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“I know you wouldn’t if it wasn’t important.” Pyotr’s gray gaze watches me sharply as I look up to meet his eyes.
“I need to speak with you. Alone,” I state, my eyes shifting to Silvia before flicking back to my pakhan.
Silvia and Pyotr share an anxious glance, their expressions masking whatever thoughts they might silently communicate, and it makes me wonder if they might not know what I’m here to talk about—if they haven’t been anticipating it. For the first time, a hint of suspicion works its way into my gut.
Pyotr nods silently to his wife, and she rises up onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. Then she leaves silently, offering me a worried glance as she goes.
Maybe Dani really was right. In an instant, I’m thinking back on all the signs I might have missed. Like how not a single mention of Ben or his death has come into the conversations Pyotr’s had over the past few days.
I would think that someone in his trusted cabinet of advisors would have mentioned it in their maneuvers concerning the Zhivoder—unless there’s some silent understanding that it’s not to be discussed in front of me. But that seems odd too. If Ben’s death were part of Pyotr’s strategy against the Zhivoder, certainly, he would need to discuss it.
Squaring my shoulders, I step forward, my conviction to learn the truth overriding my unquestioning obedience.
Pyotr turns to me as soon as the door closes behind Silvia, his expression guarded. “What’s this about?” he asks, cutting right to the chase.
Dani’s anger has disturbed me deeply, as did the fact that no one told me anything about a plan to kill Ben. And after so many sleepless nights, tossing and turning over the haunted look on Dani’s face—and the fact that she never wants to see me again—I need to get to the bottom of this.
“Why was I not informed about Ben Richelieu?” I ask frankly, switching to Russian to give us more privacy.
I know Pyotr prefers our mother tongue when discussing something that might upset Silvia. As she comes from Italian mafia royalty, she knows little of our language, though she’s trying to learn. But the conversation I need to have tonight merits discretion, especially since it concerns Dani.
“Ben?” My pakhan’s brows press into a frown.
“More importantly, why did he have to die? He was just a pawn in Mikhail’s game—and he means the world to Dani—so the decision seems rather pointless to our war efforts. And it devastated someone you’ve always indicated you care about as much as a sister.”
My words are sharp, far harsher than I had intended them to be, and I press my lips together, forcing myself to stop before I go too far. I can’t let my emotions over Dani get the better of me. Losing her has been painful enough. It won’t do me any good to alienate my pakhan—even if I disagree emphatically with his decision.
Pyotr pales visibly as his eyes widen. “Ben’s dead?”
I frown, thrown off by his surprise. “You didn’t know?”
“This is the first I’m hearing of it. How? When?” I can hear the raw pain in his voice, the shocked anguish at so unexpectedly losing someone he cares about.
“He was shot three days ago… That’s why Dani wanted to see me, why I took that afternoon off. She said…” I stop myself, realizing I’m only making things more confusing. “Then, you didn’t order a hit on Ben?”
Pyotr’s fingers comb into his hair as his expression twists into genuine distress. “No. God no. Why would you ever think that?” He paces in agitation, then stops to look at me again. “Someone definitely killed Ben? It wasn’t an accident?”
I nod solemnly. “You don’t think one of the men…?” I don’t even want to finish my sentence. If Pyotr didn’t order Ben’s execution, shooting him would be a grave mistake on the part of any of our men.
“I assure you his murder was not okayed by me—nor would it ever be—and none of the men would make a move like that without my permission. A blatant act of violence in broad daylight without my go-ahead? You know I’ve ordered a ceasefire until we plan our next step. No one would risk losing their head over shooting one Zhivoder man.”
I nod, the confirmation a relief, and yet, somehow, it troubles me even more. Because if it wasn’t Pyotr who wanted Ben dead, then who could possibly be responsible?
It seems far too coincidental to be a random act of violence. And that disturbs me most of all. This shooter targeted Ben for a reason, and I have no clue who it is or what that reason could possibly be.
“God, poor Dani,” Pyotr breathes, leaning his palms against the meeting room table and hanging his head. “How is she?” Looking sideways, he meets my gaze, his eyes filled with worry.
I shake my head. “Not good.”
Pyotr sighs heavily and pushes off the table to scrub his face. “Of course not. She must be devastated.”
I nod, my gut wrenching at the memory of her tear-stained face, the haunted agony in her blue eyes. I’ve never seen someone look so broken, so lost. Like a kite without a string.
Then Pyotr frowns. “Wait, does she think I had something to do with it?” he asks, connecting the dots and finding the conclusion troubling.
His eyes widen when I hesitate to respond.
“Oh god, she does.” His hurt is visible as he slumps into a chair. “And you thought so too?” His eyes implore me to tell him that I wouldn’t think so low of him.
