"It broke something. But not the way they expected." He took a sip of his coffee, his hands steady. "Aleksander didn't fall apart. He didn't grieve. He hunted. He spent years trackingdown every single person involved in her death. And when he found them, he killed them. One by one. Slowly."
I felt cold. So cold.
"He killed them all?"
"All but one. The one who gave the order. The head of the Volkov family." Pavel set down his cup. "He's still out there. Aleksander has been searching for him for twenty years. And now—" He stopped.
"Now what?"
"He thinks he's found him."
I stared at him. The pieces were falling into place, clicking together like a puzzle I hadn't known I was solving.
"He's using me," I said. "As bait."
Pavel didn't deny it.
"The Volkovs have been watching the mansion for months," he said. "They know Aleksander has a new woman. They know he cares about you. The head of the family—Daxitr Volkov—has been waiting for a weakness. Something he can use."
"And Aleksander is giving him one."
"He's not giving him one. He's creating one." Pavel leaned forward, his eyes fierce. "Aleksander loves you. I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. But he's also a man who has been hunting his wife's killer for two decades. He's not going to let sentiment get in the way."
"He's using me."
"He's protecting you. And using you. Both things can be true."
I stood, my chair scraping against the floor. My hands were shaking, my heart pounding, my mind racing.
"Where is he?" I asked.
"Aleksander?"
"Yes."
"In his office. He's been there all night."
I walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway, my footsteps echoing in the silence. The portrait on the walls followed me, their painted eyes tracking my movements.
I didn't knock.
I opened the door to the study and walked in.
Aleksander was sitting at his desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He looked up when I entered, and I saw the surprise on his face—quickly masked, quickly hidden.
"Monika," he said. "What are you doing here?"
"I found the photograph."
He didn't pretend to misunderstand. His jaw tightened, and he set down the glass.
"Monika—"
"Your wife. Elena. She was murdered. And you've been hunting her killers for twenty years." I walked toward him, stopping in front of his desk. "And now you've found them. And you're using me as bait."
"That's not—"
"Don't lie to me." My voice was shaking. "Not now. Not after everything."
