Page 88 of Unforgiving Saint (Starukhin Bratva)

A shrill scream cuts through the silence, and then an ear-splitting shot. I run to the back of the house toward a loud struggle.

“Got him!” Pavel’s urgent whisper comes through the earpiece, and I rush to his location. I find Alexander slumped against awall, blood oozing from a gunshot wound in his thigh. A chair tumbles over as Alexander falls to his knees onto the floor. His face is pale and twisted in pain, but he remains rebellious.

“Hello,” he spits, his voice dripping with contempt. “Kolya.”

“Shut up,” I snap, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him to his feet. “You’re going to tell me everything.”

“Or what?” Alexander sneers, a trickle of blood on his lip. “You’ll kill me? That’s inevitable, isn’t it? But go ahead, ask your questions.”

I toss him backward into a chair and wait until he stops groaning. “Why did you betray the Bratva?” I ask in a menacing tone. “Why did you betray my father?”

“Betray?” Alexander chuckles weakly. “Would there have been betrayal if you’d simply listened to us? Everything would’ve run like clockwork if you had let us carry on doing what we were doing.”

“What about Matvei?” I demand. “What could he have done to offend you?”

“He wasn’t you, Kolya.” A twisted smile shows his bloodied teeth.

“Me?” I ask, my heart hammering in my chest. “Why me?”

“Because you were soft. Sensitive. Youhatedbeing the head of the Bratva. Always with your nose buried in a sketchbook or sighing over useless old paintings. You were what Matvei never could have been,” Alexander explains, coughing up blood. “Pliable and easy to mislead. But you proved us wrong in the end, didn’t you?”

The truth hits me like a truck with no brakes, and I struggle to process it. They wantedmeastheirpawn, and they killed Matvei to make it happen. Guilt and rage churn together, building into a storm inside me. I hold my head in my hands to keep the pain from making me insane, but his gurgling laughter snaps my head back up again.

“Satisfied?” Alexander asks, his eyes defiant, challenging me to do something about it. “It’s nothing personal, Kolya. It’s just business.”

With the weight of Alexander’s confession hanging heavy over us, Zakhar’s voice slices through the tension like a knife. “Who killed Aria?”

Alexander’s bloodied face contorts into a pained grin as he shrugs. “We all had a hand in it, old friend. But does it matter? Ippolit is dead, and I will be soon as well. I’m sure in due time, Gunsyn will be dead too.”

Zakhar’s eyes narrow, and I feel his grip tighten on the gun in his hand. He doesn’t drop the point. He must know, no matter how much it will gut him.

“I can give you a choice, Sasha.” Zakhar kneels down before Alexander and whispers the man’s diminutive name. “I can end your life quickly, or I can end it painfully. If you care at all about who you once were to me, who I once was to you, then you will tell me what happened that night. And spare me none of the grisly details.”

Alexander’s eyes lock with Zakhar’s, and for a moment, I think he might say no. But he blinks, and the defiance in them dissolves into something different. Something I never thought I’d see in them.

Regret.

Sadness.

“Ippolit shot the girl to wound her,” Alexander starts, his voice weak but steady. “You know how he liked toying with his victims. And Gunsyn.” He winces. “Gunsyn wanted to rape her. I was the only thing that saved her last bit of dignity when I sent him away to comb the grounds for you instead.”

A cold sweat appears on Zakhar’s forehead, and the memory of running from Gunsyn that night must be flashing through his mind.

“Once that pig was gone,” Alexander continues, “I looked into Aria’s eyes and saw a woman who deserved better than the fate that awaited her. And she was dying anyway. So, I gave her a dignified end. I shot her in the head.”

My chest tightens at the revelation. Yes, he gave Eden’s mother a merciful end, but he still played a part in her death. I feel a possessive anger flare up within me, demanding justice for her.

But it’s not justice for me to dispense.

“Should I thank you or condemn you?” Zakhar asks, his rage surpassing his bitterness. “You were my sworn brother, Sasha! I trusted you! Aria trusted you!”

“I know,” Alexander sighs, his gaze never leaving Zakhar’s eyes. “But what’s done is done. Now you do what you must.”

He’s right. There’s nothing any of us can do to bring Eden’s mother or Matvei back. All we can do now is make sure their deaths were not in vain and bring down those who tore our families apart.

For love, for revenge, for the future of the Bratva, I will see this through to the bitter end.

“Zakhar,” I say, turning to him. “We need to go. The clock is ticking, and we still have a lot of work to do.”

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