"You really think I'd believe you?"
I sat by the window in the café, hands wrapped tight around a latte that had long gone cold. Across from me, Kirill looked like hell—dark circles under his eyes, stubble on his jaw, like something had hollowed him out from the inside.
But I wouldn't feel sorry for him.
"I don't need you to believe me." Kirill's voice was rough. He pushed a manila envelope across the table. "I just need you to look at this."
I stared at the envelope like it was a coiled snake.
"After you've seen it," he said, "then decide if you want to believe."
I hesitated for a few seconds, then finally reached out and opened it.
Inside was a stack of papers and a voice recorder.
I picked up the papers first. The top page was a confession statement, signed and fingerprinted by someone named Marcus. The content made my heart seize—
"...acting on orders from Mr. Julian Dante, assaulted nursing home staff member Ryan Miller on the evening of December 26th. Woreblack coat as instructed, deliberately used Russian accent...purpose was to make Harper Evans believe the attacker was Kirill Orlov..."
My hands started shaking.
"Keep reading." Kirill's voice came from across the table, low and steady.
I flipped to the second page. A background report on Julian Dante. Underground power player in San Francisco, descendant of a fallen Italian noble family, linked to multiple murders, smuggling, money laundering cases...
And his connection to Genevie.
Turned out Genevie's ex-husband was Julian.
My stomach lurched, nausea rising in my throat.
"Listen to this." Kirill pushed the recorder toward me and hit play.
A man's voice came through the speaker, broken and halting, like he was speaking in absolute terror.
"...Mr. Dante said he didn't need the kid...after he takes the woman away, he'll arrange an accident...make the child disappear..."
I slammed the pause button.
"Enough." My voice shook. "I don't want to hear any more."
Kirill looked at me, those gray-blue eyes holding something I couldn't read.
"Harper—"
"This can all be faked." I cut him off, my voice sharp enough to startle even myself. "You're a mob boss. You've got ways to fake all of this. Confessions can be forced, reports can be fabricated, recordings can be edited—"
"You think I'd use my child's safety to lie to you?"
The question stopped me cold.
Kirill leaned forward, his gaze burning into mine. "Harper, that's my child. My blood. You think I'd gamble with his life?"
I opened my mouth but couldn't speak.
I searched his eyes, trying to find even a trace of deception.
I found nothing.
