41. Matvey

41

MATVEY

It's agony.

I didn't sleep a wink all night, but that's not the agonizing part. It was holding April through it, watching her chest rise and fall, brushing the dried salt off her cheeks.

And knowing, all the while, it would be the last time.

"I'll have my men bring my things," I inform her that morning at the breakfast table.

"Oh," April says. "Good. What time are they coming by? I'll make some room in the closet?—"

"I've instructed them to put everything in the guest room."

April's face falls. "I… I see." She tries to force a smile. It's painful to watch. "Makes sense. So much space in here. Be a pity if we didn't use it."

"Mm." The guest room is just across the living area, near the kitchen. It's also closer to the door. If anybody were to break in, I could neutralize them before they crept any further in.

But I don't tell April any of that. It's no longer her business to know my reasoning.

It never was in the first place.

That's what I tell myself as I watch her pick at her breakfast. April's appetite is her dashboard light: if she's eating, that means she's happy. If she's not…

Ignore it , I growl at the part of me that's grown soft. It's none of your concern anymore.

But it's easier said than done.

This is ridiculous. I'm a Bratva pakhan. I've killed countless men in cold blood. So why does this fucking hurt so much?

When I leave for work, April walks me to the door. Her hand twitches, as if expecting I'll pick it up and kiss it. Like I've always done.

This time, I don't.

"I doubled your guard," I tell her instead. "If you need anything from downstairs, just ask them."

April frowns. "Why? Can't I just go grab it?"

"No."

She almost flinches at that. Like she flinched away from her mother , a masochistic part of me points out.

"Until further notice, you're confined to your quarters," I force myself to say. "No walks, no visits."

"But June was supposed to?—"

"No. Visits." I channel all my authority into those two words. I don't care if she doesn't understand—I can't go through it again. Last night, the aftermath. The blood on her dress. "Have I made myself clear?"

Steeling herself, April swallows. "Crystal."

It's better this way , I tell myself as I climb into my car. April and I had already crossed too many boundaries. I need to be firm about this. Decisive. I can't afford to falter.

I need to bury the man and embrace the pakhan.

So that's exactly what I do. I go to work. I attend to my duties. I re-read Yuri's proposal from scratch and go over the quarterly reports I've been ignoring from my vory.

All throughout the day, I push April far from my mind. She's safe , I tell myself. Her guards have been replaced and doubled. My best men are on the job, like they should've been from the start.

Well, my second-best men.

On either side of me, Grisha and Yuri are sorting documents from the unstable piles they'd become on my desk. With Grisha's organizational skills and Yuri's competitiveness, everything quickly finds its way back where it's supposed to be.

And then I glimpse a file under Yuri's arm.

Ballistics Exam Report.

I rise from my chair and snatch it away. "M-Matvey?" Yuri balks, but I don't pay him any mind. I'm too busy cursing myself.

See? the pakhan inside of me hisses. This is why April's bad for you. She's an obsession. A distraction.

For once, I'm inclined to agree. Because I slipped up on the job. I never slip up on the job.

This isn't just any random oversight, either. This report is the key to finding out what happened at the warehouse that night: who killed our men, who executed the hostages. Who sent the kidnappers after April.

Most likely, it's the same person who sent those assassins at the penthouse.

How could I just fucking forget about it?

This is all my fault. It's not a thought I have often, but now, I can't shake it. If I'd only been more careful, more focused?—

Maybe those men would've been long dead before they could even think to touch April.

Or my child.

But… no. Back when this landed on my desk, something else landed there, too: April's background check. All the dirt and the scars that her shitty family inflicted on her. Once I saw that, I didn't have eyes for anything else.

A mistake.

I give this report my full attention now. I scan the pages like my life depends on it, because in a way, it does. My child's life, laid out on the line because of my carelessness.

Never again will I put April Flowers before my own blood.

" Parni . Come take a look at this."

Yuri's already peering over my shoulder. Grisha catches up swiftly, peering over Yuri's. "Any matches?" he asks.

"Get off of me!" Yuri snarls. "Christ, you're heavy."

"It's not my fault you're pint-sized."

"I'll show you?—"

"Quiet!"

Silence falls in the office. I catch Yuri and Grisha throwing quizzical glances between themselves, but I don't have time to spare it any thought. My eyes are glued to the page.

Specifically, to one line.

"The bullet was traced to D.C.," I exhale. "An underground arms dealer."

"D.C.?" Yuri asks, suddenly nervous. "Why would…?"

"Why indeed?" Grisha echoes. He's using that tone again, the one that lets you know he's caught on more than he lets on. "It appears your interest in D.C. isn't one-sided, boss."

You want D.C. , Grisha's undertone seems to say. And now, D.C. wants you.

The words from Hostage #2 play back in my mind: My boss sends his regards.

I already knew then. I didn't want to rush to judgment, but I fucking knew .

"Pressure the vory ," I order. "This acquisition needs to happen now."

Yuri straightens up. So does Grisha. In unison, they reply, "Yes, moy pakhan ."