He had a bullet wound in his shoulder and another one in his leg. Blood covered his chest, and his pant leg was soaked in red from the wound.
But he was alive, and I felt monumental relief fill me.
Timur was beside Kostya, and my mother was beside my father’s right-hand man. They were also secured to chairs. Timur’s face was bloody, swollen, and bruised, and it looked like he could barely keep his head up. He also had a nasty-looking knife wound on the side of his abdomen; his shirt was in tatters, and the white stained in red.
And my mother, normally looking prim and proper and the perfectly put-together Bratva wife, was crying violently. Her mascara was running in dark streaks down her cheeks, her hair was a disheveled wreck, and I could see the fear of God in her expression.
I saw movement to my side and snapped my head to look at my father, who now held a gun. I went to stand, maybe stupidly to stop him, but a rush of dizziness and nausea rose up swiftly. My head throbbed, and I swayed on my feet before promptly sitting back down.
“Papa, what’s going on?” My voice was tight from my pain but I managed to keep eye contact with my father.
He was staring down at the gun he held, his fingers wrapped so tightly around the weapon his knuckles were white.
“I notice all kinds of betrayal that happen around me.” He looked over at me, and the coldness in his eyes sucked the air from the room. “I used to be called a death dealer back in Moscow. Did you know that, darling?”
I shook my head, not sure what else to say or do.
“I was good at my job, good at taking out problems. Then my Pakhan noticed, promoted me up the ranks throughout the years until I’m the man you see now.”
I curled my hands around the cushion of the couch and didn’t dare take my eyes off my father. If he had his focus on me, he couldn’t hurt anyone else.
“I’ve learned over the years to control that anger and need for death. It’s a constant in me, an internal fight I deal with daily. It’s like being thirsty, Anastasia. It’s like having an ocean of ice-cold water to drink but you can’t drink your fill because you have these responsibilities. You’re no longer a death dealer. You’re a Pakhan, and you have others do your bidding.”
He glanced over at the three bodies bound to the chairs.
“And I lost track of my natural instincts, clearly. Because back in the day, I would have never missed that I had a rat infestation.” He glanced back at me. “That news I got, darling, right before we found out where you were… told me how blind I’ve been.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on.” I knew why Kostya was here. My father planned on killing him in front of me. That I had no doubt about.
But I wouldn’t just idly sit back and watch that happen. Whatever power and strength I had, I’d use it to get Kostya out of this.
I didn’t understand why Timur and my mother were here. Timur I could understand seeing as he was close to my father… but his very appearance told me he was now an enemy in Vladimir’s eyes.
Mother looked scared as hell when she glanced at my father, which wasn’t something she’d ever shown.
When my father didn’t respond, I looked at him. He was staring at the three bound people, this absolutely cold and menacing look on his face.
“Can you believe it was a slip of the tongue by one of the staff speaking in the throes of passion to one of my soldiers? She confided in him, told him the deepest secret she knew, and in turn, because his loyalties lie with me, he shared what he’d found out.” He tightened his hold on the gun. “For twenty-three years, I’ve been lied to. I’ve had betrayers under the same roof as me. I thought they were loyal. I trusted them.”
My father’s gaze slid to mine, and I wondered if he could hear my heart beating. It certainly felt like a freight train was moving inside my chest.
I shook my head because I was completely in the dark on what he was talking about. My worry for Kostya was paramount. My confusion and fear over what Timur and my mother had to do with any of this made me dizzy.
“The fact he made sure to be at all your birthday parties, your graduation, all of your dance recitals when you were younger, even your performances as you got older.”
My father was all but seething now, spittle flying out of his mouth, his face bright red as his anger grew.
“Had nothing to fucking do with loyalty.”