25. Matvey

25

MATVEY

Something's wrong with April.

After that night, it becomes more and more obvious. The faraway look, the one-syllable answers, the sluggish way she drags herself from bed to couch and couch to bed… All innocent brushstrokes on their own, but the picture they paint is far from reassuring.

If it were just that, I could ignore it. I could chalk it up to exhaustion. Hell, even to sheer hatred of me. After everything I did to her, I wouldn't expect anything less.

But then there's the baby.

Until a few days ago, May was her one source of joy. Even when I was acting my worst, I could see April's face change the second she picked her up: her frown smoothed over; her nervousness disappeared; her smile came back tenfold. It was the one thing that made me feel like I hadn't broken her, even when I didn't think I cared anymore—how happy she was with her daughter.

Now, it's like holding her own baby makes it worse. This vacant stare fills her eyes, like she can't even see our child in her arms. Like she's watching something else, somewhere far away from us.

Like she's not even there.

"Matvey?"

Grisha's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. "What?"

"I was just saying that I prepared those documents you requested." When my face doesn't show any recognition, Grisha frowns at my reflection in the rearview mirror. "You know, the logs? About the D.C. matter?"

Right. Those. "Good. I'll check them out in my office."

I try to make myself sound normal. Like I'm not being haunted by omens I don't understand. But I don't seem to be doing a very convincing job.

"Is everything okay?" my nosy driver pries. "With April and the baby?"

"Of course," I lie. It's my first instinct, even now: deny, deny, deny. "Why wouldn't it be?"

I watch Grisha hesitate in the mirror. It's unlike him. Whatever it is, I wish he'd just fucking come out with it instead of fishing for the most diplomatic words in the dictionary. "The other day, she was rather… distraught. I just hope that whatever happened at her father's house isn't weighing on her anymore."

At her father's house. When I wasn't there to protect her. Another one of my failings, the latest in a long line.

"Keep an eye on the place," I order him.

"Alright. How many eyes did you have in mind?"

"Just a couple of men will suffice."

"Understood. Do we want these men to be seen?"

He says it casually, like a comment about the weather, but I know what he's really asking me. A Bratva man isn't spotted unless the pakhan wants them to be.

So the real question is: Do we want the Flowers family to know they're being watched?

I can picture it in my head—Dominic peeking out the windows, being haunted by a black shape looming just beyond his pristine garden wall. Hunted. Nora, parting the curtains with her five-hundred-dollar manicure, telling her girls not to leave the house. And then April's lifelong bullies, quivering through the night, sleeping huddled together on the floor like the litter of spoiled brats they are.

It would be deserved. It would be righteous, and vengeance, and a goddamn treat to witness.

But it wouldn't help anyone. It wouldn't help April. On the contrary, it'd only make her life harder. And it doesn't matter how badly I want to avenge her—I can't be the one who keeps doing that to her.

Even if it costs me my reputation.

"No. Just surveillance."

I may be mistaken, but I think I catch Grisha's mouth doing something. Something that almost resembles a smile. "As you wish, sir."

After five hours poring over the same fifty pages of logs, I start contemplating the surface of my desk. Specifically, how hard I could slam my forehead against it without breaking either thing.

"What a fucking mess," I mutter.

Across from me, Yuri sighs. "Yeah."

"This is a goddamn farce. What's the point of having a logging system if no one bothers to actually use it?"

"To be fair, your vory aren't exactly the freshest batch of Bratva men on the market," Grisha points out. "The youngest is Ipatiy, and even he's pushing fifty."

"That's no excuse for disobeying orders," I snap. "If they can surf porn on company hardware, they can damn well learn to use company software."

"There's a joke in there somewhere," Yuri says wryly.

"I should just punish them all," I sigh. "Grisha, how much would that set me back?"

"Executing all your vory ?" He shrugs. "Oh, not that much. Only every single company they run. Ten billion or so?"

Figured. "Any progress on the surveillance tapes?"

Grisha slumps in his chair. An uncharacteristic display, but then again, none of us is at our best right now. Give us a street fight any day, but bureaucracy? I'd rather carve my own head out like a goddamn jack-o'-lantern. "Unfortunately, it was too long ago. That week's footage has been erased automatically."

"Perfect." I roll my eyes. "So we have nothing."

"I wouldn't say nothing ," Grisha counters. "We have the names of the accounts that were used. It's worth considering that the mole might, in fact, have acted from their own computer."

"Seriously? You think they'd be that dumb?" Yuri scoffs. "Some mole that would be."

"Are you getting upset on the mole's behalf, Yurochka?" Grisha asks. "We haven't even established it's a smart mole yet. Only that, whoever they are, they're currently one step ahead of us."

"Is that your idea of good news?" I frown. "They're an idiot, but we're even bigger idiots, so that's why they're winning?"

"Glass half-full, Matvey."

"Why do you keep saying ‘they'?" Yuri cuts in. "The vory are all men."

It's a good point, but Grisha starts tutting immediately. "Ah, but the vory are not the only ones with access. There's you and me, and of course, Matvey…"

"Thanks," I say dryly.

"And one more person."

It takes me a beat to realize who he means. Yuri must realize it at the same time as I do, because his face goes absolutely livid. "You fucking take that back," he snarls.

"No need to take it so personally." Grisha shrugs. "Just considering all options."

"Petra isn't an option! My—" He cuts himself off at the last second. "Our pakhansha isn't a suspect. She has no reason to hurt us."

"Really?" Grisha fires back, all cheer suddenly gone. "Did she tell you that herself? In that case, by all means, let's strike her from the list. Honor system is a fantastic way to run a Bratva."

"You goddamn piece of?—"

"Enough!" I slam both palms on the desk. "Grisha's right. No one is off the suspect list, Yuri. Not even you and me."

"Not even— Are you hearing yourself right now?"

"The question is, are you hearing me ?" I growl. "Don't forget, brother, that I am still your pakhan. And that you're in no position to be challenging me. Not after what you did." I lean in, voice dropping to a vicious whisper. "So remember your goddamn place."

Yuri's face drains. "Petra's done nothing wrong," he stammers back anyway. It's a testament to how much he cares—at least that, I can't begrudge him. Not all the way. "She's innocent."

"Then prove it," I tell him. "Bring me the mole and I won't have to keep looking."

Grisha has a point: no one is above suspicion. This isn't a court of law—this is the Bratva. And in this world, it's guilty until proven innocent.

"… Yes, pakhan. "

I nod. Then, just as Yuri starts heading out the door, I stop him. "Oh, and brother?"

"What?"

I give him a pointed look. "Clock's ticking. Be quick, or I'll have to be."

I don't know if I believe Petra actually has a hand in this. After Yuri's one-eighty with the April situation, I can't be certain of anything.

But I do know one thing.

And that's the lengths we'll go for the people we love.