Page 158 of Cashmere Ruin

She climbs down the stairs without another word.

Once she’s left, so do I.

“Yura, it’s me. The suspect’s dead. Report back to me as soon as you get this.”

I finish my voice note just as my destination comes into view. Yuri hasn’t been picking up, but that’s nothing new. Lately, he’s been in the middle of a hundred different assignments.

That’s going to change.

When I get to the penthouse, April opens the door with a blank face. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I came to see May.”

I don’t know why I say that. The second the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. The last time I gave a proper apology, it was in the heat of the moment; now, under April’s cold stare, it’s like my ego’s rebelling against me. That part of me that doesn’t ask, only demands, is proving to be a lot harder to overcome than I thought.

“Of course,” April replies, sounding disappointed. “She’s in her crib.”

I walk to the middle of the living room. May’s having a rare moment of wakefulness. She’s mesmerized by her mobile, pulling on the colorful toys one by one. When she sees me, her face breaks into a grin. “Da!”

I shake my head and smile. I’m not sure if she’s trying to say “Dad” or if it’s just a random sound of acknowledgement, but either way, it’s meant for me. Or so I’ll choose to believe.

“Hey there,malyshka.”

She brightens even more. “Da! Da!”

At her request, I pick her up. It’s amazing how big she’s gotten in six short months. “Where’s your friend, huh?”

Something shifts under the blankets. “Mrowr.”

As expected.“Sounds like you’re in good company.”

“Buh, Buh!”

“That means ‘Buttons,’” April informs me. “She only says it when he’s near.”

“Which is always.”

“More or less, yeah.”

Silence descends back between us. “You haven’t eaten yet.” I nod towards the untouched tray.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

Let’s have dinner.Three simple words, and yet I can’t get them out. Something’s still blocking me—something ugly and entitled rowing against my every move. My pride.

“Look—”

“Since you’re here,” April interrupts, grabbing a folder from the table, “I need you to sign this.”

I frown. “And this is…?”

“Medical bills. For Tom.”

My old rage immediately bubbles back up. “I’m not paying for that shithead’s treatment.”

“Yes, you are,” April counters. “You put him there, Matvey. It’s the least you can do.”

“He put his hands on you.”

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