40. Matvey

40

MATVEY

Vlad's company is to die for.

Literally. I'm considering asking Grisha to just shoot me in the head to end my misery. When I saw the first bottle run out, I almost couldn't help a sigh of relief.

Then Vlad ordered another.

And another.

And another .

Needless to say, the old man isn't looking so sharp right now.

I can't say the same for me. I've been throwing my drinks into a potted plant all night. If it's still alive in the morning, it'll be the most hungover ficus on the face of the earth.

"I'm so happy we did this, syn ," Vlad practically burps in my face. "Men should drink together. It strengthens their bond."

For me, this bond's already feeling too fucking tight. The old bastard wouldn't even let me take calls—switched off both my phones himself. It's a matter of respect , he grumbled.

I was tempted to cut his hand off in return, but this is my future father-in-law. If I can't pick my battles now, I can't imagine what my marriage will look like.

A shitshow , my mind supplies. You already know that.

Fuck me, I do.

As if summoned by the word " marriage ," April's face pops up in my thoughts. Which is ridiculous, because that's not even remotely on the table. For me or her.

I have my dreams. It'd be foolish to think she doesn't have hers, too.

"Yes," I reply through gritted teeth. "We should do this more often." Anything to hasten your entry into the afterlife.

Just as I'm thinking up an excuse to leave, I watch Yuri take a call and pale. "Motya," he whispers, "something happened at the penthouse."

I freeze. Then I spring to my feet. "Excuse me," I tell Vlad. "Duty calls."

"Duty?" Vlad blinks. "No, no—we're drinking now. Duty can wait."

"I'm afraid it can't."

It's taking everything I have to keep calm. Vlad tries to get up to stop me, but the alcohol in his system finally seems to be taking effect. He drops right back onto his chair, steadied by his bodyguards.

"Drinks are on me." I hand my card to a waitress and don't stick around to get it back. I'll send Grisha later—if I remember.

Right now, I've got only one thing on my mind.

As soon as we're out, I turn to Yuri. "Tell me what happened," I bark.

And Yuri does.

I've never forced Grisha to drive this fast. I feel like a heartless cowboy digging my heels into a horse, spurring it to death.

But right now, I don't give a fuck about anybody else. Grisha can deal.

Only one person matters.

Every second in the elevator is a nightmare. As soon as the doors open, I rush out and stride into the penthouse.

I'm greeted by a bloody sight.

The place is trashed. There's no other word for it: carpets stained, couches gutted, furnishings overturned. It looks like someone put a hit on the apartment specifically.

But they didn't.

They put a hit on April .

I find her in the kitchen. She's serving coffee, of all things. Her hair's a mess, dress stained red around her neckline. The left side of her face is sprayed with blood, too.

I charge to her side. "Are you hurt?"

April shakes her head. Without thinking, I move to brush the bloodstain off her cheek, but the mess only seems to get worse. I want to cart her out to the bathtub and scrub her clean from this—want to make her forget. But I already know she won't forget this as long as she lives.

April isn't Bratva. To her, a hit isn't just another Tuesday.

"You didn't pick up," she croaks. "I called you, and you didn't pick up."

Not for the first time tonight, I wish I could kill Vlad with my bare hands. "I'm sorry," I say. I'm not used to these two words; they feel strange, foreign. "Bastard made me switch my phones off."

"You promised," April chokes, tears blinking from the corners of her eyes. "You promised you'd always answer?—"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You lied to me. You broke a rule."

"I'm sorry."

I pull her close. As she sobs into my chest, I check her from head to toe. She wasn't lying—she really isn't hurt.

She's safe. The baby's safe, too.

So I turn to the person responsible for this. The person who protected her when I couldn't. "Petra."

She stops her conversation with Yuri and glances over at me. "Yes?"

"I… Blyat'. Thank you."

Petra stares at me like I've gone insane. Like she just ate a lemon and it had cayenne peppers in it. I've never seen my fiancé flustered, but there's nothing else this could be.

Leave it to April to melt the Snow Queen.

"I'm going," Petra blurts out. "Since you're back and all."

I nod. "I'll take it from here."

April peeks out from my chest. "You're leaving?"

She's sniffling like a little kid. Just what happened between these two while I was away?

"Yeah." Petra shifts from foot to foot, unsure what to say. "Let's… get a raincheck. On girls' night."

That seems to brighten April up. "Okay," she hiccups. "I'll stock the pantry."

"Please do," Julia pipes up.

"More of those chocolate chip ones," Lena suggests.

"Alright." April smiles. "It's a date."

Then Petra turns on her heels and practically runs out the door, face red.

"I'll see them out," Yuri adds in a rush.

I nod. "Grisha, you go, too. Check the perimeter. Make sure no one's loitering."

With a bow, Grisha obeys.

Then it's just the two of us.

My thoughts are a mess. I feel like I'm being torn apart. The pakhan in me is roaring at the idea of his territory being invaded. And the man?—

The man can't stop looking at April.

"I never should have missed dinner," I tell her. "I should have been here."

She shakes her head. "You couldn't have known."

"I should have answered you."

"Yes." April quivers. "You should have." But then her arms are around me, wrapping me in an embrace. "Next time, don't forget."

Next time. Just like that, she's already forgiven me. After I made such a big deal of her breaking our rules with Charlie?—

After all that, she still can't hold a grudge.

I don't deserve her. The thought's already out before I can push it back where it came from. She's too good for me.

And then: This isn't just about the baby anymore.

It's a terrifying realization. When did I let myself get in so deep? Where's the Matvey Groza I've always been? The iceman, the pakhan , the ruthless killer?

The one who doesn't give a fuck about some woman?

But that's the worst part. The pakhan in me is right here, howling at the thought of somebody else touching what's his. His child. His queen.

I need to nip this shit in the bud. I need to go scorched earth. I've seen what feelings get you; I don't want any part in it.

I won't end up with a knife in my back.

I won't end up like my mother.

"Besides," April laughs through the tears, "I could've conked out one or two."

I feel my lips twitch. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. I had a frying pan."

"Wish I could've seen that."

April shrugs. "Next time."

This would be so much easier if she yelled at me. If she started cursing my name, throwing stuff, hitting me. But this hasn't been easy from the start. Why would that change now?

"There won't be a next time," I tell her.

April blinks up at me. "What do you mean?"

As pakhan , I've had to make countless hard decisions. Long-term, split-second, life-or-death; everything comes down to me.

But none have been harder than the two decisions I'm about to make right now.

One: I will never touch April again.

Two…

"I mean that I'll be here." I look April in the eye. "I'm moving back in."