The drunker of the two men shrieks like he was the one hit, but I couldn’t give a shit about his reaction. His buddy grabs him, pulling him back inside the restaurant.
Retaliation after this morning’s massacre isn’t entirely unexpected. We hit their headquarters but had no way of telling who was missing. This guy was young and sloppily trained, likely a son of one of the men who was part of the plan to attack Aleksandr’s residence.
I instruct a wide-eyed Carina to get in the car, carefully controlling my tone, then hand the pale valet a hefty tip, letting him know someone will be here soon for the body on the sidewalk.
I ripped a stitch. Maybe two. It’s agony, sliding behind the wheel, but I keep my expression neutral as I dial Viktor. Predictably, he’s excited about the summons, saying he’ll be at the restaurant shortly.
I end the call and focus on driving. I should update Igor, too, but it can wait until the morning. I’ll say something I shouldn’t if we speak now.
I can’t help but wonder what could have happened if I’d taken longer to retrieve the car. We hadn’t cleaned up our mess earlier, as a warning, and news of it has undoubtedly spread across the city. Someone at the restaurant shared where I was with someone who wanted revenge, and I’m stunned by how exposed that makes me feel. This sensation was entirely absent when I killed the man outside the club months ago or the man in the basement yesterday. They were targeting Aleksandr, not me, but that’s not the crucial difference.
Carina was with me. Carina could have gotten hurt—could have been killed. And if that had happened—if something happened to her—I don’t know what I would do. I literally don’t. I used to function fine when we were apart. More than once, I expected I’d never see her again. If that had happened today? Idon’t know what my life would look like. My whole life is her now.
“You didn’t have to kill?—”
“I did,” I state harshly, some of my anger overflowing and affecting the one person who doesn’t deserve it.
I expected her to disapprove of my decision to shoot to kill. Anticipated it before she ever opened her mouth. Carina has no sense of how deep darkness descends. What black that blots out all light looks like. The sins she listed are laughable compared to mine. I want her to believe she’s seen the worst of humanity—the worst of me. Enemies are enemies. There is no middle ground. And there was no way I was risking a nonlethal shot to disarm him, not with her there.
Rather than cowering, she challenges me. “Why?”
“I do not answer to you, Carina.”
Again, she chooses not to back down. “The fuck you don’t. We got married here, remember?” She points in the opposite direction of the church where our wedding took place.
“I remember. I promised to protect you, and that’s what?—”
“My mother was murdered by one of my father’s enemies. I only survived because the man who fired at her was a lousy shot. I understand the stakes, how dangerous this world can be. But that man had a family too.”
“Not anymore. I killed them this morning.”
The confession feels like pressing on a bruise. Painful relief. I don’t want Carina to know all the terrible things I’ve done. Yet some part of me craves the transparency. Wants her to know me, sins and all. She’s seen me kill before, and she still chose to marry me. I’ve witnessed plenty of transactional marriages, and ours isn’t one of them. We fuck multiple times a day. She kissed me when I returned home earlier, after calling to check on me. I don’t think she regrets her decision. Not yet at least.
“Why?” she repeats, her voice less accusatory than it was before.
“They were members of a gang, planning an attack on Aleksandr’s home in retribution for being cut out of business dealings.”
“That’s why he, Victoria, and Ilya are staying at Serebryanovo?”
“Yes. There is much more security. No one unauthorized has ever entered the grounds. You’re safe there.”
“I know I am.” Her voice is bland. No intonation.
I turn left, toward Serebryanovo, rather than right, toward the theater. The night has been ruined, and that happened without me sharing what Misha had found. If I tell her now, she’ll probably be on the next flight to Italy. Hopefully, I’ll feel less unsettled once she’s surrounded by more defenses than just me. The odds of another adversary appearing tonight are low, but there’s always a chance.
Another car cuts me off, so I have to slam on the brakes. I grab at the seat belt, unable to suppress the hiss as it rubs my shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” The apathy in Carina’s voice is absent. So is the former crimination. All I hear is worry.
“I am fine.”
She reaches over, sliding a hand under my suit jacket and up over my heart. My shirt feels sticky, and I realize it isn’t my imagination when Carina withdraws her palm and it’s smeared with crimson.
“Fine, huh?”
“I saw a doctor.” I was getting stitches when she called earlier.
“Pull over.”
