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I join her side, and that’s when I see it.
When she tilts the journal in just the right direction, a series of light indentations can be seen.
Ghosts of pen marks from the prior pages that have been torn out. The marks are so light that they might not have been noticed were it not for Eden’s eye for detail.
“I can’t read it,” she says, squinting at the page. “Can you?”
“I know a way,” I tell her, taking the journal out of her hands. “Hand me a sketching pencil.”
Eden’s face lights up instantly, and she hurries to the desk drawer. “Here.” She hands me what I’m asking for.
Gently, I brush the pencil over the raised markings with even strokes, revealing the ghostly Cyrillic letters of my father’s final entry. My heart hammers in my ears as I read the lines aloud.
Betrayal awaits me with open arms.
My hand stills on the page and my heart hammers in my chest. He couldn’t have written this about Zakhar. It’s so late in the journal …
The tip of the pencil continues down the page, leaving a light charcoal dusting that reveals the hidden words beneath each stroke. The next line appears painfully slowly, and each motion confirms the truth I have willingly ignored.
My most trusted men—Gunsyn, Ippolit, Alexander—have deceived me again.
There’s no need to continue toward the end of the page. The evidence is damning, and nothing more is needed.
“They’ve been working against me all along,” I whisper.
All this time, the brigadiers have been playing me like a puppet and manipulating me for their own twisted purposes.
They betrayed my father, and now, they’re going to betray me.
I toss the pencil on the table and slam the book shut. I’ve been a blind fool, unable to believe those closest to me. Caring people who deserved my trust were ignored because tradition led me in the wrong direction. A pakhan relies on his brigadiers, which has always been the way, but these ruthless, deceitful men used tradition to get their own way.
I thumb through the pages, rushing through them and hoping to find a reason. Why would they do this? What did they gain by destroying my family?
I glance over at Eden, sitting quietly beside me, holding her breath. “Eden, we have to talk to your father. Together.”
“Nikolai, are you sure?”
I scoff. “Blaming you and your father for being right would be petty. You tried to tell me the truth from the day I brought you here. And now, I must turn to the man I wanted dead and ask for his trust. It will be easier with you standing beside me.”
Eden reaches for me and hugs my arm. “Tell me what you need me to do.”
“Text Zakhar. Don’t mention the journals. Tell him I have info on Gunsyn and Alexander. That should get his attention and bring him to the penthouse.”
Eden nods, pulling out her phone and typing the message. “Sent,” she announces, then looks at me expectantly. “Now what?”
“We wait,” I reply. I shut the journal, concealing the damning message. “He’ll come. He has to.”
I stand, plastering a smile on my face that I don’t feel.
“A small victory.” I reach for a bottle of sparkling water and two glasses, handing her one. Holding the glass high, I allow myself to embrace the moment as Gennady would have. “To Liberté,” I toast boldly, referencing the painting that we stared at in the Met. “May our enemies perish in the dirt with our heels planted firmly on their faces.”
Eden smiles grimly and nods, “To justice,” she says. And we drain our glasses.
“Your feelings have changed,” I say, noting her hesitancy.
“A part of me will never feel comfortable with death.” Her hand rests on her belly as she speaks. “But I will learn if I’m going to be a part of this.”
“They have to be punished,” I tell her sternly.
