“It was her decision,” I snapped. “We had a deal. I honored it. And now I’m the bad guy?”
Pyotr was silent for a moment. Then, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “So tell me what you found.”
By the time I finished giving Pyotr the rundown on Oskar, his eyes had gone dark and murderous.
“Oskar killed Jasper,” he said. “Don’t you think he’ll go after Sienna next?”
“Why would he?” I countered. “He doesn’t know she hacked the system.”
“You think he won’t figure it out? That she’sJasper’sdaughter? That she’s getting a damn master’s in IT? That something was going on between you two? Especially after Wexler tailed her to class every damn day?”
“She chose to walk away,” I said with a shrug, but my shoulder felt like it weighed a ton.
Pyotr exploded. “Are you even fucking listening to yourself? She could be in danger. Oskar isn’t some normal business prick; he’s Bratva. He’s a problem, Avit. A lethal one. He lost money when Rinaldi died, lost protection, and he just killed Jasper. We know it. He knows we know it. And he sure as hell knows we’re going to dig until we find something that justifies him putting a bullet in one of our fucking men.”
“There’s nothing more I can do for Ms. Romonoff,” I snapped. “She’s no longer my wife. No longer under my protection. I got what I needed. That’s all that matters.”
Pyotr shot up to his feet, fists balled tightly.
“You’re a real piece of work, Avit. A fucking asshole.”
Slowly, I rose too, stepping right into his space until our noses were almost touching.
“You’re right, Pyotr. I am an asshole, like every other Bratva man. But I’m also your brother. And I can forget that real fucking quickly if you ever speak to me like that again. Now get out.”
He leveled a final glare at me before stalking toward the door.
When his hand hit the handle, my voice iced over the room. “And Pyotr…whatever was said here stays here. Understand?”
He gave a stiff nod, then he left.
The moment the door shut, I headed straight for the minibar—the glass, and the fucking vodka.
Five days later, the divorce papers were in my hands. The same day, Lev messaged me about a charity auction taking place. I called Wexler and asked him to find out who would be attending. He confirmed that Oskar would be there, since he was trying to gain favor with the politicians attending for his business dealings.
I had kept my distance from the family after I stormed out of the conference room that day. Outside of meetings, I kept to myself. Pyotr hadn’t spoken to me since I’d kicked him out of the hotel, not even in the meetings. My sisters and sisters-in-law shot me messages, but I ignored them. What happened had happened. I didn’t want to talk about it. And I definitely didn’t want to sit through conversations about her.
Pyotr had said Sienna might be in danger. It nagged at me, but not enough to act. She had made her choice. She’d have to live with the consequences of not being under my protection.
I wanted to free her from her father, and with him dead, she finally was.
But the nightmares once haunted by my parents had shifted; now it was Sienna haunting me, and pulling every damn trigger was Oskar.
Twelve days without her meant twelve sleepless nights. I was on edge, and if I didn’t do something to cut that edge down, I knew I’d fucking shatter.
After tonight, I prayed the tension I’d carried since Sienna, Jasper, and Oskar had entered my life would finally break. I could hand her the divorce papers and erase her from my mind forever. No more Jasper. No more Oskar. No more Ms. Romonoff. Pretend like the last few months never fucking happened.
I stood in front of the mirror and shrugged on the jacket of my tuxedo. Tonight was about Oskar. The auction was the opportunity I needed to confront him since word among our men was that Lev was keeping tabs on him. This made it difficult for me to seek him out. Lev would have questions, and I wasn't ready to give him the answers he'd want.
The plan was simple: I’d let him know I knew his real identity, and if he didn’t pay for the shit he bought off Jasper, I’d leak that information straight to his enemies, putting a target on the sister he was protecting. If Oskar didn’t care about her, he would’ve left her in Russia. He’d take the bait. He’d pay what was due.
Then I’d call a meeting with my brothers and lay everything out. Show them I handled it. Fixed it. Without their help. Prove I wasn't irresponsible.
One hour later, I stepped into one of Philadelphia’s largest art galleries, transformed into an auction house for the night. Soft classical music floated through the room while attendees clustered around tables with numbered paddles, laughing and chatting. I spotted my siblings and in-laws in one corner and made my way over. After a few quick pleasantries, I grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing server to keep my hands busy, my eyes glued to the door.
Then she walked in: hoodie, sweatpants, sneakers, backpack. My breath hitched. And then the hoodie slipped from her head. It wasn’t her. My hands tightened around the glass.
“If you squeeze that any tighter, it’ll shatter,” Marten said in a low voice beside me. “Walk with me.”
