2. Roman
ROMAN
The mausoleum smells like wet stone and mold. It’s sharp enough to make me wrinkle my nose as we enter and colder inside than out. The darkness swallows us whole until my eyes adjust.
Vera stands just inside the doorway, her shoulders rigid. She hasn’t moved deeper into the space, and her fingers grip the umbrella handle so hard her knuckles have gone white.
I pull the gate shut behind us. The groan of metal on metal echoes off the stone walls.
She flinches.
“Relax,” I say. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“That’s what someone who’s going to hurt me would say.”
Fair point. I cross the space to where the brass plaques line the walls. My mother’s name is there, third from the left. Irina Volkonskaya. Beloved wife and mother. The sentiment is bullshit, but the plaque is real enough.
“What do you want from me?” Vera asks. Her voice is steadier now.
I don’t answer right away. I’m studying her in the dim light filtering through the small window high on the wall.
She’s thinner than she was three years ago, when I watched her walk down the aisle in a white dress and veil from a screen thousands of miles away.
Her cheekbones are sharper, and there are shadows under her eyes that makeup can’t quite hide.
Three years of marriage to my brother did that.
“You know,” I say, turning back to the plaques, “Dmitri and I were close once. When we were kids.”
“I don’t care about your childhood.”
“You should.” I trace my finger along the edge of my mother’s plaque. The brass is cold and smooth. “It’s relevant.”
Vera shifts her weight. The gravel outside crunches as someone walks past, and her head turns toward the sound. Calculating her escape route, probably.
Smart girl.
“We were inseparable,” I continue. “We were fraternal twins, not identical. He was always the charming one. The one who could talk his way out of anything.” I pause. “I was the one who cleaned up his messes.”
“Fascinating,” she says. Her tone is flat. “Can you get to the point? I have a wake to attend.”
I turn to face her. “Do you really want to go back there? Do you want to stand in a room full of people who pretend to care about him, talking about what a great man he was?”
Her jaw tightens. She doesn’t answer, which is an answer in itself.
“That’s what I thought.”
I move away from the wall and sit on the stone bench that runs along the far side of the mausoleum. It’s cold even through my suit pants. I gesture to the space beside me.
“Sit.”
“I’ll stand.”
“Suit yourself.”
The silence stretches between us. Outside, the rain has picked up again. I can hear it drumming against the roof.
“Ten years ago,” I say, “Dmitri framed me for betrayal. He made it look like I was stealing from the family, selling information to our competitors. He was thorough about it, too. He even had witnesses testify against me.”
Vera’s still standing by the door, but her posture has changed. She’s listening now.
“Our father believed him. Why wouldn’t he? Dmitri was his golden boy. I was just...” I shrug. “Expendable.”
“What happened to you?”
“Exile.” The word tastes like ash in my mouth even now.
She shakes her head. Her hair is damp, clinging to her temples. The pale gray-blue light filtering through the windows makes her look like she’s underwater. She’s beautiful.
“I learned things in that time. For example, how to kill without leaving evidence.”
Her breath catches. It’s a small sound, but I hear it bounce off the cold stone walls.
“You’re wondering if I’m threatening you,” I say. “I’m not. I’m telling you what I became while Dmitri was here, living my life. Marrying you.”
That gets a reaction. Her chin lifts, and her eyes narrow. “He didn’t marry me because of you.”
“No?” I stand and move toward her. She doesn’t back away, which surprises me. “He married you because your father owed money. A lot of money. He had debts that would’ve gotten him killed if someone didn’t clear them.”
Her face goes pale.
“You didn’t know,” I say. There’s a smug satisfaction in that, settling somewhere deep in my chest.
“Dmitri told me he married me to help, to give me a better life?—”
“He lied.” The words come out harder than I intend, a snap that echoes through the mausoleum. She’s quiet for a long moment. Her chest rises and falls with each breath, and I can see the pulse jumping in her throat.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“You deserve to know what he was.”
“I knew what he was.” Her voice is low and rough. “I lived with him.”
There it is. The crack in her facade.
I step closer. She’s backed up against the iron door now, and there’s nowhere for her to go unless she pushes past me. The space between us is maybe two feet.
“Did he hit you?” I ask.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Did he?”
She looks away. Her jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath her skin. She’s still clinging to the umbrella handle, her knuckles turning white with the force of her iron-like grip. That’s all the answer I need.
“I should’ve killed him years ago,” I snarl.
“You killed him,” she whispers.
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yes.”
“How?” Her voice is a trembling whisper.
“Oh, little bird, I don’t think you want to know.” I watch her face as I say it, waiting for the horror or disgust or whatever normal people feel when they hear about murder.
Her eyes meet mine. There’s something in them I can’t quite read. It’s not fear.
“I’m glad you killed him.” She says it clearly, each word distinct. “I’m glad he’s dead.”
I should probably be surprised, but I’m not. I saw her face at the funeral. Saw the way she stood there, dry-eyed and rigid, while everyone else pretended to mourn. I don’t even bother keeping the smile out of my voice.
Of course she didn’t love him. They married for convenience, not love. Anybody with eyes could see that.
I reach out, hands clamping around her wrist. This time, Vera doesn’t try to pull away. “Did you ever love him?”
She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I was too young when I married him. I didn’t know what love was.
I thought maybe it would come later, after we got to know each other.
Then I got to know him, and I realized...
” She trails off. “I realized he was exactly what he seemed. Charming on the outside. Rotten underneath.”
I’m standing close enough now that I can smell her perfume. Something floral and light. It’s completely at odds with the cold stone and death surrounding us.
“He was worse than you knew.”
Something shifts in her expression, but she says nothing.
“There are things Dmitri kept hidden. Things he wouldn’t have wanted anyone to find.” I watch her carefully. “Including a ledger.”
Her brow furrows. “A ledger?”
“You lived in his house. I need to know if you ever saw it. A book, records, anything he kept somewhere no one else was supposed to look.”
She shakes her head. It sends a little spray of water splashing across my shirt. I suppress a shiver at the sudden chill and tighten my grip on her wrist.
Vera tugs her wrist free. I release her, but she doesn’t try to step away. Instead she stares up at me with doe-like eyes, lips parted. She looks so damn tempting, all I want is to pull her against me and crush my lips to hers.
“I don’t know anything about a ledger,” she murmurs. “Dmitri never talked to me about his business.”
“Maybe not directly, but you were there.” I lean in closer, close enough that my breath stirs the damp strands of her hair. “Help me find it.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I can protect you.”
She laughs again. “Protect me from what?”
Oh, innocent woman. If only she knew half of the chaos Dmitri’s death has started. It must be nice, to be so naive.
I say, “From the people who are going to come looking for you. Dmitri had enemies, and now that he’s dead, they’re going to turn their attention to his widow. You’re vulnerable, Vera. You’re alone in a house full of his people, with no one to watch your back.”
“I have my father.”
“Your father is a drunk who gambled away everything he had. He won’t protect you when Anton Grishin decides he wants Dmitri’s assets.” I pause. “Which includes you, by the way.”
Her breath hitches. “What?”
“Bratva tradition. A widow remarries within the family to keep the assets together. Anton’s been positioning himself as Dmitri’s successor. He’ll expect to marry you within the year.”
“That’s insane.”
“That’s the way it works.” I step back slightly, giving her space to breathe. “Unless you have someone else protecting you. Someone with more power than Anton.”
She stares at me. Her eyes search my face, and I can see her mind working through the implications.
“You,” she says slowly. “You’re offering to protect me.”
My grin is slow and satisfied. “I’m offering you a deal. You help me find the ledger, and I’ll allow you to stay with me while I take what’s mine.” I pause. Then, “When it’s over, you walk away with enough money to disappear.”
She gapes at me, lips parted.
I hold her gaze. “So tell me, Vera. Do we have a deal?”