Page 77 of Beautiful Ruin

He didn’t come back now just to panic and vanish forever the second Volkov put hands on him. It’s obvious he needs something. He wouldn’t risk exposing himself otherwise. Whatever endgame he’s trying to survive will come back around sooner or later to bite him in the ass and force him out of hiding.

My eyes flick to the clock at my bedside.

1:14 a.m.

The numbers glow in the dim room like an execution sentence. It sends a pool of grief flooding into my stomach so suddenly it almost feels physical, like cold water dumped straight over my body.

Only six hours until tomorrow’s meeting. Six hours until I sit in a room with three out of the four most powerful men in Moscow and listen to them discuss the future of my former Pakhan. Soon, his death will stop being just a private horror haunting me and tearing me apart.

I rub a hand down my face slowly.

If I were any other man, I would be drowning my sorrows in alcohol and a warm body right now. Unfortunately, the one woman I desperately want is currently trapped within her uncle’s unyielding fortress.

My voice lowers. “I do have to warn you about something.”

There’s no hesitation on her end. “Tell me.”

The corner of my mouth tugs at that immediate, reckless, impossible readiness that makes me want to drag her out of Ivan’s house and shake sense into her while simultaneously wanting to kiss her senseless for being exactly who she is.

That tiny, helpless amusement cools almost as soon as it appears when I remember what tomorrow will bring.

How do I tell her?

I want for one ugly and selfish second to protect her from knowing just how gruesome this will get once the order is given from Nikolai.

“The Iron Pact will be meeting here tomorrow to discuss the next steps regarding Ivan.”

She exhales slowly. “It’s an execution order, isn’t it?”

It shouldn’t surprise me that she’s already guessed where this conversation is going. Sofia is the cleverest woman I’ve ever come across. Too clever, perhaps, for her own good sometimes.

Still, I hesitate before answering her. “That is what it is looking like. Yes.”

Sofia says, almost too softly, “I’m sorry, Rowan.”

My brows pull together.

Of all the things I expected her to say, that wasn’t one of them. Far from it, actually. It doesn't escape me that she, locked in his house with half the estate closing in around her now that I am no longer there to protect her, is the one trying to comfort me while I sit far away enough to safely grieve in private inside another Pakhan’s territory.

“Why are you apologizing to me?” I ask. “He is your uncle.”

“You know my relationship with him is nothing compared to the one you have. You were his son in every way that mattered.”

My throat tightens as my eyes begin to burn. I stare down at the duvet cover that’s been creased from my fingers and don’t answer for a bit because if I do, I’m not sure what will come out. I don’t know what to call what I was to Ivan anymore except his future undoing. I was never his by blood, never carried his name in any formal sense, but that didn’t mean much when he treated me like his own.

I suppose it’s poetic in a way to be taken out by that which you created. I’m sure there is some justice in that. Perhaps even a touch of dramatic irony to soothe the wounds left from being shut out without warning.

“Only fitting to be the one to take him out, don’t you think?” I muse.

The words come out low and bitter, more acid than humor. I’m not sure whether I’m trying to wound myself or make the horror sound smaller by dressing it like a joke.

She sighs again. “Is that what the plan is?”

She already understands that at this level, this can only end one way, arriving at the same conclusion I did the moment the last testament left my mouth while Nikolai sat across from me absorbing it all.

“From what I understand. Yes.”

“Then,” she says slowly, “tell me what you need. I’ll help from the inside. I won’t let you do this alone.”