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She lifts her head to look my way.
“Pavel’s been looking into Masha’s situation on my orders. There’s something at the site of her murder that belonged to me.”
“What does that mean?” Her eyebrows press together as she studies me closely.
“It was an engraved lighter, monogrammed with my initials and a design. A gift from my first wife. I had thrown it out a long time ago. No idea how it ended up at the warehouse where Masha was taken. Unless someone wanted to connect me to her murder.”
I debated telling Kira any of this because I don’t actually have anything concrete. More than that, will she doubt my innocence in connection to her aunt’s death? But I need to be honest with her, even if I have no real answers.
Kira's body tenses. "Who has access to your trash? Only people who live here," she points out.
I run a thumb over my lips. She’s not wrong. The estate is not easy for outsiders to access. Then again, my enemies have been known to go to great lengths to hurt me. Paying off a sanitation worker to go through my trash wouldn’t be unheard of. But Masha’s murder was inconsequential in the lives of my associates. Why would someone go to any lengths to try and connect me with a death that, sadly, most people didn’t give a shit about?
I brush a hand through her hair. “Until we fit all the pieces of the puzzle together, nothing will make sense. Give it time.”
“I can help,” she says. “Don’t you think I have a right to be involved in this?”
“You do,” I agree, kissing her neck. “But I need your big sexy brain for something else first.”
She purses her lips. “What is that?”
“We’ve been questioning a high-ranking member of the Black Company for over a week, but the man is a steel trap. Refusing to talk, no matter what we do to him. And we’ve done a hell of a lot.” With two fingers, I angle her chin towards me so she can’t look away. “Think you could get him to spill his secrets?”
She sits up with sudden interest. “I can try. What information do you need?”
“We need to find out who leads the Black Company. They remain hidden, but it's widely believed that their leader is the brains of the operation. If we can capture them, we'll have a chance at bringing down the Triad.”
She angles her head. “What makes you think I could break him if you haven't been able to?”
I trail my fingers down her cheek. “Something tells me you could do whatever you put your mind to.”
She looks wary. “You think Roman and Pavel would appreciate me stepping in? I don’t think so.”
"It’s not their decision to make, it’s mine. I'm aware of your potential, and it's time they realized it as well.”
Her fingertips dance over the lapel of my suit, avoiding my gaze like there’s something she wants to say but can’t get it out. “Why did you ask Pavel to look into my aunt? Why not ask Roman, or do it yourself?”
“Because he’s the best,” I admit simply. “He’s damn good at what he does. If he weren’t unhinged, he’d be a top-notch detective.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t like me. I bet he thinks chasing down my aunt’s killer is a waste of his time.”
I swipe a piece of hair from her face. “Pavel doesn’t like anyone. It’s his way of keeping the world at arm’s length. It happens when your childhood is painful. You learn to build walls around your heart, protecting it from the potential pain the world might inflict again.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means some of us are broken, and it’s impossible to put us back together.” I don’t know if I’m talking about Pavel or myself now. But she should know I’m just as damaged as my friend. Once you lose your reason for living, you walk around the world half a person.
Kira presses her forehead into mine. “I don’t think you’re broken,” she whispers against my lips.
My heart squeezes. If that’s the case, she sees a different man than the one I see reflected back at me in the mirror.
“We’ve all had our life bruises and scrapes, but you still get up and fight every day.”
I run my hand through her hair, fingers weaving gently through the strands. I don’t know what to make of this little hurricane that tore into my life and turned everything upside down. She makes me feel something—a spark, an energy. Something I haven’t felt in a long time.
I bury my face in her neck. “You’re the fighter,” I insist. “You stood up to your father when no one else was willing to put him in his place. You fought like hell for a place alongside your brothers, and you never gave up trying to right your aunt’s death. There’s not many like you.”
“Such high praise,” she breathes out. “You should be careful, Maxim Belov, or I might mistake your intentions.” As soon as the words slip out, she pauses, a hint of regret in her voice. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”
