Epilogue – Ilya
S ignora Chiara’s kitchen smelled of anise and yeast. The mess hall in the war camp never smelled like this. Not that the pawns were privileged to dine with the soldiers. When we weren’t in our cages, we didn’t dare go into the same space for fear of becoming a punching bag for bored soldiers.
Or…most of us didn’t. If the hunger was strong enough, one could risk just about anything.
My steps whispered over the floor. I plucked a bun off the counter, tearing it from the mass cooling on a wire rack. I slid onto the bench and tore the piping hot roll into bite sized pieces. Mila’s exclamation of dismay brought a smirk to my face a moment later. My back was to the cook and her sister, the housekeeper, so they couldn’t see I was the thief who took the bun.
“Chiara will kill us!” Mila hissed.
“It had to be one of the maids, no one else is up at this time,” Ania sighed.
The weight of their combined gaze brushed against my spine. I felt their realization and knew they shared a silent conversation of understanding. They wouldn’t confront me.
Ania cleared her throat. “Would you like a coffee, Mr. Pavlovn?”
I turned and met her eye. “No, but thank you.”
The housekeeper nodded and then found something to consume her immediate attention.
Popping the rest of the spiced bun into my mouth, I pulled the newspaper across the smooth wood surface of the breakfast table. There was enough room in this fortress for me to move into a suit. But just like the fact I kept the last name of my mother, I kept my separation from the Vlasov family with this small difference.
I was one of them, but I was also the adopted stray the prince took pity on years and years ago.
The footfall in the hall alerted me to his presence before that prince appeared.
“Did you clean the blood from under your nails this time?” Dimitri teased as he appeared in the doorway.
I cut him a dry look over the wide sheets of cheap paper. “You disappeared after my fight.”
“It was after four a.m.,” Dimitri protested, falling into a chair across the table from me.
The quick glance I’d given my friend showed that he was fresh showered, but sleep hadn’t found him. Must be nice to have a woman to hurry back to.
“Madonna! What are you both doing here so early?” Signora Chiara exclaimed as she burst through the door that led to the back staircase.
“The work of the wicked never ends, madre,” Dimitri said with a smirk.
Chiara crossed herself. “You need to go to confession—both of you.”
The matriarch of our organization bustled about, muttering under her breath something that sounded like an intercessory prayer, and in three minutes, two large glasses of fresh milk and more hot buns were placed in front of us.
“Here’s the grassfed butter the farmer also makes,” she said, setting a container in the middle of the spread.
“I used to dislike milk, but this raw stuff is actually tasty.” Dimitri took a long gulp of his.
It was. We had it good here.
So why are you scowling? A voice mocked in the back of my mind.
I flipped the page, scanning the spider print. The larger fonts were easier, but my twisted brain still mixed letters which made reading more difficult. Vasil was the only one who enjoyed the newspaper. He preferred receiving news the old fashioned way. Unlike the podcasts I listened to, there were pictures in the paper. I narrowed my eyes on something at the top.
The paper was from New York. The Times. What the hell Vasil was doing with that one, it was impossible to say.
“So we will have a meeting with Mikhaylov tonight,” Dimitri informed me. “We need to deal with this new crime syndicate.”
At the expense of partnering with another bratva? I flicked a brow in consideration. “Whatever you say, boss.”
“Ilya,” Dimitri huffed. “Where’s your strategizing head?”
Retired. The bloodlust of fighting was the only thing strong enough to fuel my purpose.
I stilled. The grainy image was smudged, but—
“Kaz doesn’t think we can take on the Toro Syndicate by ourselves. Plus it will open negotiations with Mikhaylov and his men. Ever since the August incident at the STYX, the Moskals have been a thorn in our side.”
I tuned out Dimitri’s rambling. My stupid fucking brain tried to make sense of the words under the image. This was the society pages, that much I figured out. But not learning to read until I was nearly an adult, and discovering I had a disability so I didn’t bother, made smooth consumption of words nearly impossible.
Somehow, I managed.
“Ilya?” The cautious tone of Dimitri’s voice grated on my nerves.
“What?” I snapped.
“You boys should go to bed,” the signora muttered, setting tiny cups of espresso on the table. “You’re up too early.”
“The same could be said of you, madre,” Dimitri pointed out.
Chiara put her hands on her hips. “I went to bed at a decent hour, young man.”
I pushed from the table, the portion of the paper clenched in my hand. Determination surged through my veins. I would have to drive, since taking any useful equipment on an airplane would be next to impossible.
My pakhan called after me, but I ignored my friend.
“What was he looking at?” Dimitri snapped.
“The engagement and wedding announcements for the Sunday Times,” Chiara said, rustling papers in her hand.
Heavy footfall thundered after me. I was already out the back door, storming to my truck.
“Ilya! Stop,” Dimitri commanded.
Wrenching open the door, I cut my old friend a look. “I’m taking an extended leave of absence. Good luck with the Toro Syndicate. You’ll burn them to the ground now that Luka’s back on his feet.”
“Tell me what the fuck is going on,” he insisted.
I shut the door. regret tickled my chest. That had to be why I rolled down the window. “If you want my advice—”
“You fucking know I do.”
“Don’t get into bed with Mikhaylov.” With that, I floored the accelerator and peeled out of the fortress. The smudged picture stared back at me from the passenger seat, mocking me.
I found you, Rusalka.
The little siren made a mistake when she preyed on me. I was a hunter, and now that I had her scent, no force on earth was stopping me from taking what’s mine.
TO BE CONTINUED IN…