Page 165 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

Just like that, The Butcher is snuffed out.

I hear a gasp near the door. I think it’s Gennady. I start towards him, but stop a few steps later.

It wasn’t him.

Standing behind him in the now-open doorway is Arya.

Somehow, I’m not surprised to see her. Like it was always meant to happen this way.

She’s horrified, though. Her eyes are wide and shining. Her hands shaking. Lukas in her arms looks like he wants to cry.

But all I can see is red.

“Hello, Aryana.”

58

Arya

I came just in time to hear Jorik tell Dima everything.

Everything I never told him.

Everything I should have said from the start.

I could admit to everything, but he would never forgive me. I could run, but he would catch me.

So I stand in the threshold of the library, halfway in, halfway out, waiting to see what he’ll say. Waiting to see what he thinks of me now.

“Hello, Aryana.”

A chill moves down my spine. His voice is cold. Colder than I’ve ever heard it before. Lukas is squirming in my arms as if he too is afraid.

“That’s not my name,” I whisper. “It hasn’t been for years.”

“Aryana Georgeovich,” he says again, sliding his tongue over his teeth. “It’s a pretty name. Though, I guess you were almost Aryana the Butcher’s Wife. Not quite as pretty, but—”

“Stop,” I say, unable to stand the cruelty in his voice. “Please. I left him. I burned that bridge a long time ago. I hated him.”

“Hated him?” he spits. “You hated him so much you had to lie to protect him?”

Shame courses through me, hot and acidic. “We all make mistakes.”

He steps towards me and I’m tempted to move back. That’s what one does when they’re being pursued by a threat.

But Dima isn’t a threat to me. He can’t be. Even after everything that’s happened, I refuse to believe it.

So I hold my ground.

“I thought I was the one who made mistakes,” he snarls. “But I only made one: trusting you.”

“Dima, please. Listen.” Lukas is starting to wail softly. It’ll be ear-piercing soon.

He waves his hands in the air to dismiss me. “I’ve listened to you a lot. And do you want to know what I’ve never once heard from you? ‘It was my fault, Dima.’”

“It was my fault,” I say at once, tears burning at the backs of my eyes. “I’m sorry. I should have told you, but—”

“But you preferred that I had the burden of guilt? You liked it better when I thought you were the innocent one?”

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