Page 89 of Sins He Taught Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 3)

“How will Matvei react when he finds out he lost you?” Rogers asks suddenly.

“W-what?”

“How will he react to the news that I’ve taken away the woman he loves?”

“Matvei doesn’t love me,” I say, looking up at him. “I’m his nanny. He’s my boss.”

Rogers clicks his tongue. “Now, now, don’t lie to me, girl. I know how he feels about you. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. Matvei’s cameras aren’t the only ones in that mansion, you know.”

The idea of Matvei loving me is absolutely ridiculous, but I can’t help but wonder if he’s right. Does Matvei feel something for me other than lust when we sleep together?

“I don’t know,” I say, turning away from him. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“No,” he says, stepping closer to me. I take a step back, but I don’t have far to go. “This isn’t just about you, Victoria. This is about everyone who has gotten in the way of my life. Of my perfect life. Everything that was supposed to be mine.”

“If this was about your perfect life, then why haven’t you gone to get Nikolas from his friend’s house?” I’m playing a dangerous game, but I have to ask. If this was always about his perfect life, then why hasn’t he just taken Nikolas and run?

“Because this comes first!” he shouts, pointing his gun at me. “I have to make every last person pay for what they did to me.”

There it is. There’s his motive. This isn’t about just getting his family back. This has always been about what people have taken from him. He’s convinced someone took Brianne away from him rather than the truth: she left him because she found someone else, someone she truly loved. He’s convinced Matvei has taken Nikolas from him, when in reality Matvei had no idea of Nikolas’s supposed true parentage.

He doesn’t want the perfect life; he wants revenge. He wants to make everyone pay, and he’s become the judge, jury, and executioner.

The title all these magazines have given him is a misnomer. He’s not the Justice Killer. He’s the Vengeance Killer.

“You’re sick,” I whisper, staring at him.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “These people are sick. Don’t you see it? All these horrible people in this town. The greedy politicians, the soulless businessmen, the pigs on the police force. They’re all sick. Even men like your father. I thought you’d at least understand that much.”

“You’re just like all of them.”

“No!” he shouts. “No, I’m not just like them. I’m nothing like them. I make my own rules. I don’t play by theirs.”

“You kill them because you think they’re bad, but who died and made you king? Where do you get off passing judgment on everyone? What makes you the one who determines who’s worthy of living or dying?” I can feel tears stinging at the corners of my eyes. I know that I’m arguing for my life here.

And it feels an awful lot like I’m losing.

Rogers points his gun at me, and I prepare myself for the shot. But if he’s going to shoot me, then I want him to know just how crazy he really is. I’m not going down without getting the last word in.

“You’re no hero. If you were, you wouldn’t have traded taking back your son for getting revenge on everyone who kept him from you. You’d just take Nikolas and leave. But you didn’t, because deep down, you know you’re not the good guy you pretend to be. You’re just as corrupt as everyone else in this city.”

He steps closer to me, gun still aimed at my chest. “Stop talking.”

“Why? You’re just going to kill me anyways!” I shout. “Just do it already. Rid the world of one more horrible person.”

He hesitates, and when he does, I look over his shoulder.

“Matvei!” I exclaim. It’s a lie, a last-ditch effort that shouldn’t work, seeing as how we’re not in a horror movie.

But to my surprise, it does.

Rogers swings around and fires blindly at the empty doorway, giving me a chance to grab a dusty old lamp from an end table. I swing it down on his head with a thundering crack. The man stumbles forward, blood dripping from the back of his head.

“Fuck!” he shouts. I push him aside and take off running to the door. Just as I near the threshold, there’s a gunshot. I expect to feel the pain hit.

But it doesn’t.

Instead, I turn to see a bullet hole in the wood of the front door. He missed. Rogers leaps forward, grabs me by the hair, and drags me back inside, kicking the door shut.

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