The gunshot cracks through the house like thunder. But his hand shook at the last second, the bullet tearing through his jaw instead of his brain. Blood everywhere, so much blood, and he’s choking on it, drowning in it, eyes wide with panic because this isn’t the quick death he wanted.
Footsteps on the stairs. My mother’s voice, sharp with annoyance: “Matvey, what was that noise?”
I grab the gun from his twitching fingers. He’s trying to speak through the ruin of his face, but I understand. His eyes beg me.
“I’m sorry, Papa.”
The second shot is cleaner. A mercy.
My mother finds me kneeling in his blood, the gun still in my hand. Uncle Vasily behind her, shirtless, his face draining of color.
“Stefan?” Her voice is too calm and controlled for the horror she just walked into. “What have you done?”
“What needed doing.”
She steps forward, careful to avoid the blood pooling across the Persian rug. “You killed your father.”
“He killed himself. I just... helped.”
“The police won’t see it that way.”
“Then I’ll tell them why. About you. Both of you, actually.” I gesture at Vasily with the gun, and he flinches. “About the baby that isn’t Papa’s.”
Her face hardens into something I’ve never seen before. Or maybe I have—maybe I just never wanted to recognize it. “You have no proof.”
“Papa had a vasectomy. Medical records exist.”
“Records can disappear. Witnesses can be bought.” She squints at me. “Or sons can inherit their father’s business empire, keep their mouths shut, and everyone wins.”
“Except Papa.”
“Your father was weak. He let emotion rule him. Don’t make the same mistake.”
I stand, still holding the gun. “Get out. Both of you. Leave and never come back.”
“Stefan—”
“I said fucking leave!” The gun swings toward them, my hand surprisingly steady. “Or I’ll finish what Papa started.”
They left that night. They thought that was the end of it.
They thought wrong.
The memory fades, leaving me kneeling on frozen ground. I thought my mother was dead, as dead as the body six feet beneath me. But she’s not. She’s back.
And she has Olivia.
I stand, brushing dirt from my knees. “I won’t let her poison what we have, Papa. I won’t let her turn Olivia against me the way she turned you against yourself.”
The walk back to my car feels endless. Each step carries the weight of what I’m about to do. Taras is right—Mikayla’s feelings for me are the key to finding Olivia. But using them makes me more like my mother than I want to admit.
For Olivia,I tell myself.For our child.
I know it’s the same rationalization that let my mother do all the nightmarish things she did. The ends justifying the means, emotion sacrificed for enjoyment.
No.This is different. I’m not betraying someone who loves me—Mikayla already betrayed me. I’m not destroying a family—I’m trying to save one. The family Olivia and I could have, if my mother doesn’t destroy it first.
By the time I reach Safonov Holdings, the sun is rising. The city looks gilded, though some pockets of shadow remain black as sin. Taras waits in my office with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.
