Chapter 35 Petyr
PETYR
I avoid Sima all day after that.
I rise early, go to work before she wakes, and don’t come back until deep into the night. But the uncertainty is a constant itch under my skin, so I have Luka keep tabs on her for me. He’s texting me hourly updates.
“She’s in class.”
“In the car, riding back home.”
“She’s studying in the bedroom.”
“More studying.”
“Just went to sleep.”
I’ve never spent the day glued to my phone like this. Not even when the arms deal with the Italians was supposed to go down.
Bitterness fills my mouth at that thought. That was exactly Mikhael’s criticism for me. That I wasn’t present enough in my Bratva’s time of need.
I push that out of my mind and turn the key into the front door.
The house is quiet when I step inside. It’s not a comforting kind of quiet. Lately, Sima has brought a spark of life to this place, but now that she’s retired for the night, the oppressive silence of the mansion compounds with the tension riding on my shoulders.
Dimitri’s voice should be echoing down these halls. His booming laugh, his heavy footsteps. He always knew how to fill a room. I never thought his absence would turn the world so much emptier.
Then again, I never thought he’d be gone.
I find Kira in the living room. She’s sitting in one of the armchairs, sprawled with none of her usual grace and composure. A half-empty bottle of wine sits on the table beside her and a glass dangles between her fingers.
“Your wife’s already in bed,” she informs me. Her speech is slurred by alcohol, her cheeks flushed, her eyes a little too bright. “That’s what happens when you marry a college student. They have to be up early in the morning. Fucks the whole honeymoon vibe right over.”
I set down my keys. “You should probably do the same. It’s nearly two in the morning.”
“Hah.” Kira barks a mirthless laugh. “And here I was hoping this shitty day would end sooner.”
“Technically, it has already ended.”
“No, it hasn’t.” She gazes angrily out the window, like the moon has personally done her a disservice.
“The sun isn’t up yet. Until then, it’s the same fucking day all over again.
Whoever decided to reset the clock at midnight clearly never had to stay up past that.
” She tries to pour herself another glass, fails, and just puts her lips straight to the bottle. “Pizdets. What a fucker.”
“Kira, it’s late.” I don’t feel like entertaining the drunk musings of my inebriated sister-in-law. “I’ll walk you upstairs.”
“So I can see Dimitri’s face behind my eyes every time I close them?” She chugs down more wine. “No, thanks.”
Suddenly, I realize why she’s hitting the booze hard. “You went to see him today.”
She doesn’t reply. Just stands on shaky legs from the armchair, eyes downcast, lips pressed into a white line. Kira was always the type to get stuck on the anger phase of grief. “Yeah. I did.”
“How is he?”
She swallows, and for a moment, I think she’s going to dodge the question. Instead, her voice wavers. “He’s probably going to die.”
I keep my face neutral. I don’t get the luxury of falling apart, and I certainly won’t do it in front of her. It wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Dimitri.
“Don’t say that.” I take the bottle from her hand and put her back on the accent table. “We don’t know that.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “You’re thinking the same thing. I can see it.”
I don’t answer that. She’s not wrong, but she doesn’t need to hear me admit it. Instead, I guide her back into the chair and crouch in front of her. “He’s strong, Kira. If anyone can pull through, it’s him.”
She shakes her head, staring sightlessly past me. Her face is etched with regret. “If I’d given him an heir… maybe things would have been different.”
“Heirs have nothing to do with this.”
“He might have been more careful,” she mumbles. “Thought more about the future. About us.”
“What happened to Dimitri wasn’t his fault.” I clench my fists and force myself to breathe. I have to remind myself that Kira’s drunk, and heartbroken, and speaking from the bottom of her grief. “It was nobody’s fault but the people who shot him. And they will pay for it.”
Her lips curl slightly. “Fat lot of good that does me. I’ll still be the childless wife of a dead pakhan.”
“You thought you had more time.” I let my fist unfurl on the armrest. “You both thought you’d have your whole lives to start a family. No one could have predicted this.”
“I should have.” She bites her bottom lip, brow furrowing in self-directed rage. “I was his wife. I should have seen the signs. Isn’t that what a good pakhansha does? Check threats before they become a problem?”
I don’t tell her that no one ever expects anything from the pakhansha other than baby-making. I doubt it’s what she needs to hear. “You have nothing to punish yourself for, Kira.”
“Does it matter?” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “As soon as Dimitri’s gone, I’ll be out on the streets.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Why’s that?”
Her eyes search mine, like she’s looking for some kind of promise.
I can’t give her that. Promises are worthless. Bonds waiting to be broken. In my life, I can’t afford to commit to much. Being pakhan already takes up all that space. Keeping my Bratva running, fulfilling my father’s will, carrying on my brother’s legacy—that’s all I have the bandwidth for.
But I still give her the only reassurance I’ve got. “I’ll always look after you, Kira. You’re family.”
“I’m a burden.”
“No, you’re not.” I squeeze her hand once. “And I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. You have my word.”
Kira’s eyes go hazier. Muddled, by wine and by grief. Before I realize what she’s doing, she leans closer, her hand brushing my arm, her lips—
“Kira.” I catch her shoulders firmly and stop her from kissing me. “Stop.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t want this.” Her voice turns desperate, panting.
But mine hardens. “I don’t. And you don’t, either.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I could be your wife.”
I shove her off and push to my feet. “I already have a wife.”
Her face turns stony, the hurt flashing in her eyes quickly replaced by something defensive. “Right,” she spits. “The perfect wife. Maybe you wouldn’t mind me so much if I was the one giving you an heir.” She scoffs. “Not that she’s doing a great job with that, either.”
“Careful, Kira. I’m willing to cut you slack, but if you’re going to insult her—”
“No need to threaten me.” She flaps her hand drunkenly in the air. “I’m gone. Sorry to have disturbed you.”
“You didn’t disturb me.” Something uncomfortable coils in my gut. The feeling of having failed my brother, again, by proxy. “Just don’t try that again.”
“I get it—I’m pathetic. You don’t have to rub it in.”
“I’m not,” I tell her, steady this time. “But this isn’t the way to cope. You’ve had too much to drink and you’re hurting. That’s all this is.”
Her gaze slides away. Without another word, she snatches up the bottle and carries it upstairs, unsteady on her feet.
I wait for her footsteps to fade, then head to my wing of the mansion. On the way up, I’m already rationalizing what just happened. Kira was hurt, heartbroken, and insecure about her position in this household. Most of all, she was drunk off her ass.
I’m not going to do her the discourtesy of taking anything that just happened seriously.
When I step into the bedroom, I see Sima curled up in bed. Her books are scattered around her—she must have tried to wait up for me.
I’m still pissed about her lies. But after what just happened downstairs, the knot between my shoulders has started to loosen.
She’s not in an easy position, either. If I’m willing to be graceful with Kira, I should at least afford Sima the benefit of the doubt.
For now.
I tidy up the books, undress, and slip into bed. Sima reaches for me immediately in her sleep. The feel of her body, the sight of her… it all comes together to work that knot looser and looser.
I don’t even realize I’m falling asleep until I feel myself go under.