Page 65 of Nemesis

“Oh?”

Alex, Octavia’s uncle, snorts. “We’re quite a flight from the homeland, but not so far as to miss the drama on Morozov’s little interrogator.” He grins. “We heard all about the explosion at the Abelev club. They said the neighbors could hear their screams from five blocks away as the poor little family banged against the doors.”

“I don’t see why that’s any of your business,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. I heard the same rumors, but the truth is, the explosion itself killed most of them, and the rest were too affected by smoke inhalation to do much screaming. I’m not real torn up about it—the Abelevs were known skin traffickers, and the world is a nicer place without them. It’s what came after the bombing that leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

Anya, begging me not to leave between ragged sobs. Uncle at the door, reminding me with that silent sneer how much I have to lose if I don’t fall in line.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget how destroyed my little sister looked, standing there in the doorway as I turned my back on her. I’m going to have to get my hands on a phone today to check in with her care team.

“It becomes my business when you have my daughter wrapped around your finger like you’re her entire world!”

A smile splits my lips. Yeah, right. I’m not sure he’s capable of reconciling the Bratva princess he thinks he’s owed with the girl who nearly strangled me with my own belt.

“Wipe that grin off your face before I sever your pretty head from your shoulders.”

“You won’t kill me.” My smile widens. “Not if you truly think your daughter’s that attached to me.”

Sasha’s fist smacks the desk, knocking a decorative metal candlestick onto its side. “Don’t be an idiot! You think I don’t know why you’re still here?”

My lips flatten. “If you’re implying that I’m some lovesick⁠—”

He laughs, a cold hollow sound that brings my words to a halt. “No, I’m fairly certain your feelings have nothing to do with it.” His eyes narrow as he leans across the desk. “You left your post in New York.”

I’m not expecting the direction his words take, not that I’d let that show on my face. I stare back with a blank expression, noting the pronounced furrow between his brows.

He thinks I’m trying to hide out from Solokov.

There’s no way he’d believe the truth, which is that I, stupidly, haven’t even thrown my professional life a spare thought in days. He’s got a point, though. I left my post over a week ago. Which means…

Which means they’ve likely already labeled me a defector.

Shit.

“The only one here who’s hurt her is you, old man,” I deflect, shifting the topic to a more comfortable zone.

“You’re trying to turn her against me.”

“I think you’re doing a fantastic job at that, all on your own.” I don’t typically entertain cannibalistic tendencies, but if he tries to mess with Octavia, I’ll roast his fucking heart and eat that shit on a skewer. This guy has no idea who he’s dealing with.

He covers his face with a growl. “I don’t want to continue fighting, for the sake of my daughter⁠—”

POP.

My spine straightens, hand reaching for a gun I don’t have.

All three of us know exactly what created the sound that pierced the air. Time stagnates around a singular thought. Octavia’s out there.

Sasha and Alex are instantly out of their chairs, drawing weapons as we race for the door. The details register one by one.

Empty hallway—where are the fucking guards?

A growing puddle of blood.

And standing above it all, a small woman with wine-red hair, eyes as wide as saucers.

Relief fills my chest as I take in Octavia’s uninjured form. There’s a body strewn across the floor in front of her. Actually, not a body yet. A wet, gurgling sound fills the air as the man struggles to breathe around the fatal bullet buried in his neck. It’s not a clean shot, but it’s a definitive one.

Not quite dead, but close enough that I don’t stop to address him on my way to her.