Konstantin is brought in first.
He’s still handcuffed and flanked by two guards, but somehow he still manages to look like a son of a bitch. Like he’s the elder statesman here to advise rather than a prisoner about to be executed.
His silver hair is perfect despite everything and his suit is wrinkled and bloodstained. When he looks around the room—at the faces of men who once followed him, respected him, trusted him—his expression doesn’t change.
“You’re making a mistake,” he says calmly, as if he’s not minutes from death. “Everything I did was for the Volkovs and to make sure we stayed the best. I should have been the head of this family. Everything was for?—”
“Everything you did was for yourself,” Dimitri interrupts coldly. “You started a war that killed innocent people. You helped fake Alexei’s death. You tried to kill me and my wife multiple times.You tried to take my wife and child.” His hand tightens on mine. “You betrayed everything the Volkov name stands for.”
The mask of dignity cracks on Konstantin’s face, and what’s underneath is ugly. Fury, hatred and bitter, corrosive jealousy that’s probably been festering for years.
“You were never supposed to be the leader,” he spits. “You were too young, too soft, and too goddamn idealistic. Your father would have been ashamed of what you’ve become. Choosing anAshford” —his eyes flick to me with pure contempt— “over your own blood.”
The words are meant to hurt and shake Dimitri’s resolve. But Dimitri doesn’t even flinch.
“My father would have been ashamed of you,” he says quietly. “At what you’ve become.”
Konstantin chuckles darkly. “And what’s that, Dimitri?”
“A traitor. A manipulator,” Dimitri continues in that same, impassive tone. “A coward who hid behind my brother instead of facing me himself.”
He looks around the room at the gathered families. Volkovs and Ashfords. Together.
“Konstantin Volkov is guilty of treason, attempted murder, and conspiracy against both families. The sentence is death.” His voice is steady. “Does anyone dispute this?”
Silence.
Even men who’ve known Konstantin for decades and were his staunchest defenders say nothing. The evidence againstKonstantin is too irrefutable, and loyalty means more than anything else.
Dimitri raises his weapon.
The gunshot is deafening in the enclosed space.
I flinch—I can’t help it—and my eyes close involuntarily, but I force them open immediately because I need to see this. I need to witness it. This is the world I was born into and married into as well. This is what justice looks like here.
Konstantin drops. The arrogance drains from his face along with his life, and he’s just… gone. Dead before he hits the marble floor.
Blood pools beneath his head and its darkness spreads, marring the floors.
My stomach churns, but I don’t let myself look away. I need to look strong to these men, like I can handle this.
He deserved worse than a quick death for what he did, for what he tried to do to Dimitri. To me. To our baby.
“Remove the body,” Dimitri orders flatly. His voice is completely devoid of emotion. “Burn it. Konstantin Volkov died a traitor, and traitors don’t get graves.”
Two guards move forward, grabbing Konstantin’s arms and dragging him away. His shoes leave a trail of blood across the pristine marble.
I watch until he’s gone through the doors and then I turn my head as they bring in Alexei.
He’s conscious now, walking under his own power though there’s guards on each arm. The gunshot wound in his side isbandaged, but blood’s seeped through the white gauze, dark and wet.
When he sees Konstantin’s blood on the floor, his face goes white.
“You killed him,” he breathes, as if unable to believe it. “You actually killed him.”
“He tried to kill me first,” Dimitri says flatly. “Several times. As did you.”
Alexei looks at Dimitri, and the bravado drains away, replaced by desperation and fear. And for the first time since this nightmare began, I see a glimpse of the man I thought I knew.
