Page 97 of Unforgiving Sinner (Starukhin Bratva)

“I’ll do everything I can to protect you and the baby,” she murmurs, kissing my forehead. “I promise.”

I close my eyes and rest my head against her shoulder. I will myself to trust Larissa. I let myself feel safe, like nothing can harm me now. Larissa strokes my back gently, and I know she means what she says.

I trust her enough to ask for a favor. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I can do this. I have to do this.

“I need to talk to my father.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Lara says, her brow furrowing in concern.

I grip her hands. “I need to know the truth from him,” I reply. “Nikolai tells me his real name is Zakhar Budanov. There’s a photograph in his desk. I … I deserve to know!”

Larissa’s face pales as she pulls her hands out of my grip. Her hands clutch the sheets as if anchoring her to the moment.

“Please, Lara,” I plead. “I need to hear it from him.”

Larissa nods slowly and releases the bedsheets from her grasp. “Yes,” she says quietly, her gaze distant. “You do.”

I stare at her, perplexed, but her face is unreadable. She knows too much but doesn’t want me to figure it out. I take a deep breath, wondering if I should push her, but I decide against it. Whatever Larissa knows, it will remain a secret, at least for now.

Larissa takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “You should come home with me,” she says firmly. Standing up, her posture is regal and defiant. “And you must be careful, Eden. If Kolya were to find out about the pregnancy or your plans to talk to your father …”

“I know,” I whisper and glance at the bedroom door. “Do you know anything about my father? Zakhar Budanov?”

She nods, staring past me and out the window at the skyline. “Only that he was once the Avtoritet. Matvei would know more …”

“But Matvei is dead.” I shake my head, my voice tight as I finish the sentence for her.

Larissa walks over to the window and places a hand against the glass, her eyes searching the horizon. Seconds pass before she can speak again.

“Pack a small bag,” she says, not turning around. “Or better yet, pack nothing. Give Kolya no reason to suspect you.”

I feel a pit in my stomach. She’s going to lie for me, and I know it hurts her to do it. She loves her brother. But in this moment, I know she’s chosen me over him.

And that means the world to me.

“Thank you, Lara,” I murmur.

“We don’t have much time.”

It’s a moment of déjà vu that’s too real. I walk over to the closet, get out a small duffel bag, and pack enough clothes and toiletries for a week.

No one stops us when we walk to the elevator together. Dominika doesn’t even look in our direction but keeps the staff busy and distracted with their work. Larissa has her own driver who escorts us to her car—a spacious silver BMW.

It’s a long drive out of Manhattan, and we drive past signs for Holtsville. I wonder how things would’ve turned out if I hadn’t run away that night. If my father hadn’t kept secrets from me. If Nikolai never came into my life. And if I had never fallen in love.

Would I be happier alone in my bedroom in Holtsville and dreaming of living in New York City?

I close my eyes and lean my head against the window. I doze off, and when the car stops, we’ve arrived at Larissa’s Long Island estate. The sunset casts a warm glow over the sprawling gated property. Her heavily guarded seaside sanctuary seems worlds away from the chaos of the penthouse, and a strange peace washes over me.

I can only hope that everything will turn out okay.

“Welcome to my humble home,” Lara says with a smile, gesturing toward the elegant mansion in front of us. It’s surrounded by a lush garden filled with towering tropical plants in containers that offer a sense of seclusion and protection.

“Let’s go in.” Lara places a supportive hand on my arm. “You must be exhausted.”

I let her lead me toward the front door, and as soon as we enter, I’m surrounded by scents—vanilla, lavender, and citrus. The aroma is relaxing, and I breathe deeply, letting it soothe me. This home perfectly reflects Larissa’s warmth, and I feel even closer to her.

The interior is elegant, with white marble floors, gilded chandeliers in almost every room, and antique furnishings. The ceilings are high with ornate molding, and paintings hang on the walls—some abstract, others seascapes—but nothing as impressive as Nikolai’s collection. Everything screams good taste and isn’t flashy or over the top.

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