Page 194 of Cashmere Cruelty

It’s that voice at the back of my mind. The voice of thepakhanin me. The one that’s been telling me, over and over?—

She’s not family.

She’s notblood.

But Yuri is.

“Promise me, Motya,” he says again, quieter this time. Hopeful. “Please.”

And, God help me, I do.

“Thank you,” Yuri says to me. “Thank you for saving us. For not telling anyone.”

I think of April, back at the penthouse. How overjoyed she was when she greeted me at the door, waiting on a happily-ever-after.

But there’s no such thing as “happily-ever-after.”

“Come,” I force out, walking back towards the mouth of the alley. “We have work to do.”

I leave my blood on the bricks.

And I leave April Flowers behind for good.

61

MATVEY

I haven’t been at the office for one hour before the doors burst open.

“You mangy fucking dog!” Vladimir strides in, waving his fist in the air. “Youmudak! You dare dishonor my daughter?!”

Great. Just fucking great. One would think Petra would at least give me the morning before tattling to dear ol’ Daddy. No such luck, apparently.

Grisha and Yuri come rushing in after Vlad, guns drawn, but I motion for both of them to stand by. “Hello, Vladimir. We really must stop meeting like this.”

“How fucking dare you!” Vlad roars. He raises his fist to strike. “I’ll wipe that smile off your face, yougovnyuk?—”

Without any effort, I catch his punch midair.

With myinjuredhand.

“I don’t believe I was smiling,” I growl.

Then I tighten my grip.

I watch Vlad’s face drain of all color as my fist clenches around his, making the bones pop. His bodyguards balk, but not one of them has the guts to raise his gun at me. After all, I’ve still got one free hand. “Matvey?—”

“Let’s get one thing straight here,” I hiss, my grip now steel. “If you have grievances with me, I won’t expect you to keep silent. I’m not thatmuch of a tyrant. But you will mind your tongue, and you will remember your fucking self.” Vlad’s face scrunches up in pain, but I still don’t let go. “After all, I’m going to be yourpakhansoon. So why don’t we keep things civil?”

“Blyat’, fine! Fine! I apologize!”

Only then do I release him.

“In that case, you have my regrets as well,” I add. “Believe me when I say I never intended for any of this to happen.”

It’s not an apology: it’s the truth. If there’s one thing I regret, it’s this goddamn mess. Had it been up to me, Petra could’ve lived and died a virgin.

But it wasn’t up to me.

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