15. Brooke
I don’t know what wakes me up, but sometime in the early hours of the morning, I realize Lev isn’t lying beside me. According to the clock, it’s 3:21.
Overcome with a sudden craving for pistachio ice cream, I leave the bedroom and make my way through the maze of passageways and down the staircase toward the kitchen.
The mansion is quiet and still.
Except…
Standing in the massive kitchen, devouring ice cream from the tub, I notice lights moving about outside. My curiosity piqued, I move to the window to see where they’re coming from. The window looks out over the immaculate lawn and across to another wing of the mansion, which has been under construction since I arrived here, and it’s there through the shadows I can see lights moving around.
I know there is nothing to be afraid of. Lev has made it clear that this place is heavily patrolled, so it’s probably some of his men. But I decide to check it out anyway. I’m wide awake and feel up for some middle-of-the-night exploration.
Taking my ice cream and spoon, I set off through the mansion. Access to the forbidden wing is by two tall doors at the far end of the passageway. Usually, they’re locked, but tonight they’re slightly ajar.
Go back to your room, that little voice tells me.
Which, of course, I ignore.
Instead, I creep through the parted doors and step into a world so different from what lies behind me. Instead of fine furnishings and muralled walls gilded in gold, the room I’m standing in is nothing but a shell full of construction material and scaffolding up to the ceiling. Plastic hangs from one part of the ceiling, separating the rest of the room from whatever restoration is taking place behind it.
It’s the middle of the night, so no such work is taking place. But I can hear voices.
Holding my breath, I inch closer and peer around the plastic to see what is on the other side.
I see Lev standing with several of his men, looking down at something on the ground. As I get closer, I can see there is a man on his knees in front of him, and he is speaking rapidly. Swearing and yelling, bits of spittle flying out of his mouth.
I recognize him. He’s the orderly who attacked me at the hospital the night of the explosion.
Finally, Lev lifts his gun and shoots the man in the forehead.
I gasp and quickly slap my hand over my mouth.
But it’s too late.
Lev turns his head, and our eyes lock for a long, painful moment, and I realize I am looking into the eyes of a killer.
My body freezes as I glance at the dead man slumped on the floor in front of him.
Get out.
Get out.
Get out.
I begin to back out of there, unable to take my eyes off the dead man at Lev’s feet.
“Brooke.” Lev says my name, and it snaps me into action.
I turn and run.
I run all the way back to the main wing but eventually stop when Lev’s voice reaches me. It’s so guttural and sharp, I come to a halt at the base of the staircase. “I said stop.”
I swing back to him. He is walking along the corridor toward me, every step purposeful, every stride confident. He looks so self-assured and collected. Not at all like he just killed a man.
“You shouldn’t have been there,” he says.
I swallow thickly. “I heard voices.”
He eyes the spoon and ice cream in my hand. “So you thought you’d check it out and take care of whatever it was with ice cream and a spoon?”
“I had a craving.” I look up at him. “He was the man who attacked me at the hospital.”
“Yes. He was also the man who built and planted the bomb.”
I think back to the car explosion. The bright burst of light and the shockwave that rattled the glass in the windows.
Goosebumps creep along my arms.
“Who was he?” I ask, remembering the violent fear I felt that night.
“A bomb maker for hire. Don’t mourn him, zayka. His particular skillset has cost hundreds of people their lives.”
“But you killed him so easily.”
“Yes. Because he deserved it.”
I knew Lev was capable of dark things. But actually seeing him shoot a man dead scares me.
He offers me his hand, and because I don’t know what to do, I leave my ice cream and spoon on the step and take it and let him lead me into his office.
I’m not afraid of him. Or what he could do to me. I already know he would never do anything to harm me or his baby. But this sudden intimate insight into his world has rattled me.
He moves to his desk, but I linger at the door, as if moving any deeper into the room will pull me deeper into a world I don’t belong.
“Come,” he says. “I want to show you something.”
I cautiously approach the desk where he is spreading photos across the polished wood.
They are crime scene photos of what were once buildings and cars, even a private jet.
He points to a photo of a building with the side blown out and the interior spilling onto the street. In the center of the picture is a lone high heel lying on its side.
“Seventy-two people died. Most of them women. But he got the required destruction he was hired to create, so he considered this a win.” He points to another photo of what was once a boat. “In this case, the target wasn’t even on the boat, but an entire family of innocent people died.” He points to the plane. “And in this one, nineteen people never made it home.” The muscle in his jaw ticks as his dark eyes roam over the photos. “All of this destruction. All of these dead people. It all happened because of that man out there.”
Looking at the photos, I feel sick, and I wrap my arms around my waist. My baby isn’t even born yet, and I feel the need to hold it in my arms and protect it from the horrors I see in the pictures spread out before me.
Lev lays another photo out. It’s of his car. “He wanted to kill me, Brooke. And afterward, he tried harming you and our baby. I wanted to know who hired him.”
“Did you find out who?” I can’t take my eyes off the burnout wreckage. I could’ve lost Lev so easily that night.
“Yes.”
I lift my gaze to him. “Who was it?”
“Vlad fucking Bhyzova.”