He snorts. “It’s not a weakness to pluck a tick from your side.”
I stare at him over the top of my teacup. “Is that what you saw him as? Is that what you think of me? Of Zoya? Anyone else who gets between you and your precious Bratva?”
He blinks rapidly, the only sign of his surprise. While his right hand strokes his teacup, his left hand plays with the fork he used just minutes ago. “No.”
I set my cup down and fold my hands together. It’s weird sitting here like this. Like his equal.
But it’s also what I’ve wanted this entire time.
“I didn’t use my authority to do the right thing,” I whisper while blinking away tears. “But I amnotmaking that mistake again. You willnothurt her baby.”
He pushes the fork away. “That’s dangerous, Liya.”
“What part of thishasn’tbeen dangerous?”
“I want you to think about the consequences of that decision.”
I trace the edge of the teacup with the tip of my finger. Hot steam tickles the ridges of my finger, my palm, and my wrist. After a second, I lift the cup to take another sip. It’s the only thing keeping me from absolutely losing my mind.
While cradling the cup in my hands, I snap, “I’m tired of being forced to play a game that I have no interest in playing.”
“Unfortunately, neither of us can afford to stop playing it.”
“Don’t you think that’s unfair?”
Viktoria passes by, drifting into the kitchen with a flat demeanor. But I can tell she’s listening. Her ears don’t miss a thing around here.
You see a hard criminal.She told me so recently.I see the boy that used to stain his fingers with charcoal when he was drawing in the garden.
My brows furrow. I study Pavel, noticing the way his eyelids droop. He’s tired. I’m tired. Why are we even trying to argue about this?
Maybe it’s too soon to take action. Or maybe we missed our chance while we were arguing.
I shake my head.
I’m not giving up.
Pavel looks at me and says, “Sometimes it feels unfair. But it’s what we must do, Liya.”
“Well, I think it’s horse shit. My decision is final: we don’t harm an innocent child.”
He hums, though I’m not sure if it’s opposition, agreement, or curiosity.
I shudder while huddling toward my teacup. “Don’t destroy what little family I have left.”
It’s weird to see him pause. But it’s something I’m starting to get used to seeing since I began telling him my thoughts—with his permission, of course.
The more we talk, the more he considers what I say. If only I had gotten a glimpse of the boy who loved to draw, then maybe I would see something other than a mercenary sitting in front of me.
The expression on his face is unreadable. Which version of Pavel am I looking at right now? My husband? Or the monster?
Where does one end and the other begin?
Ordering my brother’s death has cracked something inside me. I’m not sure if I’ll ever recover. My word holds weight around here, seen by the way the brigadiers respond when Pavel backs up a request I’ve made.
How easy it would be for me to shoutoff with her head!
And how challenging it is to resist the urge.