54. Mikhail

I toss my third—or shit, I don't know, it could be my fourth, fifth, or tenth—drink back, but I don't even taste it.

There's no familiar tingle in my extremities. No warmth low in my gut. Despite the alcohol, I feel ice-cold inside and out. Numb.

Maybe that's why I don't flinch when my office door flies open and my father is standing in front of me, practically frothing at the mouth.

"What in the fuck are you doing?" he snarls.

I hold up my glass. "Having a drink. Or, I was having a drink. I just finished it."

"You're drunk." He swipes out to bat the glass out of my hand, but I pull it back with plenty of time to spare. I'm wasted, but even still, I'm faster than the old bastard.

"Not drunk," I correct, placing the glass safely on the corner of the desk that used to belong to my father. "Just drinking. Now, what the fuck do you want?"

A deep, angry growl squeezes out of his throat. "I want to know why you're sitting here kicking your heels up while we are being attacked."

"If you're talking about the assault at the lounge, I've responded to that."

He snorts. "Yeah, by killing Yanis Drakos in front of an entire theater full of witnesses."

"No one who matters saw me. Even if they did, they won"t breathe a word."

"It doesn't matter either way. If you don't end up in prison, you'll be in the grave. The Greeks aren't going to stop until you pay for humiliating Helen."

"Helen humiliated herself," I drawl. "She fell in love with me without any encouragement. She let her feelings get in the way of what should have been nothing more than a solid business deal."

Which is exactly why I won't do the same thing with Viviana.

I don't care that I can still feel the way her breasts pressed against my ribs. It doesn't matter that I've been half-cocked since she pressed her hand to my cheek. It sure as fuck doesn't make a difference that she all but admitted she loves me. I won't make this shit any messier than it already is.

"Helen isn't the one who let her feelings get in the way of things, son," he snaps. "That was you. You let this woman turn your head and make enemies of the Greeks."

"This isn't about her. It's about my son."

He rolls his eyes. "The bitch probably got pregnant on purpose. You destroyed her wedding to Trofim right when she was banking on a connection to the Novikov Bratva. She needed to tie one of you down and beggars can't be choosers, eh?"

I remember everything about that night in vivid detail. Neither of us were thinking with enough clarity to manipulate anyone. The draw between us was magnetic. I couldn't have pulled out of her even if I'd wanted to.

And Viviana still doesn't want anything to do with this world.

"That's my wife you're talking about."

"Yeah, she's your wife," he agrees. "She's also your brother's murderer."

Even if I was drunk, that sentence would have sobered me right up. My blood runs cold and I sit tall. "Explain yourself."

My father tosses an envelope onto my desk. "It's all in there."

I pull a flash drive out of the envelope. "What is this?"

"Play it and you'll?—"

"I don't want to play it," I bark. "I want you to tell me why the fuck you are accusing my wife of murder before I kill you for insulting her."

My father has the audacity to smirk. "I wouldn't have thought I'd know more about this than you. I don't have an army of men at my command and doing my bidding anymore. It seems you've gotten distracted from your investigation. Does Viviana have anything to do with why you haven't found who killed Trofim?"

Viviana has everything to do with why I haven't really cared that Trofim was killed at all.

He hurt her. He was going to make her miserable for the rest of her life. So, fuck him.

The only reason I cared in the first place is because I thought the same person might come after Viviana or Dante next. There's a good reason why he died six years ago and I'm just finding out now.

"I've been looking into it. Raoul says there's reason to believe Trofim hired a prostitute. Or he brought some random woman home and she killed him. Either he owed her money or he pissed her off. Maybe both."

His smirk spreads. "The prostitute theory might not be so far off."

"Careful," I warn. "That's twice you've gone too far. I won't allow you a third."

"Or maybe my theory holds some water," he retorts. "My thought is that Viviana knew she was pregnant and wanted to make sure that her child's father was guaranteed to be pakhan. The easiest way to do that would be to kill Trofim."

"I was going to be pakhan whether Trofim lived or not. I won it from him. It was over." I wave him off. "Get out of here with your bullshit theories against my wife."

"Maybe I'm right, maybe I'm not, but that doesn't mean I don't have evidence against her all the same." He points to the flash drive. "If you do watch that, you'll see your wife walking into the house where Trofim was staying and then walking out half an hour later covered in blood. The next time anyone sees him, he's dead."

"There were no cameras. Raoul checked."

"Trofim didn't even know they existed. I had them installed without his knowledge." He lifts his chin. "You may have tossed your brother to the wolves, but I wanted to keep an eye on him."

"Then where were you six fucking years ago? If you had these tapes, then you knew Trofim was dead. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't know he was dead," he argues. "I thought he fell off the map, which was understandable after you embarrassed him so publicly. I didn't remember the cameras and dig up the tapes until I heard he was gone."

"Who told you?" I ask.

"Not you," he says through gritted teeth. "I may not be pakhan, but I'm still your father. I'm Trofim's father. I deserved to know he died, and you kept it from me."

I roll my eyes. I don't have time for his sob story. Especially when I'm still trying to process the fact that Viviana might have something to do with all of this.

"Why didn't you tell me you thought Viviana was his killer when you saw her at dinner the other night? You recognized her."

"I don't think anything; I know she killed him," he corrects acidly. "And when I was last here, I didn't know Trofim was dead. It wasn't until I recognized Trofim's ex-fiancée sitting next to you that I decided to call him. When he didn't answer, I did a little digging. It was easy enough to piece it all together."

I run a hand through my hair, trying desperately to clear my head and think.

What does this mean?

Why would she do it?

Why wouldn't she tell me?

"You're sure it's her on the tapes?" I ask.

"Positive. She's very… identifiable." There's a suggestion in his tone that I should kill him for. Maybe I would have five minutes ago.

But now…

My wife killed my brother.

The woman has been a distraction since the moment I first saw her. She's thrown my life into chaos and consumed way too many of my thoughts. I made excuses for her before. I told myself it wasn't a problem.

But now? This is different… isn't it?

"Well?" my father charges. "What are you going to do?"

"I know what you're going to do." I stand up and wave him away. "Leave. Now. If you tell anyone what we talked about here, I'll kill you."

"You'd kill your father over the woman who murdered your brother?" he spits.

I don't answer because, the truth is, I have no fucking idea.

But I'm going to find out.