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“I have no answers for you,” she says crisply.
“Ulyana, please! Tell me about Yevgeniy. Anything.”
She looks like she wants to spit out something that tastes bad. “We both can spend our time in better ways.”
“But I want to help like Mila does!”
The pencil in her fingers breaks on the page. She scowls at it, then at me. “If you want to help, go practice being a proper head of the house. That’s your role, not trying to become some silent killer like Mila Kharitonov.” Picking up the chart, she marches from the room, leaving me to stew.
Groaning in frustration, I flop onto the chair she was just in. Even though I feel we’ve grown closer, no amount of becoming the perfect “future wife” for the pakhan will get her to tell me the things I want to know.
She’s got the wrong idea. I don’t want to be like Mila; I just want to be as useful as she is.
Realizing what I need to do, I fly out of the chair with such force it topples over. Of course, Mila! Sprinting through the mansion, ignoring the stares from the staff, I hurry back to the upper hallway where I last saw the assassin. Mila will come back this way. I can ask her.
My diligence pays off. No more than half an hour later, Mila reappears. Arsen isn’t with her; I guess he’s still handling things in his office. She spots me right away.
“Congratulations on your wedding,” she says. “I’ll try to clear my calendar to make sure I’m free next week for it.”
My mouth dries out completely. “But we haven’t set a date.”
“Arsen has.” Mila purses her lips into a crease. “He didn’t tell you? How typical.”
An old thorn I’d thought had left my heart burrows deeper. Arsen set a date for our fake wedding, and he didn’t bother to inform me? Is the event that unimportant to him? Am I that much of an afterthought? I don’t have time to worry about this. There’s something else I need to find out. Launching myself forward, I stop short in front of her.
“I need to talk to you.”
She leans backward with a wary frown. “About what?”
“Yevgeniy.”
Mila’s eyes widen, then become thin slits of distaste. “He’s not exactly a light topic for chitchat.”
“No one here will tell me anything about the war. I’ve gotten scant details at best. It took days for Arsen to tell me that Yevgeniy killed his wife.”
“He didn’t just kill his wife,” she spits. Her hands make fists, and I think she’s barely controlling herself from punching the wall. “She was pregnant when he murdered her.”
The room sways; I prop myself on the nearest window to stay on my feet. “What?”
“Shot three times in the stomach while she pleaded for her baby’s life.” Mila shapes her hand like a gun, aiming it at me. “And then he shot her in the head.”
I cringe each time as she jerks her finger up and down.
The details are scant, but they’re horrific enough. With only two sentences, Mila has painted a visceral picture that I can’t wipe from my mind. The room upstairs with the crib, the toys, left to rot under years of dust. They weren’t just planning a family ... They were about to have one. Until Yevgeniy stepped in.
Rocking forward, I clutch my stomach as I crouch on the floor.
Mila catches me before I can tip over. “Are you okay? Maybe I shouldn’t have said all that.”
“No!” I snap, glaring at her with my eyes wet with tears. “I needed to know. Thank you.” Now I understand. All the terrible things Arsen did, the things that made me hate him, that turned him into a monster ... They were all born from Yevgeniy’s actions.
Arsen is a man driven by the curse of revenge. His desire to avenge his wife is a never-ending struggle for justice. It forces him to do evil things.
That’s the missing puzzle piece I needed this entire time.
And now, I finally see the full picture that is Arsen Isakov.
21
