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Greg. He’s with her. Martin was telling the truth.
Shit.
I inch closer to the door that opens into a private smoking lounge, but I don’t open it. From what it sounds like, they’retalking about Tolya and I need to fucking know what Greg Everett did, or plans on doing, or…fuck, my head hurts so fucking bad.
“Gun went off in our hands. Scared him shitless, too. If I didn’t know any better, I would have guessed that was his first kill.”
“So…” Clara sighs. I half-expect her to act shocked, or enraged, but she doesn’t. She sounds pretty apathetic, actually. “You let him take the fall.”
“Pretty much. The collapse of the Zakrevsky empire would mean the rise for so many others. New blood, new partnerships. New government in the streets. His kid brother was too young and Oleg… well, that man had his own problems.”
My hands ball into fists.
What the fuck?
It’s him. It’s been him this whole fucking time. Greg Everett and his underhanded, backstabbing method of getting whatever the fuck he wants.
The urge to burst through this door and throttle him is strong.
But the throbbing against my skull is stronger.
“So… did you at least get what you wanted? Your ‘new blood’ and ‘new partnerships’?”
Clara sounds… hopeful? Like she actually wants him to say yes. Like shewantsthat for him.
A new sort of pain lances through me. Then fury. I stumble back, away from the door, just so I don’t topple in and throttle her, too.
Of fucking course.She’s been playing me this whole time. Pretending to be a victim when in reality, she’s Daddy’s Little Girl.
She’ll do anything to make him happy.
She’ll do anyoneto make him happy.
Including me.
Fine. Fuck this. Fuck her. Fuck all of them.
I grab my phone and shoot Pavel a quick text. I’m leaving. I’m getting out of this shitshow and away from the Everetts and their fucking mind games.
And I’ll drive, fly,swimas far and as long as I need to go until the pain in my chest that has nothing to do with broken ribs finally goes away.
30
CLARA
I try not to trip over my own stammering tongue. “What? Why… the Yakuza?”
“They’re not all that bad.” Dad absentmindedly scratches his neck. “You know, for a second, I thought your mother was screwing around with one of them.” He laughs. “But that would have been fucking insane. My wife? A cop’s wife? Sleeping around with the Yakuza?”
I pray to God that my face doesn’t give away the fact that pieces are swiftly falling into place inside my mind.
Mom.
Raizo.
All those secret visits to our home while Dad was away.
“It wouldn’t be the first or only time I was wrong.” Dad chuckles. “I mean, look at Demyen. I was so sure—we both were, Raizo and me—that the kid just wasn’t cut out for Bratva business. We didn’t need to lay a finger on him; all we had to do wasbide our time through the court proceedings and wait for him to flounder.”
