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“You know, Pyotr, I think you might be right,” Mikhail says finally.
His first two henchmen exchange a glance of mild surprise, but the man holding the lamp behind him doesn’t even twitch. His black eyes only watch, his expression inscrutable in the haunting light.
In truth, I’m more than a little shocked that he would even toy with the idea. Mikhail’s plays have been far too vindictive to make me think he’s ready to stop fighting. I’ve been under the impression that he wants what Pyotr has, and he’s not willing to stop until he gets it—no matter the cost. And he’s enjoying the game.
“You’re willing to discuss terms then?” Pyotr presses.
Mikhail glances around the dank room before his eyes shift back to my pakhan. “Perhaps we can find a more comfortable space to hash out the details… and earlier next time?”
Like he didn’t pick the time and place. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to shoot him. This bastard has to die.
But Pyotr remains calm and collected, his steel self-restraint putting me to shame. “I’ll have my people reach out to yours,” he says glibly, like this is just another business transaction in his busy schedule. “In the meantime, I think we can at least agree to establish ground rules.”
“Such as?” Mikhail looks genuinely intrigued now.
“An immediate ceasefire. Until we can establish proper territory lines with an understanding of if and when either clan may cross them.”
Mikhail’s lips tip as he nods amicably. “Sounds reasonable enough.”
“Then it’s agreed?” Pyotr presses, not letting anything go on assumption.
“Agreed,” Mikhail acknowledges.
“Good.”
“Well then, I’m rather glad we had this little chat,” Mikhail says.
His smile is indulgent, and though I know it’s above my paygrade, I’m sorely tempted to warn Pyotr against trusting Mikhail. I wouldn’t trust that man as far as I could throw a bear. But I remain still and silent as the insidious Zhivoder leader and his men exit the dilapidated structure once more.
Only after the soft rumble of a car motor comes to life, signaling their departure, do I feel free to speak. “You believe he will actually agree to peace?” I ask, still astonished by the possibility.
Pyotr shakes his head. “It’s a long shot, but it’s the best we’ve got right now.”
“We don’t have the numbers,” Gleb agrees. “Not anymore. But I’d be more than willing to go thin his out a bit.”
Pyotr chuckles darkly. “I might just have to take you up on that. Only, if the time comes, I won’t be letting you have all the fun.”
I remain silent as we head back toward the car, too disturbed by the possibilities this peace might allow. Like Mikhail trafficking women right through our backyard. And that’s exactly what a peace agreement might mean.
I know it’s an effort to stop the fighting, to avoid our clan being wiped out altogether. But I don’t like it one bit.
28
DANI
Licking my fingers as I finish preparing a simple meal of PB&J for myself, I revel in the utter silence of the house. Aside from the security crew, I’m the only one here. And the kitchen feels wonderfully more accessible than it has in days.
Thankfully, it’s a peaceful afternoon since my parents are out at a political event, and for once, they didn’t insist I come.
The atmosphere between us has been more than a little tense since they sat me down to suggest I date Mikhail. But the truth I uncovered that day seems to hover around them now, like a dark cloud, making it nearly impossible for me to be in the same room as them for any length of time.
And while my mother is clearly furious with me for failing to see their side of the story, my dad seems to have completely given up on trying to mend the broken trust between us. I’m grateful. Because I don’t think I’ll ever look at him the same way again.
I try not to think about it as I set the jelly back in the fridge and shut the door. Then I gather up my lunch to head back upstairs. Carrying my plate in one hand, I lift my finished creation with the other and take a large bite of gooey, sticky goodness as I head down the hall.
Mouth full of peanut butter, I pause when the doorbell rings, my eyes turning to the entry as I wonder who could possibly be stopping by. It’s been nearly a week since the slew of condolence bearers stopped showing up at ungodly hours, and it’s not like I would be expecting a visitor. As far as I’m aware, I don’t have any more friends.
Wiping my fingers on the napkin trapped between my hand and my plate, I head toward the door. I swallow my big bite before I’m fully finished chewing and wish I had some water to wash it down.
