Long after the woman was clearly dead.
Long after anyone would’ve stopped.
I replayed it constantly.
Was it rage?
Was it coercion?
Was it survival under threat?
Or was there something darker I didn’t understand?
And the worst part —
I would probably never get the truth directly from her.
Not now.
Not after everything.
I swallowed hard.
I blamed Ruslan for it.
Every second.
He had hunted her relentlessly across continents.
Tracked her.
Cornered her.
Forced her into desperation.
Until the only place left for her to hide was inside the arms of another monster.
He didn’t deny that.
He owned the pursuit.
But ownership of action did not automatically equal responsibility for outcome.
That was the tension we now stood in.
He turned back to the board and drew another line — this one connecting my father’s circle to a smaller cluster of political symbols written in red ink.
“Your father isn’t just consolidating criminal territory,” Ruslan continued. “He’s building influence in city councils. Funding campaigns. Securing judges.”
He tapped the red marks.
“He wants legitimacy.”
His eyes slid toward me. “Authority that looks legal. Power that doesn’t raise questions. That’s why he’s pushing to become mayor.”
“So if we end your father,” Ruslan continued now, tapping the white board again with his bandaged hand, “we crumble the entire alliance.”
He drew a slow line through the five circles.
