He sighs deeply. “You’re awfully outspoken today.”
“I learned from Maks.”
His jaw clenches, but his mask soon slips back into place. “Let’s get this over with first and then we’ll talk.”
The plan is fairly simple.
According to the intel Uncle Albert gathered, Kirill is having a meeting with one of the higher-ups in the Irish mafia here.
They’ve been at odds with the Bratva for all their lives, but the new leader is somehow fond of Kirill and is apparently ready to end the war. His beef was with the Sokolovs, as in, Sergei and his brother before him, but now that Kirill is Pakhan, the equation is changing.
Ironically, Kirill was the one who incited the war in the first place, just so he could keep his promise to Damien to give him something entertaining.
Now, he’ll use this chance to engrave his position as the best leader the Bratva could ever have. The others won’t have a reason to vote him out if he’s bringing both peace and profits.
His dream of leadership is finally coming true. At least up until now.
Because I’ll shatter everything he’s worked for—including his life.
Anton and the other men will intercept Kirill’s guards while I take care of him.
Just me.
After Anton and I separate, I climb a tree near the cliff and position my rifle in front of me. I’m not going to shoot him from a distance. No, I’ll do it while looking into his cold eyes.
This is in case someone else intervenes.
Anton and the others have my back, but something could go wrong.
I sent a text to Maksim asking him not to come and to make sure as few men as possible attend this mission.
His reply was strange.
Maksim: Can’t you stop this and talk it out? Just fifteen minutes will do as long as you hear his side of the argument. Everything isn’t as you thought, Sasha.
Sasha: I’m done talking to him and there’s no excuse he can offer that’ll dissuade me from this.
Maksim: In that case, I’ll be there.
I’d really hoped he would change his mind. If he and Anton actually end up killing one another, the one who remains alive will be damaged for life.
And I’ll have to hate them, too.
But I don’t allow myself to think of that right now as I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. Gunshots sound in the distance and I tense.
Shit.
My heart beats loudly and I realize that I’m not terrified about the lives of the mercenaries who came with us. Aside from my brother, I couldn’t give a fuck about them.
I’m actually shaking at the prospect that the men I knew and trained with for years are dying because of me.
What if Maksim is one of them? Or even Viktor?
Shit.
Shit.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Would I be able to live with myself if I knew I’d caused their deaths? They had nothing to do with my family’s massacre and yet they’re paying the price.
No.
It’s not me.
It’s Kirill who dragged them into this, knowing full well that he’s leading them to their certain demise.
Something rustles to my right and I direct my rifle in that direction, my muscles tensing. It disappears, but then it appears again from the south, out of my range.
I hold on to my position, but I can’t see the reason behind the commotion. Did some of Kirill’s men manage to escape my brother?
The movement happens again, almost like a rustling of trees. If I shoot, I’ll give away my position and that’s a no-go if I don’t have a definite target.
Carefully, I sling the rifle across my chest and slide down the tree.
The moment my feet touch the ground, a shiver rushes down my spine as warmth envelops my back and hot words penetrate my ears. “Miss me, wife?”
10
SASHA
I don’t mean for it to, but my whole body goes into a state of shock.
I know because breathing becomes a chore that I have to remind myself to do, and even then, it’s chopped off and choked up.
I know because goosebumps erupt on my skin that ignites at the proximity of his warmth. It doesn’t matter that it’s been over two months since I last saw him.
One encounter.
A few words.
His presence.
And it’s like we haven’t spent a day apart.
My stupid dead heart pulses as if it’s attempting to resurrect itself from the ashes.
I’ve dreaded this moment for weeks, the moment where I have to clash with the only man I’ve ever loved. The man I gave my heart to on a silver platter, only for him to crush it in the palm of his hand.
But I never thought I’d be shaking with emotions like I am right now.
Rage.
Betrayal.
Hate.
But more than anything—fucking disappointment clogs my throat.
I think there’s something wrong with me lately, because I have all these strong feelings that don’t allow me the peace of sleep anymore.
And it’s all because of him.
The man who’s casually standing behind me and has the fucking audacity to call me his wife.
His damn wife is Kristina, not me.
I swing around and simultaneously jump back while lifting my rifle and pointing it at him.
I expect him to point his gun back. After all, even if this is an ambush, Maksim already told him that I’m coming for his life.
Someone like Kirill doesn’t think death applies to him. He’s lived his entire life cheating it and manipulating it to his own advantage.
By feeding the Grim Reaper multiple lives, he’s managed to escape his clutches over and over again.
So when I see him just stand there, one nonchalant hand in his pocket and the other hanging at his side, I’m taken aback.
There’s no weapon or the hint that he’ll use one.
Just like his voice invaded my ear just now, his presence does something a lot worse.
Now, it does feel like I haven’t seen him in ages.
In the semi-darkness, his face looks harsher, and his jaw is more angular. A subtle gleam covers his usually emotionless eyes, shining from beneath the glasses, but his mouth is set in a neutral line.
Stubble covers his cheeks, and it adds a layer of mysterious danger to his already terrifying existence. The jacket stretches against his shoulders, but it looks like he lost some weight, and I hate that I notice that.
His gaze measures me from my feet up to my face, not bothering to pause at the weapon I’m pointing at him. I keep my glare even as a smile breaks on his lips.
Kirill isn’t the type who smiles—at least, not genuinely—so to be a witness to this version of him makes bile rise to my throat.
“It’s really you.” His voice drips with what can only be described as…awe. Disbelief, maybe.
No. Relief.
“You thought you got rid of me?” I snap, unable to control the overwhelming rage flooding my veins.
How dare he look okay after he blew my world to smithereens?
How dare he look at me like when I married him after he stood at the altar with someone else?
I didn’t expect him to be an emotional mess like I was every fucking night, but I’d at least hoped he’d be rattled a little.
Brought down a peg or two.
Something.
Anything.
I’m getting absolutely nothing.
“Too bad for you I didn’t die that day you sent people to blow up the cottage.”