Chapter Nineteen #2
Elena shoots me a surprised look. “Insecure?” she chuckles, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Interesting. I didn’t know my husband was so insecure. I’ll invite you to dinner one of these days, and you’re not allowed to say no.”
“I would love that.” Mikhail’s eyes dart to me, and he grins like he just won the lottery.
My attention is pinned on the folder he’s holding, and given the anxiety burning in my stomach, I don’t have the energy for his jokes, although I’ll have to teach him a lesson or two later for flirting with my wife in front of me.
“What do you have?”
“Information on the rat hiding in your walls.” His gaze bounces between Elena and me, signaling for me to dismiss her.
“There’ll be no need for that,” I tell him. “Elena’s a part of this family now.”
Mikhail looks hesitant for a moment before eventually giving in with a shrug of his shoulders. He sets the folder on the table. “Have a look yourself.”
My finger hovers over the folder for a couple of seconds before I find the courage to flip it open.
The warmth in my chest turns sour as I spread the pictures in the folder out on the table. There are CCTV photos of Artem meeting up with Vasili, them exchanging burner phones and flash drives, a text message between one of Vasili’s men and Artem on the night of the attack.
Everything points to Artem being a rat.
I haven’t cried since I was five, but the weight of his betrayal draws a single tear from my eyes.
Elena watches me, concern flashing across her features. “Is that…was Artem behind the attack?”
I nod once, my jaw clenching. “Give us a moment. I have business to take care of.”
She doesn’t look like she wants to leave my side, even for a moment. Still, she gently slides off my legs, but doesn’t take her eyes off me. “Will you be okay?”
I nod again. The anger surging through me is so intense that I can’t bring myself to say another word, afraid my self-control will slip if I speak.
“Okay.” Her throat bobs, her chest heaving. “I’ll be waiting for you in the bedroom.”
Pushing up from the chair, I press a kiss to the top of her head. “I won’t be long.”
“Okay.” She glances at Mikhail, then back at me, before walking out of the home office and shutting the door behind her.
She’d been shaken from seeing the dead bodies and all the blood on the day of the attack. She still has nightmares about it, and the last thing I want to do is traumatize her further by exposing her to more bloodshed.
“What do we do now?” Mikhail asks.
We’ve taken out many traitors over the years. Some of them were planted by our enemies. Others were ungrateful assholes who simply didn’t hesitate to bite the hand that fed them the moment they got a better offer. But this will be the first time we’re taking out one of our own.
Grabbing my phone from the table, I send a text to Artem.
Meet me in the home office. Now.
His response appears a few seconds later.
I’ll be there in five minutes.
Mikhail drops into one of the chairs across from my desk and props his ankle on his knee, drumming his fingers on the desk absentmindedly as we wait for Artem.
“Think he’ll try to run when he finds out we have him cornered?”
I close the folder in front of me. “No.”
Artem has been many things—reckless, stubborn, a traitor. But he’s never been a coward.
What feels like an eternity passes before the door groans open and Artem walks into the office with his usual confident stride. “Hey, man,” he says to Mikhail before turning toward me. “Is something wrong? You look awful.”
I lean back in my chair, scrutinizing him. I imagine this must’ve been what my father felt in his last moments, when he realized his own friend had betrayed him. I can physically feel my brain chemistry altering, the pain making it hard for me to breathe.
“I just found out I’ve been harboring a traitor for a long time,” I drawl, steepling my fingers in front of me.
A deep frown creases the space between his eyebrows. “Who’s the fucker?” he growls. “Say the name and I’ll get rid of that bastard myself.”
“Will you?” I play along, like a predator playing with its food before feasting on it. “You’d be surprised.”
I stare at him.
He doesn’t look any different than he always has—same dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes that have always seemed alert and restless. Except now I’m looking into the eyes of a traitor, and unease washes over me.
His expression hardens. “Who?”
I pull open the folder and slide a photograph across the desk.
Artem looks down at it, and the color drains from his face as he stares at the photograph of him outside one of the Italian casinos with Vasili.
I slide another photo to him, and then another, and by the time we get to the last one, his eyes are dark with terror. I watch him carefully, scrutinizing every movement he makes just in case he’s grown enough balls to openly attack me.
He hasn’t.
For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks confused, like he’s gambling between keeping his calm exterior or exploding with rage.
My stomach twists. I can’t make sense of why he would betray me, and I hate that there’s still a part of me waiting for an explanation. For him to tell me there’s been a mistake and that the photos are fabricated.
He raises his head slowly, and when his eyes find mine, whatever hope I had dies. There are no excuses in his eyes, only resentment and hate I’ve never seen from him before.
“You had me followed.”
It’s not a question, but an accusation. One that would be almost amusing under different circumstances.
My jaw tightens and a bitter laugh rips from my throat. “Predatel.”
The tension in the room becomes almost unbearable.
Artem’s right hand twitches. He reaches for his holster, but unfortunately for him, Mikhail is quicker. He flies to his feet, pulling out his gun and pressing it to Artem’s temple.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Artem’s fingers freeze right above his holster. Then he looks at me and smirks. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance, Leonid. And I should’ve killed that fucking bitch you brought home and made your wife.”
His words feel like a knife buried in my heart and slowly twisted between my ribs. The hatred I see in his eyes is like lava about to spill over, and as I glare back at him, only one question burns at the back of my mind. “Why?”
“Why?” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Everything has always been about you. Your empire. Your reputation. Your money. Your woman. Every fucking thing.”
I cock my head. “So all of this was about money?”
“I built this with you. I fought your wars with you, Leonid.” His voice rises. The bitterness pouring from him is almost tangible now. “I bled for you, but no matter what I did, nobody ever saw me. They saw Leonid Nazarov’s right hand. His soldier. His shadow.”
A cold emptiness settles in my chest. All these years together, and this is what it comes down to? A wounded ego? “Is that your excuse? You betrayed me and all of our brothers because you were jealous?”
His face twists, seething with rage I still can’t understand. Artem takes a step forward before Mikhail cocks his weapon, making him halt before he takes another step.
“You think this is about jealousy?” He basically spits the question at me. “Vasili understood something you never did. Everything you have was supposed to be mine. You never deserved any of this, Leonid. And neither did your father.”
My mind goes completely still at the mention of my father. At the memory of my mother. Whatever hesitation I had before vanishes. “Fine. Dream all you want, but none of this will ever be yours. Not on Earth. And definitely not in hell.”
I pull my gun from where it’s tucked under my desk and click off the safety.
For a second, something that looks suspiciously like regret crosses Artem’s face. He had his chance to back down before I ever found out about his betrayal, but he crossed a line I can’t forgive when he exposed my weakness to the enemy and tried to hurt Elena.
“Leonid—”
“Farewell, brat. See you in hell.” I pull the trigger, and the gunshot echoes through the office.
Artem’s body collapses backward. Mikhail curses in Russian as blood splatters his white shirt.
Placing the gun back under the desk, I rise to my feet and stare at Artem for several seconds.
His icy blue eyes stare sightlessly toward the ceiling. Only minutes ago, they were filled with anger and resentment. Now there’s nothing left in them at all. Blood pools beneath his head, creeping across the floorboards while fragments of bone and brain matter stain the expensive rug.
For the first time since I joined the bratva, I don’t feel relief or satisfaction from killing an enemy. I feel numb. Helpless.
“Have someone clean up this mess,” I manage to say. Then I step over Artem’s lifeless body and walk out of the room.
The Artem who was my brother died the moment he chose to betray me.
And the man lying on my office floor is merely the shell he left behind.