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If Alessio was impressed, he didn’t show it. His face remained impassive. “Second?”
“It was payback for you. It’d be my only chance. To catch you off guard and shoot a bullet through your heart. Payback is it a bitch, eh? We’ve got matching scars now, brother.”
“Third?” he gritted through clenched teeth.
“Stress reliever. You said it once. I had to see how it felt.”
Ayla stared at the ceiling, and she looked like she was praying. I almost laughed at that.
“You are a fucking asshole,” he snarled.
“Pretty sure you take that trophy home, Pakhan.”
Since the moment in Valentin’s office, I had been burning to ask that question. Now was my chance. “What I am still left wondering, though…why did you choose to come to Russia unguarded? You didn’t even pull a gun on me. You sat there, smiling like a fucking clown. You invited death with open arms.”
“You can fool anyone, but you can’t fool me, Viktor.”
I figured that was it. Alessio could read me like a damn book. He saw through the act, through all the lies and façade.
He trusted me enough not to kill him.
My chest warmed at the thought. It was fucking corny as hell to say this—but we were cut from the same thread. Through victory, blood, life, and death. Nobody could tear that bond apart.
“I trust you,” he said. Then Alessio Ivanshov smirked.
My lips quirked up too. “Fuck. We really are assholes.”
Alessio threw his head back and laughed. Ayla shook her head. “I can’t deal with you two anymore.”
“You love me, woman,” Alessio growled. “And you’re stuck with us for a very…very long time.”
That part was true. We had no intention of dying. Not any time soon. Fuck no. We had an empire to lead, to grow, and to watch as the next generation took over.
Yeah. We were in for a long fucking haul.
“There is something you need to know.” Alessio’s voice broke through my thoughts. His eyes seemed to darken some more.
“Erik’s death…”
My heart stammered, and I almost doubled over at the reminder. Jesus Christ. That hurt.
“No. Listen to me, Viktor. It wasn’t your fault.”
My brows knitted together in confusion. My palms were sweating now, and I clenched my hands into fists at my side.
“Angel, can you give him the letter?”
Ayla got off the bed, and she waddled over to me with an envelope in her hand. She gave me a small, pitiful smile. “This will explain everything,” she whispered, handing it to me.
I took out the letter from the unsealed envelope and started reading. The beat of my heart hardened, thumping faster against my chest.
Once I reached the end of the letter, I wasn’t breathing. My lungs started to burn, my eyes watered, and then I exhaled sharply, my whole body shuddering. I felt chilled through my bones and I wasn’t exactly sure how to feel.
“Erik knew it was suicide, Viktor,” Alessio murmured. “He did it with a purpose.”
I couldn’t speak. My mouth went dry and my tongue felt heavy.
“Erik…he isn’t the real son of Gavrikov.” Alessio confirmed what I just read in the letter.
“How…?” No. This couldn’t be right. The letter was a lie.
“Like he said in the letter. He wasn’t the true blood.”
My mother was seventeen when she first fell in love. He’d visit the coffee shop every day, the one her father owned. He was older, much older than her. But it was love at first sight, my mother claimed. She didn’t know she was betrothed to Ivan Gavrikov. When the time came for her to be married, when Ivan came to take her, she was shocked. But she had no choice, really. She left her lover behind, accepted her fate, and went with her intended husband. They were married a few days later. Two weeks later, she found out she was pregnant.
Ivan never said anything. Even though he knew she wasn’t pregnant with his child. The baby in her womb, it was another man’s. He still allowed my mother to give birth. He used to say he was completely enamored by my mother at first sight.
They both eventually fell in love. True love, they said.
He treated me as his son. He still loved me as if I were his son. His real son.
Two years later came Johan. My brother.
Ivan still made me his heir. Even though I wasn’t his, Ivan Gavrikov loved me as if I were his blood.
But that doesn’t change the real fact, does it?
I found out the truth last year. Found my mom’s diary, the one she kept so many years ago. I have been living the bitter truth, and I can’t do it anymore.
It doesn’t matter if Ivan loved me like his son…I am not a Gavrikov.
I can’t be the heir.
I can’t be the boss of this family.
That position is not rightfully mine.
My reign…my empire…it all belongs to Johan.
