Page 80 of Cashmere Ruin

“You goddamn piece of?—”

“Enough!” I slam both palms on the desk. “Grisha’s right. No one is off the suspect list, Yuri. Not even you and me.”

“Not even— Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“The question is, areyouhearingme?” I growl. “Don’t forget, brother, that I am still yourpakhan.And that you’re in no position to be challenging me. Not after what you did.” I lean in, voice dropping to a vicious whisper. “So remember your goddamn place.”

Yuri’s face drains. “Petra’s done nothing wrong,” he stammers back anyway. It’s a testament to how much he cares—at least that, I can’t begrudge him. Not all the way. “She’s innocent.”

“Then prove it,” I tell him. “Bring me the mole and I won’t have to keep looking.”

Grisha has a point: no one is above suspicion. This isn’t a court of law—this is the Bratva. And in this world, it’s guilty until proven innocent.

“… Yes,pakhan.”

I nod. Then, just as Yuri starts heading out the door, I stop him. “Oh, and brother?”

“What?”

I give him a pointed look. “Clock’s ticking. Be quick, or I’ll have to be.”

I don’t know if I believe Petra actually has a hand in this. After Yuri’s one-eighty with the April situation, I can’t be certain of anything.

But I do know one thing.

And that’s the lengths we’ll go for the people we love.

26

MATVEY

When I step back into the penthouse, I’m greeted by a shocking sight: Petra Solovyova, holding an actual baby. Specifically,mybaby.

“Oh,” she deadpans. “Look what the pirate cat dragged in.”

Speak of the devil.After this afternoon’s accusations, seeing her here feels like talking shit behind someone’s back just to watch them pop up around the corner. Not that I give a damn.

“Petra,” I greet back with a matching degree of enthusiasm. “Is there a reason you’re holding my daughter like you’re trying to find the perfect spot to pin her up on the wall?”

“Well, sheisthe picture of grace.” She wrinkles her nose. “And… other things.”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of a dirty diaper.”

“‘Scared’ is a strong word. Let’s just say I’m not a fan.”

“Like you’re not a fan of spiders?”

“Eight legs and not a single pair of Louboutins?” she scoffs. “Right, like I’d ever trust that. Here, hold this.”

“This”turns out to be my infant daughter. I tuck May into my arms and raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Skipping class? That’s unlike you.”

“I’m sure my nannies will have plenty of practice.”

The second she sees me, May lights up like a tiny Christmas tree. If I ever needed an incentive to find the mole, one look at my girl would do it. They say Helen of Troy’s face launched a thousand ships—now, I finally know how that’s possible.

For this little face right here, I would launch a thousand more.

“Where’s April?”

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