I turn to my brother as my irritation melts into anger. The kind of anger that requires an outlet. My fists clench.
Yulian notices. “Hey, c’mon now, you know what I mean.”
“I don’t, actually. Why don’t you explain it to me?”
He sighs. “Listen, brother, I’m on your side. If you say you didn’t kill her, then I believe you.”
“Do you?” I ask.
My voice is low but sharp. Even Yulian can’t miss the implication of violence.
“How can you even ask me that?”
“Because from the moment you found Marina’s body, you’ve looked at me differently.”
“Differently how?”
“Like you’ve been trying to figure out if I killed her or not. Like you don’t believe the words that come out of my mouth.”
Yulian stares at me for a second, still waiting for a punchline that will never come. Then he sighs. “Anton, when I found her… well, it wasn’t a suicide. Someone killed her. I know what I saw.”
“She pissed off a lot of people.”
“I know that. She had enemies. But it’s just, like, the timing of everything, you feel me?”
“Listen to me, little brother,” I say, fighting through my anger in order to get the words across. “If I had killed Marina, I would have taken credit for it.”
I meet his eyes and watch as something sad flashes across them. “I believe you,” he murmurs.
“Good. Then let’s put this irritating topic to rest.”
“Agreed,” he says, with a catch in his voice I can’t quite explain. “Listen, we also need to talk about Yaromir and the Ivanovs. They’re—”
“No,” I say, cutting him off. “I don’t give a fuck about the Ivanovs right now.”
“But they’re ripe for the plucking,” he protests.
“Not my top priority.”
The shock on Yulian’s face fades after a moment. “Wow, you really do care about her, don’t you?”
“Don’t look so surprised,” I snap.
He smiles. “You first.”