Page 43 of Cashmere Cruelty

My enthusiasm shatters. “Pardon?”

Matvey sets down his fork and knife. “There’s no such thing as familywithout blood ties,” he repeats darkly, staring at me with those stormy eyes of his. “The concept alone is ridiculous.”

Whatever warmth I’d felt instantly plummets. “Is that so?” I squeak.

“Of course,” Matvey asserts. “Family means trust. And you can’t trust anyone who isn’t blood. You’d be a fool to ever try.”

I think of June, holding back tears in our apartment. Of Elias, who’s been more of a father to me than my own ever was.

Of…

“What about Petra?” I ask, not a trace of warmth left in my voice.

Matvey sneers. “Petra’s an ally. She’ll never be family.”

“You were supposed to get married.”

“A mutually beneficial arrangement,” he concedes. “Nothing more.”

“Nothing?” I press in disbelief. This whole tirade—it’s just about the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. Trusting no one? Treating your friends like pieces on a chessboard? What stone-cold way to live is that?

It must show on my face, because a mocking smirk suddenly blooms on Matvey’s lips. “Nothing worth mentioning, anyway.”

I fist my dress. So it wasn’tallbusiness after all.

I force myself to take a breath.There’s no reason to get worked up over this, I tell myself sternly. Either Matvey’s messing with me—in which case, I won’t give him the satisfaction of taking the bait—or his “arrangement” with Petra is slightly more than what Yuri made it out to be.

And if it is, so what? What’s it to me if Matvey Groza’s having fun with his bride-to-be?

“I see,” I answer coldly.

Honestly, it makes sense. It was silly of me to think he’d leave a woman like Petra untouched in the first place. He didn’t hold back with plain old me; why should he have held back with someone who so clearly belongs on the cover ofVogue?

I get that.

I do, truly.

What I don’t get is why this bothers me so goddamn much.

“I hear you two met,” Matvey mentions casually. Like he’s talking about the weather or something. “I trust she behaved.”

I could tell him my hand still hurts. That I’ve actually had to ice it after that harpy was done with it.

Instead, I tuck it in. I may be new to this Bratva thing, but I know how the mob feels about snitches. And say what you want about me, but I’ve never been a snitch.

“Charming,” I reply with my fakest smile.

“Good. I’ve already made myself very clear with her anyway.”

“What about?”

Matvey’s eyes pry into me from the other side of the table. Once again, I feel incredibly small. A rabbit in the clutches of a wolf. “You’re carrying my child, April. My blood.And as long as that’s true, no one will be allowed to hurt you.”

It would almost be romantic. It would almost make me feel warm again. Instead, all I can think of is that teensy little disclaimer in the middle of his promise:As long as that’s true.

“And after?”

Matvey remains unfazed. “After,” he answers, clearing away our plates, “you’ll be the mother.”

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