Page 98 of Twisted Princess

Ididn’t sleep at all.

And every time I closed my eyes, Mel’s broken expression rose from the darkness to haunt me.

As I lie wide awake in the early hours of the morning, I comb my fingers into my hair and give the roots a firm tug. The soft mattress beneath me feels wrong without her warmth beside me; the hint of light creeping through the window, just a reminder that I’m no closer to the woman I love than I was yesterday.

I need to make this right.

I need to fix the damage I’ve caused.

But after hours of ceaselessly trying to come up with a worthy way to mend the rift between us, I can’t come up with anything better than an apology.

It’s the least I owe Mel for saying what I said—for failing to trust her when that’s what I’ve demanded of her from the start.

I don’t know that I deserve her forgiveness, but if I can, I want to try and work things out. Because Mel and Gabby make up the center of my world. And I feel achingly hollow at the thought of not having them in my life.

So, as soon as it’s even remotely acceptable, I roll out of bed to take a shower and head to the Veles house.

My heart slams uncomfortably against my ribs as I climb the familiar steps of their brownstone home. Vlad, Pyotr’s night guard, greets me as I reach the porch, and I return the pleasantries with half my attention as he opens the door to let me in.

Wearing his standard outfit of a crisp, finely tailored suit and dress shirt, Pyotr is halfway down the steps from his and Silvia’s room as I step inside.

He stops in surprise when he sees me, his hands pausing in the middle of adjusting his tie. “Gleb. You’re here early.” He glances at his watch, as if to make sure he hasn’t mistaken the time.

“I came to speak to Mel,” I admit. And guilt radiates through my chest, reminding me that my presence here might not be entirely welcome.

Pyotr gives a single nod and glances toward the hall. “I don’t think she’s come out of her room yet. Silvia just came down a few minutes ago to check on the girls.”

“The girls” meaning Gabby and Isla, I assume, though in my mind, “the girls” will always be Mel and Gabby.

“Sure. Yeah. Sorry if I’m intruding…”

“Not at all.” Pyotr claps me on the shoulder as he finishes coming down the stairs. “I needed to speak to you about Mikhail anyhow. Mind giving me a few minutes while the girls finish getting ready?”

As my pakhan, Pyotr doesn’t need to ask. I’m at his disposal. But the level of regard he gives his men is one of the reasons I respect him so immensely. He values my time as much as I value his.

“Of course,” I agree, following him toward his office. And as we step inside and I shut the door, I realize I never informed him about my meeting with Sascha. So much has happened since I saw my brother two nights ago. It feels like a week has passed. “Actually, I have an update on that front. I should have told you sooner.”

Pyotr’s lips curve into an amused smile. “You’ve had a lot on your mind.”

He drops into the seat behind his desk, and I sit across from him. Resting my elbows on my knees, I lean forward.

My body tenses with the thought of Sascha deeply embedded in our enemy’s ranks. I trust that no one could do this task better than my highly intelligent younger brother. But still, it leaves my stomach queasy to know the risks he’s taking.

“I met up with our man,” I say, falling easily into the vaguer language Pyotr and I have adopted over the last few years, when we were hunting for a rat in our midst and didn’t know who to trust.

It’s been a while since I’ve thought about Val, though Pyotr killed him months ago—not long before I went up to Boston to get Sascha. But it occurs to me now that perhaps Mel isn’t the main reason for my own trust issues. I hunted that traitor for three long years. And all the while, I considered him my brother-in-arms.

No wonder I hate liars.

But when I put Mel’s deceptions up against Val’s, there’s no comparison. Mel bends the truth as a defense mechanism, to protect herself and her daughter in a dangerous and brutal world. Val lied and betrayed us all—intentionally led countless good men to their deaths—all for a selfish, misplaced sense of vengeance.

And when I look at it that way, it makes me feel even worse to have ever held Mel accountable for what’s happened.

Shaking the thoughts from my head, I force myself to focus. “He mentioned that the Zhivoder have a large shipment coming in,” I say.

“How large?”

“Ten trucks—at least.”

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