Chapter 34 Galina
Galina
Laszlo’s arm is iron around me. “Don’t look.”
Too late for that.
I twist anyway, pulling out of his hold because I am not going to stand here while my father shoots himself and everybody pretends this is fucking normal.
He catches my wrist, but not hard enough to stop me. Just enough to make the point.
“Galina.”
“I’m fine,” I snap, which is obviously bullshit.
Dad braces one hand on the SUV and exhales through his nose as if this is an administrative inconvenience. The man who shot him is already moving towards him with a cloth and a first aid kit that must have come from fucking nowhere.
Laszlo releases me.
I stare at Dad. “That is insane.”
“No. It is clean.” He nods towards Petrov’s body. “He attacks me. We struggle. He fires. I survive. Regrettably, he does not.”
Regrettably.
“Normal Bratva night,” I mutter.
“Pretty much,” Laszlo says. “Go and reunite with your cousin, make sure she is okay.”
I nod stiffly, and Dmitri follows me back the way we came.
Through the club, past the bar, through the lobby where the bodies have mysteriously disappeared and out onto the street.
A black SUV flashes its lights at Dmitri, and he moves close to me, keeping me shielded as we cross the road and the back door slides open.
Yelena is sitting there, still with her smashed bottle weapon, and I climb in as Dmitri hovers outside after shutting the door.
Yuri is up front pretending he isn’t listening.
“Hi,” she says.
“Are you okay?” The question is loaded. There is tonight, okay, and the last three years, okay.
“I’m free, my kids are safe. I’m okay.”
“You don’t have to be strong—”
“Don’t,” she says, shaking her head. “Don’t say anything. I’m okay, and that is enough for tonight.”
“Okay,” I say, ready to do this her way, whatever way that is. “I missed you.”
“Shut up,” she grumbles, but I see the ghost of a smile on her face before it wobbles. “Is he…?”
I nod. “Viktor took care of everything. You are now Widow Petrova.”
“Thank fuck. I dreamed of poisoning him in his sleep, but I didn’t know how. My internet was monitored. I couldn’t look it up.” She stares out of the window, and I let her words hang there because what can I say?
Still staring out of the window, she places the bottle on her lap and yanks her rings off her finger.
“Free,” I murmur.
“Free,” she mutters back, and that’s all we need to say right now.
Outside, men move past the tinted windows. Fast. Organised. Doors opening, shutting. Orders muttered low. The city carries on around it all, because London never gives a fuck what kind of violence is happening two feet away.
I sit with my cousin in the back of the SUV and hold the silence with her because she has earned at least that much. Her hands are bare now. No wedding rings. No visible chains. Just blood on one cuff and a smashed bottle resting across her thighs like she still expects to have to use it.
The door opens, and Dmitri ducks his head in. “They’re moving Yelena. You need to come with me.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Yelena puts her hand on my arm. “Go, the less you know the better.”
I want to argue that I need to stay with her, but maybe that’s not what she needs. She needs me to go, so I don’t know where she ends up. It’s not that she doesn’t trust me, but it’s close. I get it.
“If you need me, tell my dad to call me straight away. I’ll always be here.”
“I know,” she says quietly.
I nod and climb out with Yuri as Dad’s men take over.
I don’t look back as I walk across the road.
If I do, I’ll ignore her requests and stay with her.
But that is selfish, so I keep looking forward and walk.
Laszlo is waiting by the entrance when I reach the pavement, jaw hard, eyes on me first and everything else second.
He doesn’t say anything as he opens the back door of the Range Rover. He climbs after me as Grisha takes the wheel. Yuri and Dmitri take the car behind us.
The second the car pulls away, the silence hits.
My father is still back there with a bullet in his thigh, orchestrating his own official victimhood while men mop up blood and move bodies like they’re clearing glasses after last orders.
I scrub a hand over my face. “Did he really just shoot himself to tidy up the story?”
“Yes.”
“That’s fucking deranged.”
“He knows the drill.”
Knows the drill. That means it’s standard for this to occur. Bratva families moving the pieces where they want for their own intended outcome. I knew this, somewhere, deep down. I guess I just didn’t really want to acknowledge that faking crime scenes by shooting yourself was part of it.
“Please tell me you won’t ever have one of your men shoot you.”
Grisha’s snort is hard to miss. Laszlo glares at the back of his head.
He moves his gaze to me and says, “I can’t promise that. We do what we have to. I can promise you that I won’t ever let anyone shoot you to preserve a cover story.”
“How reassuring,” I say with a short laugh. “I guess that is a future problem. Tonight, Yelena and her kids are safe, and that monster is dead. It’s enough.”
“Sometimes, it has to be.”
“Yeah,” I mutter and lean my head back, closing my eyes, letting everything wash over me until we slow and pull into the driveway at home.
The car stops, and I lift my head, opening my eyes. “Home,” I say.
“Home,” Laszlo replies. “Are you ready?”
“For what?”
“Your future as Mrs Voronova.”
I take his hand and lace our fingers together. “I was born ready.”