Hell,Idon’t even know the full extent of what she’s been through.
Whatever they were told—whatever lies Mikhail’s men spun when they came knocking on this very door to make sure none of Ivy’s family members went to the police—it doesn’t matter anymore. Because to them, I’m the villain who pulled Ivy and Leo out of their lives, and they’re not wrong to think it.
In some ways, I did.
I lift my chin, meeting their gaze. “I know you want answers. If Ivy decides to give them to you, that’s her choice. I won’t stop her. But I won’t force her to relive it either. If she wants to tell you what happened, she will on her own. I won’t tell her story for her.”
Her mother looks like she wants to protest again, but her father puts a hand on her shoulder, quietly silencing her.
They leave shortly after, disappearing inside the house and flicking the porch light off, bathing me in darkness. I stand outside for a long while, staring at the glow of the light from beyond inside, shadowed by the curtains drawn across the windows.
By the time I return to the restaurant, the adrenaline haslong since drained from my system, leaving me hollowed out and numb.
The cleanup crew is already deep at work, gliding through the wreckage with a kind of mechanical efficiency that only comes from doing this kind of thing too many times before. Black-gloved, practiced hands move with an impassiveness as they shove body parts into thick contractor-grade trash bags. Bloodied cloth, drag marks, bullet casings, all of it disappearing as swiftly as it came.
One man sprays down the floor, bleach fumes already so strong they sting my nose from across the room. The industrial mop squeaks as it moves over the tile in wide, controlled strokes, leaving faint streaks of diluted red water in its wake. The trail lines catch faintly under the overhead lights before vanishing completely with another careful pass.
The tables that had been overturned during the chaos have been righted, their chairs neatly tucked in beneath them. The front windows are intact, already cleaned spotless of any fingerprints or smears.
As far as the outside world is concerned, this place looks just as orderly as another quiet corner of the city again.
Katya is the first one to spot me.
She’s perched on the edge of the bar counter, legs crossed at the knee, her back straight as her long hair cascades down her back. A blade twirls between her fingers, catching the light with every flick of her wrist. Her eyes sharpen the moment they land on me, fingers snapping around the knife’s handle with muscle memory so fast it reminds me how easily she draws blood in less than a blink.
“How’d it go?” she asks.
Instead of answering her, my gaze drifts across the room again, to the place where Leo had stood pressed against Mikhail’s chest with a gun to his head. I can still hear the words. The ultimatum. The smug threat behind his voice.
I can still feel the terror.
The floor is clean now, scrubbed down to an artificial shine. No more blood pooling around a body crumpled like a ragdoll with a bullet lodged in his skull. Mikhail’s dead eyes and lifeless smirk have been erased from this world like chalk marks on a board.
I still see it.
Truthfully, I’ll always see it.
“Pakhan,” Katya tries again.
My eyes snap up to meet hers. “It went as… well as to be expected, I suppose.”
Roman is near the back of the space. I can see him moving behind his sister’s shoulder, speaking low to one of the men in charge of the back exit. He gives nothing away while he supervises the crew taking things out to the back alley, but when he finally turns to find my attention focused on him, his posture grows a little rigid. Not out of fear, but I know him well enough to see the way he’s cataloging my every move, watching for signs to be concerned about.
The truth is, I don’t know myself how I’m feeling.
I expected Ivy to be upset with what happened regarding our son, but never did I anticipate her completely shuttingme out. Is it odd behavior? Not at all. Just… unexpected. And disappointing.
I don’t know where either of us goes from here. If at all.
Katya shifts off the counter with a fluid hop, landing lightly on her boots. She approaches me slowly, a cautious air to her. “You okay?”
The words aren’t soft. They could never be coming from Katya, but there’s a gentleness to the delivery I don’t expect. I shouldn’t be surprised about my lieutenants caring. While they are all fiercely brutal soldiers, they still have hearts. We’ve bled for each other too many times to pretend we don't care about each other.
There’s a bond between us deeper than family.
I exhale. “Physically, yes.”
She narrows her eyes. “Mentally…?”
