fish pick apart his arrogance.
But I hold still. Because I am not stupid. I am, however, outnumbered. Thankfully, they follow procedure. I’m not here for execution. Not yet. They won’t tell me. They’ll ambush and kill before I see it coming. It’s their way.
The elder from Brazil folds his hands. “Rumor has it your wife ran away.”
My spine stiffens.
He watches me closely. “If you cannot control your own household, how can you control a bratva? A man who cannot keep his woman from fleeing is not stable.”
Heat burns my neck. Shame or rage, I cannot tell. The only thing I do know is panic. Because they are right. She did run. And not because she is unruly this time. But because I failed her.
I failed to make her want to stay. Failed to teach her. Failed to build her trust.
