Page 7 of Grave Secrets

“Who was she to you?” I ask.

“No one,” he says. It’s brief, but he drops his eyes for just long enough that I can tell she is the reason he did it. She meant something to him.

“No one… but you were willing to risk your empire for her?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Who do you think she was to me?”

“I think that is something you should answer, not me,” I say.

“She was an ex-girlfriend,” he says, dropping his eyes to his hands and not looking up again for a few seconds. “She cheated on me with him and intentionally got pregnant after telling me that she didn’t want kids.”

“And you blame him?” I ask.

“I guess in part, yeah. If he hadn’t come around…”

“You’d still be together?” I ask.

“No, but she would at least have brain function. She wouldn’t have all of the bones in her face broken. He took a bat to her face… and bragged about it. She might have been a bitch, but no one deserves that.”

“He did,” I say. “Right? If no one deserves that, then he didn’t either. So, is it selective on who deserves to have their face beaten in? Is there a grading system for what justice a person deserves? What do you deserve?”

“Are you always this annoying?” he asks with a frown.

“Not always,” I reply with a smile. “My point is, Vik, you don’t get to play judge, jury, and executioner.”

“I can, and I do!” he shouts, his mood flipping. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

“No, but if I want to, all I’d have to do is point out that you very clearly have daddy issues,” I say.

“Stop,” he growls.

“I’m guessing everyone thought your father was a great man, but he wasn’t. He beat your mother, just like that man did to your ex. He reminded you of your father, and she of your mother, so you saved your mother. You did for your ex what no one did for your mom,” I continue.

“Shut up, Ada,” he screams at me as he stands.

“How old were you when she died?” I ask.

“She’s not dead. Stop talking about her,” he demands, stepping close to me. He is close enough that I have to sit back to look up at him.

“You can sit on the ottoman if you’d rather be closer,” I say calmly. He’s not mad at me, but he thinks he is. I can see the guilt building in his eyes already. Viktor sits on the ottoman in front of me, but has his elbows resting on his knees so he can drop his head and look down.

I sit back and wait for him to speak. He is moving through memories of his childhood, and I don’t want to interrupt that. He is calm now, telling me it wasn’t anger that just surfaced—it was pain.

“He used to beat her black and blue, but then he would hide her away in the house so no one would see,” Vik says quietly. “He convinced everyone that she was sickly and couldn’t get out often. I was taught to keep my mouth shut… When I was twenty-five… she nearly died. A nurse called me and said she was in surgery for a brain bleed… I told her I’d be there as soon as I could, but I went to see my father. I knew he did it. I got there, and her blood was still on the floor.”

“Vik,” I say. He looks up at me and has tears in his eyes. “It’s not your fault.”

“I killed him,” Vik says calmly. “He was shit-faced, so I put his gun in his hand, stuck the barrel in his mouth, and made him pull the trigger.”

“Then what?” I ask.

“I went to see my mom,” he says, wiping away the evidence that he was ever crying, and sits back. “It was ruled a suicide, and now Mom can live in peace.”

“Does anyone else know you killed him?” I ask.

“Just you.”

“Why did you tell me?” I ask.