Page 219 of Sexting the Pakhan

“Kirill?”

“Alive, but scattered. Just like the rest of them. Some already trying to make deals. Pavel is holding what’s left together long enough to believe you’re dead.”

That’s the important part.

I open my eyes. “Does he believe it?”

“For now.”

I look toward the closed door.

I can still hear Mila somewhere in the hall, asking a nurse whether hospital pudding has nutritional value. Nadia is probably correcting the question. Zoya is probably standing between them and the world like she has been doing for years.

Stepan follows my gaze. “You can still stop,” he says.

I laugh once, and pain cuts through me so sharply I have to wait before answering.

“No.”

He nods slowly, because he already knew.

This didn’t begin tonight. Not really.

Tonight was only the part with blood.

The thought first took root six years ago, in a house near water, when I looked at Zoya Hart and understood that loving her made her visible to every man who wanted to hurt me. I told myself I was sending her away because it was the only clean choice. I told myself she would hate me, survive me, forget me.

Instead, I kept the empire.

She kept my children.

For six years, every decision I made confirmed the same truth in a different way. The chair didn’t protect anyone I loved. Power didn’t make me free. Men feared my name, but fear only built quieter betrayals.

It all started when Stepan stood in my office three weeks ago with the file in his hand.

“Lenkov,” he said.

I looked up from the route sheet.

That was all he gave me at first. One name. One man. Eight years in my yards, quiet enough to be trusted, ordinary enough to be invisible.

“What about him?” I asked.

Stepan put the file down. “His sister cleans at Little Birch Early Learning.”

The name meant nothing to me then.

It should have.

Stepan’s face told me that before he said the rest. “Kirill used him to move the stolen cases,” he said.

“Who knows?” I asked.

“You already know something is up, don’t you?” Stephan says.

“More than I like,” I say.

Stepan just nods. “If we do that, we get Kirill,” he said. “Maybe Lenkov. Dima if he panics. But Ilya will disappear, and whoever he’s feeding still has the rest.”