Konstantin sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “We’ve been over this?—”
“The powder burns don't match the distance the coroner reported,” I continue, talking over Konstantin. “The bullet trajectories are off. Someone cleaned that scene before we got there.”
“Dimitri.” Konstantin’s voice sharpens. “You’re exhausted. You’ve been working yourself to death trying to find a traitor who may not even exist, and now you’ve spent two days barely sleeping because you're worried about your wife. You’re seeing connections that aren’t there.”
“Am I?” I challenge, really sick of my uncle blowing me off. “Or are you trying to keep me from seeing what’s right in front of me?”
For just a second—so brief I almost miss it—something cold flashes in his eyes. Then it’s gone, replaced by concern.
“I understand you’re under stress,” he says carefully. “But making wild accusations won’t bring Alexei back. Focus on Vera and the baby. Focus on the alliance we’ve built and let the past stay in the past.”
He’s telling me to let it go. To stop investigating. To accept the official story and move on.
Every instinct I have is screaming that I shouldn’t.
But before I can respond, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Mrs. Kozlov.
Mrs. Volkov is awake and asking for you.
“I need to go,” I say abruptly, standing up and going to the door to open it.
“Of course.” Konstantin moves toward the door, then pauses. “Take care of that girl, Dimitri. She’s the future of this family now. Don’t lose sight of what matters.”
He leaves before I can answer and ask why that sounded less like advice and more like a warning.
I stand there in the sudden silence, my mind churning.
Why does Konstantin keep dismissing my concerns about Alexei’s death? Why does he seem so pleased that I’m falling for Vera? What the fuck does he mean by “focus on what matters”?
I’m missing something. Something big. Something that’s been right in front of me this whole time.
But then my phone buzzes again—another text from Mrs. Kozlov, this one more insistent—and I force myself to move. Whatever I’m missing, it’ll have to wait.
Vera needs me.
She’s sitting up against the pillows when I come in, looking better than she has in days. Some color has returned to her cheeks and her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
Beautiful. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at her.
“Hey,” she says softly. “Mrs. Kozlov said your uncle was here. Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” I lie, not wanting to stress her out. “Just checking in.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push (thank God). Instead, she pats the bed beside her in invitation.
I cross the room and sit on the edge of the mattress, close enough that our legs are almost touching.
“How are you feeling?” I ask gently.
“Better. Restless.” She makes a face. “Dr. Petrov said I can get up tomorrow if I’m still feeling okay. Start moving around a little.”
Yeah, that’s not happening. “That’s good,” I manage to get out.
“Is it?” She tilts her head, studying me with those amber flecked eyes. “You look worried.”
Iamworried. Worried about the inconsistencies in Alexei’s death. Worried about the traitor I still haven't found. Worried about the seventeen people on my suspect list and the fact that none of the leads are panning out.
But mostly I’m worried that I’m falling in love with a woman I have no right to love, and that when she figures it out, she’ll hate me for it.
