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I almost miss him when he’s gone. He’s a rat bastard, but I’d rather take my chances with him than with this handsome, terrifying man who gives orders like he’s a god and looks at me like I’m butt-naked on my knees in front of him.
No, scratch that—he looks at me like he can see straight through to my soul. To every bad thing I’ve ever done. He looks at me like heknowsme.
“Come with me, Paige,” he commands quietly, in a tone of voice that says it’s not really a question. “I want to hear your story.”
I gulp as he brushes past me. Correction to my earlier statement: rock bottom does not smell like pizza.
Rock bottom smells likehim.
MISHA
A FEW HOURS EARLIER
“Misha.”
My sister’s hand lands softly on my arm. When my eyes flicker down, she removes it immediately. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “You were off in your head somewhere.”
She’s not wrong. I was remembering things that are probably better off forgotten. Shaking the memories away, I notice she has her little black clutch white-knuckled in her fist. “Leaving so soon?” I ask.
She nods and points her chin towards where our mother stands near the cathedral’s pulpit. Agnessa Orlov is wearing a black mourner’s dress, her petite frame stooped with grief. But for ninety minutes, she’s been shaking hands and accepting condolences from every crime lord in the city. Not once has her smile faltered.
“I can’t believe Otets ever found fault with her,” Nikita murmurs. “She’s flawless.”
“Otets could find fault with anything.”
Nikita turns her back on the crowd and faces me with an arched eyebrow. The thick layer of makeup under her eyes is an obvious attempt to hide that she’s spent the last few days crying. She starts to say, “I know I shouldn’t ask—”
“Then don’t.”
Her lips harden with determination. “For fuck’s sake, Misha—as much as you might wish it, we aren’t robots. We’re allowed to have human emotions. Especially today. So just tell me, honestly: how are you holding up?”
“I just told you not to ask.”
She shakes her head in disappointment. “That happened fast.”
“What did?”
“Your transition to don.”
I grit my teeth. “Don’t start, Niki. It’s too soon for you to resent me for doing what I have to do.”
She squints at me for a few seconds, assessing. “But that is what you are now, isn’t it? Father is dead and Maksim is dead, so you’re in charge. You’re the big bad wolf now. All hail.”
I don’t know why I’m surprised at her bitterness. We all developed our own coping mechanisms over the last three days. Ways to deal with the grief we hold so close.
Mama got quiet. I retreated inward.
Nikita picks fights.
I don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. “Go home, Nikita. Go home and wipe all that makeup off. You aren’t fooling anyone.”
Her eyes narrow. That’s the thing about siblings: you know each other’s secrets, even when they haven’t been shared. Maksim knew all of mine. And even as we lowered my brother into the ground less than an hour ago, I couldn’t help but think,Who’s going to keep my secrets now?
“You should come home, too,” she fires back. “Mama wants to have a family meal. None of this bullshit pageantry, this ‘showing the strong face of the Orlov Bratva so the city knows we’re still here.’ It’ll be just us.”
“You know I can’t.”
“Misha—”
