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“Sergei.”

“I heard he was killed because of your sister.”

“He was.” He takes a long sip of coffee. “Seven years ago.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don’t be. He paid a price for his behaviour.” He looks down into his cup. “He was supposed to be the one who took over. My father raised him for it from the day he was born. When he was shot, my father...” He stops. Starts again. “My father doesn't always know what year it is anymore. Some days he thinks Sergei's just away on business. Some days he remembers, and those are worse.”

I don't know what to say to that. I'm standing in his kitchen holding his coffee and I suddenly feel like I've walked into a room I wasn't invited into.

“And your mother?”

“Hasn't left her room in two years.”

“At all?”

“She comes down for dinner. Sometimes.” He shrugs, a small movement of big shoulders. “She stopped talking to most people after Sergei and Matilda. Then my other sister married and moved away…”

“Katya,” I say. I remember now. Papa sent a gift. “She married into the Orlov family.”

“She did.” Something softens in his face when he says it. “She got out. She's happy. She deserves that. They both do. As girls, they were treated horribly by my father. I think my mother is wracked with guilt about it all. If they’d done a better job with Sergei, he wouldn’t be dead, Matilda wouldn’t have betrayed the family, Katya would have stayed closer to home.”

“And you're left holding everything together.”

“Me and Timur.”

“Your younger brother?” I ask.

“He works with me. He drove me to the cemetery today.” The corner of his mouth lifts, very slightly. “He has opinions about you.”

My eyebrows raise in affront. “What opinions?”

He huffs out a small laugh. “That you're going to make my life very difficult.”

“He's right.”

“He usually is. Don't tell him I said that.”

And there it is. A genuine smile that does terrible things to his face. It makes him look younger and warmer and far more dangerous than the gun on the table in the other room.

I put my coffee down and walk away from the island, because I need space, and he's taking up all of it.

The windows look out over the river. The water is black, broken up by gold reflections. I stare at it so I don't have to look at him.

“Zhenya's going to break the trust,” I tell the glass.

“She can try.”

“She will,” I murmur. “She's terrifying.”

“I know. She once made a man apologize to a parking meter.” His reflection appears beside mine.

I turn around. “How do you know that?”

“I was there,” he says simply with a half shrug of those big shoulders.

“No, you weren't.”