My father’s gaze flicks to her, searching for cracks. Skylar doesn’t flinch.
“And Vladimir?” Alexandr asks, turning his attention to him. “Why are you here?”
Vladimir’s expression is carefully neutral. “I contacted Anya when I heard about the murders,” he says evenly. “I wanted to be sure she was safe.”
That lands harder than a lie ever could.
My father is still. The word murders hangs in the air between them, heavy with implication. He looks at Vladimir for a long moment, then nods once, sharply. “We need to speak. In private.”
Vladimir glances at me—just a flicker of concern—before following my father down the hall. Dominic lingers by the door for a moment, giving Skylar a polite nod, then sits in the chair outside my father’s office, leaving us alone.
The silence presses in.
“Come on,” I murmur to Skylar, already heading toward my room. My legs feel unsteady now that the adrenaline has worn off.
The door closes behind us, cutting off the rest of the house. Skylar drops onto the edge of my bed, eyes bright with questions she’s been holding back since the car.
“So,” she says quietly. “The murders.”
I shake my head, sitting beside her. “I don’t know much. Just what the investigator said. The manager discovered Oleg, Pavel, and Artem dead in Pavel’s nightclub. All of them shot.”
Skylar exhales slowly. “Jesus.”
“The police think whoever did it was hiding inside after the club closed,” I continue. “Waiting. That’s it. That’s all I know.”
She studies my face. “And Alexi?”
The name tightens something deep in my chest. “He’s still in hiding. Vladimir thinks he can help him—help him take control without becoming like our father.”
Skylar’s brows knit together. “Help him how?”
“By eliminating the Bratva’s human trafficking,” I say softly. The words feel heavy every time I tell them. “Using the power instead of pretending it doesn’t exist.”
Skylar leans back against the headboard, processing. “That’s… ambitious.”
“It’s dangerous,” I correct. “But Alexi can’t live like this forever.”
A glance at the clock on my dresser makes my stomach flip. “I need to shower,” I say, standing. “I have to get ready. I perform tonight.”
Skylar waves me off. “Go.”
The bathroom fills with steam quickly, the hot water pounding against my shoulders like it’s trying to wash the last few days off my skin. I close my eyes, letting the heat loosen muscles I didn’t realize were locked so tight. My thoughts drift—Alexi, Vladimir, my father’s tense voice, the way Skylar lied so easily to protect me.
By the time I turn the water off, my fingers are wrinkled, and my mind is still racing.
I wrap myself in a towel and step back into my room.
“Sky?” I call.
No answer.
The room is empty.
Her jacket is no longer on the chair. Her phone isn’t on the nightstand where she left it. The door to the hallway stands slightly open, like she slipped out without wanting to be heard.
A chill crawls up my spine, sharp and sudden.
I don’t know where she went—or why—but the sense of safety I felt moments ago vanishes, replaced by the quiet certainty that something has shifted again.
