Page 48 of Crimson Curse
Irina keeps her expression composed. “If that is me, then the footage has been altered.”
I turn over another sheet and tap the corner. “The service entrance keypad shows your code at an hour you were not assigned to be at the estate. The camera at the secondary stairwell shows you carrying a small bag. Naomi confirmed she saw you coming out of her room and you left her a gift.”
Irina straightens, her mouth curving into the careful smile she uses in court. “I do remember that night,” she murmurs. “Naomi was tired, overwhelmed. I brought her lavender oil and a silk mask to help her rest. That was all. A small kindness, nothing more.”
I slide another paper across the table, the edge rasping against the iron surface. “The lab report confirms the pills were tampered with. And the fingerprints lifted from the foil seal?” I lean forward, my words cutting into her. “They belong to you.”
For a moment, she is still. Then her denial thins. Her posture changes, not to flee, but to argue. “I did what I thought was necessary for the family,” she declares.
“You engineered Naomi’s pregnancy.”
Her gaze holds mine, and at last she nods. “Yes.”
“Why.” I lean back, fingers steepled beneath my chin, my eyes locked on hers as if I can peel the truth straight from her skin.
Irina folds her hands as though she is delivering a verdict. “At first, it was for you. Your mother’s will required a marriage. I wanted to secure your inheritance, your control. Without that, everything you built could have fractured. A child anchored you to power.”
I grind my teeth, forcing the fury back into its cage. “And later?” I demand.
She lets out a deep breath. “Later… I saw Viktor rising, with Lucien feeding him power and allies. I believed you wouldn’t survive him. I believed his victory was only a matter of time. Aligning myself with him seemed inevitable. Giving him an heir, whether by your blood or one he claimed as his own, was how I secured my place in the future I thought belonged to him.”
“You betrayed me for safety,” I state.
“I made a calculation,” she corrects briskly. “I ensured there would be continuity either way. With you, a child bound your bloodline. With Viktor, the leverage existed to keep him in control. I never meant Naomi harm. She was never meant to get hurt. She was only meant to be secured.”
Her tone softens then, almost pleading. “It was not cruelty, Daniil. It was foresight. I thought I was protecting the Bratva. Protecting myself. Even protecting you, in a way, from the recklessness Naomi brought out in you.”
The storm inside me thrashes, demanding to be unleashed, but I hold it down, burying the fire under ice. My jaw locks so tightlythe muscle in my cheek ticks. My fingers flex once on the table before going still again with deliberate restraint. “You thought her softness would destroy me.”
Irina inclines her head. “I thought it would leave you exposed. And exposed men do not survive long in our world. I believed a child would slow you, temper you, and force you to consider every risk. I thought it would keep you alive.”
The words float between us, her attempt at justification twisting into the air like smoke.
I slide another sheet across the table. This one is more damning. “You want me to believe this was foresight, Irina? Then explain this.”
Her eyes drop to the document. It’s a security log, timestamped, and annotated with my own hand. “The night Naomi was shot,” I say evenly, “the gate access code was used twice. Once by Lex. The second time? By you.”
She lifts her chin, though her throat works against the swallow. “I was summoned here late. I told you that.”
“No,” I hiss. “You never told me. And the gate footage shows you standing by while Viktor’s car rolled through. You did not raise the alarm. You did not call Lex. You opened the door.”
Her silence confirms it. I lean forward, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Naomi lay bleeding on my floor because you turned a key.”
Something sharp flickers in her gaze now. Her composure slips, baring her teeth. “And what did you expect me to do?” Her voice rises, brittle and edged. “Throw myself in front of Viktor’s car? Shout warnings so your guards could be gunned down? I chosesurvival, Daniil. I always will. You think loyalty wins wars? No. It buries men in shallow graves.”
“You betrayed me,” I condemn, no mercy in my tone.
“I adapted,” she snaps. “Viktor had Lucien at his back. Half your lieutenants doubted you. And you—” her lip curls into a snarl “—you were already unraveling for that museum girl. Your enemies saw it. I saw it. You were too blind to admit it. You think she makes you strong? She makes youweak. You would burn the Bratva to ash just to keep her breathing. That is not leadership, Daniil. That is suicide.”
The words strike with precision born of cruelty, crafted only to wound.
“Youmade Naomi a pawn,” I say, coldly.
Irina leans in, venom in her tone now. “She was always a pawn. And the best part? She never even knew it. Sweet little Naomi, thinking she was chosen for love, when in truth she was chosen for utility. For legacy and leverage. If you had any sense, you would thank me. I gave you an heir. I gave you the illusion of stability. Without me, Viktor would have ended you months ago.”
Her mask is completely gone now. What remains is raw contempt. She no longer tries to convince me. She spits her truth as if daring me to act.
I burn inside, blinded by fury. But what I show is colder than death itself.
