“Mikhail.Bratan.”Alex’s voice is more deferential than normal, but when his brother doesn’t lower the gun, he snaps, “The body.”
My heartbeat counts out what are surely the last seconds of my life while Mikhail stares at me. I don’t beg for forgiveness or offer an explanation. I will not spend my last moments groveling pointlessly. Mikhail wouldn’t care.
Instead, I picture the beautiful woman with sad hazel eyes, and regret spears through me.
Will she be okay?
I wish…
“Let’s go.” Alex’s hand clamps on my shoulder, and I realize I’ve missed an exchange between them. He pushes me from the room, and we follow Mikhail to the car parked in his motor court.
Mikhail stands over the trunk, staring down at Sergei. His jaw works, as if he’s chewing through grief and rage in equal measure.
Finally, he straightens. “Youkilled your father?”
“Yes.”
He studies me for a long, unbearable beat. Then barks to his guards in rapid Russian, “Bring me Irina Kovalyov.”
Panic flashes hot through my veins. “Why do you need my mother? Leave her out of this.” I square my shoulders, challenging my pakhan in a way I never would if I weren’t already facing certain death. “Unless you plan to make her watch her only son’s execution.”
My words are ignored, and Alex squeezes my shoulder hard, silencing me.
Fuck. What if they question her? What will she say?
Mikhail returns to the house, and we follow him to his study. He downs a glass of vodka not offering either of us one.
The next hour of my life might be the most excruciating I’ve ever experienced as Mikhail alternates between glaring at me and quizzing Alex about some new deal he’s trying to close.
I guess even my father’s death doesn’t slow down the Kovalyov money-making machine.
When my mother arrives, she’s clearly terrified. She looks small as she hovers in the doorway. The bruises mottling her cheek and jaw stand out sharply against her pale skin, even more so than when she called me hysterically crying hours earlier. A fresh wave of fury rolls through my chest.
I’m glad the bastard is dead.
“Come in, Irina.” Mikhail smiles gently at her. “You have nothing to fear here.”
She steps forward, her eyes darting between Mikhail, Alex and where I’m sitting on the small sofa.
“What’s happening?” Her voice cracks as she meets my gaze.
Alex steps immediately to her side, steadying her with a hand under her elbow. He murmurs something low, but I can’t make out the words.
Mikhail rounds his desk. There is no hiding the power he wields, but his demeanor is softer with my mother. He stops in front of her and brushes his knuckles lightly over her cheek as she flinches back. “I’m sorry to wake you,tyotya. I needed to see for myself.”
My mother’s lip trembles.
His voice firms. “Sergei?”
Her throat works, and a tear slips free.
“Mama.” I hate that she’s embarrassed, as if the marks on her body are her fault.
Her face crumples at the word. Covering her mouth with a shaking hand she sobs. “I’m so sorry, Mishka. I shouldn’t have?—”
“Don’t think about it,” Alex cuts off her words smoothly.
I know what she’s apologizing for, even if they don’t.
