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“What do you want from me, Petyr?”
“Just a conversation.”
“You can’t have conversations with a corpse,” I spit back. “Which is what I very nearly was after your last attempt on my life.”
“I hope you know that wasn’t personal,” he says, sounding surprisingly sincere. “I had to respond to Misha in kind.”
“By killing me and my children?”
His eyes slide down to my stomach. “By doing what was necessary. Speaking of which, congratulations on the twin bundles of joy. How amazing to produce two heirs at the same time. Misha certainly won the lottery when he plucked you out of that trailer park.”
I stiffen and lean back against my chair, casually sliding one hand off the table. “Do you think you’re insulting me? I know where I came from, Petyr. But character matters far more than circumstances. Misha knows that, too.”
“You puzzle me, Paige. I can’t figure out if you’re truly a bleeding heart or just a very adept manipulator.”
“I’m sure sincerity is alien to you, but I assure you, I’m here for all the right reasons.”
“And what reasons are those?”
“That I love my husband. Simple as that.”
“Love.” He wrinkles his nose. “Did Misha really fall into that trap? The same one Maksim fell for?”
“You and Maksim were friends once,” I say, leaning forward. “When did that change?”
While Petyr seems taken aback by how much I know about him, I slip my fingertip slowly under the table and catch the small panic button. I press it slowly so it doesn’t click and give me away, then let my hand fall back in my lap.
Petyr composes himself and blinks away his surprise. “Nothing changed. We were never friends. We were always rivals, pitted against one another from birth.”
“Bullshit. You chose to make it a competition when it didn’t need to be,” I say. I’m taking a shot in the dark here—I have no idea what motivated Petyr to make the choices he made. I just need to keep him talking. “You chose to make an enemy out of an ally.”
“An ally?” he says, glowering at me. “Maksim was never an ally. He liked to keep me under foot. He threw me scraps when he was done eating and then expected a groveling thanks in return. I wasn’t interested in being second-best; I wanted to be top dog.”
“And how has that worked out for you?”
I’ve crossed the line into goading now. I’m not so sure that’s the right decision, considering I’m trapped alone with a trigger-happy maniac who’s thirsty for revenge.
“I’ve lost a lot of men recently, thanks to your husband. Tell me, Paige, if you know Misha so well, do you know the body count?”
“No, I don’t,” I tell him. “And I don’t care to. If Misha decided to go after your men, there must have been a good reason. You are the one responsible for their deaths.”
“What beautiful justification. Do you sleep well at night?”
“I’m not justifying anything,” I say. “I’m—”
His phone pings, and he checks the text. As he does, his mouth puckers in disapproval. “And here I thought we were getting along so well, Paige. When did you call in the reinforcements?”
My heart is thundering, but I try to project outwards calm. “I have my ways.”
He clicks his tongue. “A panic button, no? Where is it? I should have known Misha would be prepared like that.”
“You have maybe five seconds before Misha and his team are up here.”
“Wrong,” he says with a self-satisfied smirk. “I have sixty seconds, which is more than enough time for me to take my leave. Give Misha my regards. You and I will see each other again soon.”
He walks straight to the door. When he opens it, there’s no one waiting outside. I’d expected Petyr to have shown up with an entourage, but it looks to me like he’s working alone.
Except for the text. Who sent that? None of this makes sense.
