The air cracks with safeties clicking off. Vic rises from his desk, but neither of us gives a fuck.
"The truth?" I spit out a laugh that tastes like copper. "You want truth,suka? Every time you got your ass kicked in that Siberian shithole? Every time you went hungry?" My finger kisses the trigger. "That was them. Everypizdetssecond of your pathetic life was their fucking game."
"Blyat." But his voice breaks on the curse. His gun hand shakes before steadying. "You're just like him. Like our father. Think you can control everything, manipulate everyone—"
"Papa died thinking he saved us." My jaw clenches so hard something cracks.
“Died believing he kept us apart to protect us. And you know what the real fucking joke is?” I lean in, close enough to see the pores in his skin. “Thosesukiwant us to tear each other apart. Been playing us like fucking chess pieces since before we could walk. Because the second one of us kills the other,” I bare my teeth in something that’s not a smile, “they’ll put a bullet in the survivor’s head, just like they tried to do thirty-eight years ago.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. "And you care so much about my safety now, brat?"
"I care about—"
A phone cuts through the tension. Not mine. Not Vic's.
Ludis's face drains of color as he yanks out his phone. His eyes scan the screen, and for the first time since I've known this coldheartedsuka, I see real fear.
"Yob tvoyu mat," he whispers."Nyet, nyet, nyet..."
The bear lurches forward. "Boss—"
"They have Marina." Ludis's voice sounds like he's choking on glass. "Thosegrizniy sukihave my daughter."
My Glock dips. "Your what?"
"They broke into her house in the Garden District. She's only 12, she's—" he is talking to the bear now.
The Glock hits Vic's expensive floor with a clatter. His face twists into something I recognize—the same look I had three days ago when I realized they were coming for Elijah.
"Her mother died in childbirth." His voice breaks. "She's all I—" He swallows. "Marina's all I have."
61
Clara
The water beats against the fancy marble tiles—because heaven forbid Leonid should have anything normal in this place. Steam wraps around me like an expensive blanket, making my hair stick to my neck as I lean against the wall for support. My ribs scream at me with every breath, reminding me why taking a shower shouldn’t feel like an Olympic event. Leave it to me to make something as simple as getting clean turn into a full-body workout. At least the hot water should help, though right now, it’s doing absolutely nothing for the knots in my muscles except making me feel very sore.
“Come on,” I mutter under my breath, wincing as I try to shrug out of my cardigan. The cashmere clings to my damp skin, the stubborn fabric refusing to budge. Every movement sends jolts of pain through my ribcage, and I have to bite my lip to keep from cursing loudly enough to wake Elijah in the next room.
“You’d think I’m wrestling a bear,” I huff, gripping the edge of the counter for stability.
Thud.
The bedroom door clicks shut.
My heart stops.
“No, no, no,” I whisper, frantically trying to cover myself with the cardigan I just managed to remove. The bathroom door is still partially open because, apparently, I’ve lost all survival instincts along with my ability to dress myself.
Heavy footsteps approach. “Clara?”
Leonid’s deep voice sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with being half-naked.
“Don’t come in!” I yelp, pressing myself against the marble counter. “I’m… indisposed!”
A pause. “Are you hurt?”
“Only my dignity.” I clutch the cardigan tighter. “I’ll be fine, just… go away?”
