Chapter 18 Dimitri #2
He looks confused. “Doing what?”
“Talking about Alexei like he doesn’t matter. Like his death was just…” I struggle for the words. “Convenient.”
Konstantin’s expression doesn't change. “I loved Alexei like a son, you know that. But he’s gone, Dimitri. We can’t bring him back. All we can do is honor his memory by making sure his death wasn’t meaningless.”
It sounds reasonable. Logical, even. But I’ve been poring over the details of Alexei’s death for weeks now, and the inconsistencies won’t leave me alone.
“Uncle, the timeline doesn’t make sense,” I say, repeating a point I’ve made numerous times before and I can tell it’s irritating by uncle by the way his brows draw and his lips press in a thin line.
“The Ashfords arrived at 9:40. The coroner estimated the time of death at 9:30. How did they ambush him if they weren’t there yet? ”
Konstantin sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “We’ve been over this—”
“The powder burns don't match the distance the coroner reported,” I continue, talking over Konstantin. “The bullet trajectories are off. Someone cleaned that scene before we got there.”
“Dimitri.” Konstantin’s voice sharpens. “You’re exhausted. You’ve been working yourself to death trying to find a traitor who may not even exist, and now you’ve spent two days barely sleeping because you're worried about your wife. You’re seeing connections that aren’t there.”
“Am I?” I challenge, really sick of my uncle blowing me off. “Or are you trying to keep me from seeing what’s right in front of me?”
For just a second—so brief I almost miss it—something cold flashes in his eyes. Then it’s gone, replaced by concern.
“I understand you’re under stress,” he says carefully. “But making wild accusations won’t bring Alexei back. Focus on Vera and the baby. Focus on the alliance we’ve built and let the past stay in the past.”
He’s telling me to let it go. To stop investigating. To accept the official story and move on.
Every instinct I have is screaming that I shouldn’t.
But before I can respond, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Mrs. Kozlov.
Mrs. Volkov is awake and asking for you.
“I need to go,” I say abruptly, standing up and going to the door to open it.
“Of course.” Konstantin moves toward the door, then pauses. “Take care of that girl, Dimitri. She’s the future of this family now. Don’t lose sight of what matters.”
He leaves before I can answer and ask why that sounded less like advice and more like a warning.
I stand there in the sudden silence, my mind churning.
Why does Konstantin keep dismissing my concerns about Alexei’s death? Why does he seem so pleased that I’m falling for Vera? What the fuck does he mean by “focus on what matters”?
I’m missing something. Something big. Something that’s been right in front of me this whole time.
But then my phone buzzes again—another text from Mrs. Kozlov, this one more insistent—and I force myself to move. Whatever I’m missing, it’ll have to wait.
Vera needs me.
She’s sitting up against the pillows when I come in, looking better than she has in days. Some color has returned to her cheeks and her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
Beautiful. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at her.
“Hey,” she says softly. “Mrs. Kozlov said your uncle was here. Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” I lie, not wanting to stress her out. “Just checking in.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push (thank God). Instead, she pats the bed beside her in invitation.
I cross the room and sit on the edge of the mattress, close enough that our legs are almost touching.
“How are you feeling?” I ask gently.
“Better. Restless.” She makes a face. “Dr. Petrov said I can get up tomorrow if I’m still feeling okay. Start moving around a little.”
Yeah, that’s not happening. “That’s good,” I manage to get out.
“Is it?” She tilts her head, studying me with those amber flecked eyes. “You look worried.”
I am worried. Worried about the inconsistencies in Alexei’s death. Worried about the traitor I still haven't found. Worried about the seventeen people on my suspect list and the fact that none of the leads are panning out.
But mostly I’m worried that I’m falling in love with a woman I have no right to love, and that when she figures it out, she’ll hate me for it.
“I’m fine,” I say.
Vera purses her lips. “Liar.”
The word is gentle. Maybe even teasing, almost. She reaches out and takes my hand, lacing our fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“You’ve barely left this room in two days,” she says. “You’ve been working yourself to exhaustion. Talk to me, Dimitri.”
I love you.
The words are right there, pressing against my teeth. Three syllables that would change everything.
But I can’t say them. I don’t want to put that burden on her when she still loves my brother and is carrying his baby.
So I say what I can, which is true even if it’s not the whole truth.
“I’m here,” I tell her, squeezing her hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her eyes search mine, and I wonder what she sees. If she can read the things I can’t say written all over my face.
“Promise?” she asks quietly.
I nod, my heart in my throat. “Promise.”
She shifts closer, tucking herself against my side with her head on my shoulder. My arm comes around her automatically, holding her like I’ve been doing every night for two days.
God, I never want to stop.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For staying. For taking care of me. For…” She pauses, and I can nearly feel her struggling to figure out what to say. “For caring.”
I love you. The words echo in my head, desperate and impossible.
“Always,” I say instead.
And I hold her while the afternoon light fades to evening, thinking three words over and over.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
But what I tell her is, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
It’s the closest I can come to the truth without speaking it aloud and risking everything we’ve built.
Without betraying my brother one more time.
So I stay silent, holding the woman I love, protecting what’s mine and my brother’s and somehow both and neither all at once.
And I wonder when silence became the same thing as lying.