Chapter 27 Vera
VERA
The sun is setting as we pull through the gates, painting the sky this deep blood-red color that's so on-the-nose it almost seems fake, like someone’s trying too hard with the symbolism. But the sky really is that color—crimson and orange and purple all bleeding together.
I think it’s grimly appropriate.
This all started with death (or what everyone thought was death) and now it ends the same way.
The convoy pulls into the circular drive and men pour out—Volkovs and Ashfords together, moving with that weird unified efficiency that would have been impossible just yesterday. My father is here, Uncle Marcus beside him, along with what’s left of the Volkov elders.
Dimitri’s hand is tight around mine as we walk into the main hall. His palm is slightly damp—the only sign he's not as calm as he appears. His face is an impassive mask, but I can feel the tension vibrating through him.
“You okay?” I murmur.
“No,” is his only response and I don’t press him any further.
The main hall has been prepared. I don’t know who did it or when, but someone cleared the furniture to the sides, creating an open space in the center. Both families file in, lining the walls, and I’ve never felt more exposed in my life.
But I’ve never felt more like I belong here.
I’m standing beside Dimitri at the front. Not behind him, but beside him. His hand is still tight around mine, and everyone can see it. They can see us. Together. Partners.
His wife.
Konstantin is brought in first.
He’s still handcuffed and flanked by two guards, but somehow he still manages to look like a son of a bitch. Like he’s the elder statesman here to advise rather than a prisoner about to be executed.
His silver hair is perfect despite everything and his suit is wrinkled and bloodstained. When he looks around the room—at the faces of men who once followed him, respected him, trusted him—his expression doesn’t change.
“You’re making a mistake,” he says calmly, as if he’s not minutes from death. “Everything I did was for the Volkovs and to make sure we stayed the best. I should have been the head of this family. Everything was for—”
“Everything you did was for yourself,” Dimitri interrupts coldly.
“You started a war that killed innocent people. You helped fake Alexei’s death.
You tried to kill me and my wife multiple times.
You tried to take my wife and child.” His hand tightens on mine.
“You betrayed everything the Volkov name stands for.”
The mask of dignity cracks on Konstantin’s face, and what’s underneath is ugly. Fury, hatred and bitter, corrosive jealousy that’s probably been festering for years.
“You were never supposed to be the leader,” he spits. “You were too young, too soft, and too goddamn idealistic. Your father would have been ashamed of what you’ve become. Choosing an Ashford” —his eyes flick to me with pure contempt— “over your own blood.”
The words are meant to hurt and shake Dimitri’s resolve. But Dimitri doesn’t even flinch.
“My father would have been ashamed of you,” he says quietly. “At what you’ve become.”
Konstantin chuckles darkly. “And what’s that, Dimitri?”
“A traitor. A manipulator,” Dimitri continues in that same, impassive tone. “A coward who hid behind my brother instead of facing me himself.”
He looks around the room at the gathered families. Volkovs and Ashfords. Together.
“Konstantin Volkov is guilty of treason, attempted murder, and conspiracy against both families. The sentence is death.” His voice is steady. “Does anyone dispute this?”
Silence.
Even men who’ve known Konstantin for decades and were his staunchest defenders say nothing. The evidence against Konstantin is too irrefutable, and loyalty means more than anything else.
Dimitri raises his weapon.
The gunshot is deafening in the enclosed space.
I flinch—I can’t help it—and my eyes close involuntarily, but I force them open immediately because I need to see this. I need to witness it. This is the world I was born into and married into as well. This is what justice looks like here.
Konstantin drops. The arrogance drains from his face along with his life, and he’s just… gone. Dead before he hits the marble floor.
Blood pools beneath his head and its darkness spreads, marring the floors.
My stomach churns, but I don’t let myself look away. I need to look strong to these men, like I can handle this.
He deserved worse than a quick death for what he did, for what he tried to do to Dimitri. To me. To our baby.
“Remove the body,” Dimitri orders flatly. His voice is completely devoid of emotion. “Burn it. Konstantin Volkov died a traitor, and traitors don’t get graves.”
Two guards move forward, grabbing Konstantin’s arms and dragging him away. His shoes leave a trail of blood across the pristine marble.
I watch until he’s gone through the doors and then I turn my head as they bring in Alexei.
He’s conscious now, walking under his own power though there’s guards on each arm. The gunshot wound in his side is bandaged, but blood’s seeped through the white gauze, dark and wet.
When he sees Konstantin’s blood on the floor, his face goes white.
“You killed him,” he breathes, as if unable to believe it. “You actually killed him.”
“He tried to kill me first,” Dimitri says flatly. “Several times. As did you.”
Alexei looks at Dimitri, and the bravado drains away, replaced by desperation and fear. And for the first time since this nightmare began, I see a glimpse of the man I thought I knew.
“Dima,” he says, and the nickname makes Dimitri flinch. “Dima, please. I’m your brother. You promised—remember? You promised you’d always protect me.”
I see the pain flash across Dimitri’s handsome face, and the devastation on it makes a lump form in my throat. The memory of a promise made to a child, not a traitor. The impossible weight of what he’s about to do.
Alexei sees the crack in Dimitri’s armor and presses harder.
“We can fix this,” he says desperately, his blue eyes beseeching his brother’s. “I’ll disappear. You’ll never see me again. I’ll go to Europe, South America, anywhere you want. Just let me live. Please, Dima. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all of it.”
And the terrible thing is that he sounds genuine. For the first time since he revealed himself alive, there’s real emotion in his voice and real regret.
I feel something twist in my chest.
I hate him. Fuck, I hate him for what he did and how he used me. For sabotaging birth control and getting me pregnant as part of some sick plan. For nearly killing Dimitri today and all the other times.
But there’s this tiny, stupid part of me that remembers falling for his charm. That remembers believing he cared about me. Even if it was one-sided and I was the only one who actually felt anything real.
That part of me—that naive, foolish part—hurts for him now.
Which is insane. He tried to kidnap me and use my baby as leverage. He threatened everything I love.
But emotions aren’t logical and apparently, I’m capable of hating someone and still feeling a twisted sort of grief for what I thought we had.
I think I might be a little bit broken.
Dimitri’s jaw clenches. I can see him wavering. Is he actually considering mercy?
But then his voice comes out, rough and raw with pain.
“I would have died for you, Alexei.” He takes a step closer to Alexei.
“And you used that against me. You faked your death and let me think the Ashfords killed you. You started a war. You tried to kill me—multiple times.” His voice drops lethally. “You tried to take my wife and child.”
Alexei is shaking now, realizing that his sob story isn’t working. “Dima—” he tries again, but Dimitri ignores him.
“If I let you live,” Dimitri continues, “you’ll never stop. You’ll disappear, yes, but then in six months, a year, five years, you’ll come back and try again because you want power, and you’ll do anything to get it.” His voice breaks slightly. “And I can’t—I won’t—let you threaten my family again.”
And just like that, Alexei’s desperation transforms into rage. The fear drops away and what’s underneath is uglier.
“Your family?” he snarls. "That baby is MINE. You can’t just claim—”
“I can,” Dimitri interrupts coldly. “And I have. That baby is mine in every way that matters. I’ll be the father you never would have been.”
He looks at me then, and the love in his eyes is so overwhelming, it makes my heart clench painfully.
“And Vera is my wife,” he says, still looking at me. “My real wife. Not a pawn or a tool or breeding stock. Mine.” He turns back to Alexei. “You had everything—family, loyalty, love. Real love. And you threw it away for power. That’s on you.”
He raises the gun.
“Goodbye, Alexei.”
The shot echoes through the hall.
Alexei falls.
And it’s over.
Truly, finally, over.
The room is silent except for this awful ringing in my ears and my own breathing, which is too fast and shallow, like I can’t get enough air.
There’s moisture on my cheeks, and I swipe them away before I realize I’m crying. When did that even happen? I didn’t even realize I had started crying but there was no putting that genie back in the bottle.
But I’m not crying for Alexei. Not really. He deserved this—no, he earned this. I’m crying for Dimitri. For what this cost him. For the weight he’ll carry for the rest of his life.
He killed his own brother.
Dimitri just stands there, weapon still raised, staring at Alexei’s body. His face is completely blank, but I can see him breaking inside and I see the cracks spreading through that controlled facade.
Without thinking, I go to him. My arms wrap around him from behind and he collapses into me—this strong, terrifying man who just executed two people without hesitation reduced to something raw and wounded in my arms.
“I had to,” he says, his voice breaking. “I had to. There wasn’t another choice. He would never have stopped.”