Page 110 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

A possible payout for one of her other customers being rude to me.

Heart still pounding, I get into the new armored SUV my husband bought for me and notice I actually have two hours before Violet gets out of school.

The second I slide into the backseat, I pull out the phone Kirill gave me. I’m still reeling inside over that confrontation with Tamara. Her name crashes into my brain.

Tamara. Tamara. Tamara.

My fingers hesitate over the Google prompt for half a second, wondering what to type. Are my searches being monitored?

Shaking, I type: Kirill Volkov Tamara Chernova Chicago

The internet answers instantly with photos flooding my screen in tiny uneven boxes with captions underneath.

Thank you very much. Not!

I hadn’t even thought to Google my own husband before this. I haven’t Googled anyone. This is the only phone I’ve had since the accident. Elodie showed me her phone, her social media accounts. As a reporter, she used it all the time, and often said how lucky I was to be off the grid.

Now I wish I still was.

Seeing photos of Kirill at galas, charity events, fundraisers, and black-tie dinners has my stomach in knots. In every scene, he looks so severe and beautiful in dark suits that look painted on his body.

At first, it’s just him in the feed. Then my heart leaps into my throat, seeing that dark-haired woman beside him.

Tamara.

She’s all sharp cheekbones, slinky dresses, and a beaming smile with her arm linked around my husband’s elbow.

While he was still married.

Given her Russian heritage, she would have been the proper wife Yuri wanted for his son, no doubt. Kirill doesn’t have his arm around her in any of the photos, but she’s holding on to him. His smile looks practiced.

Now, I get what it means to go down a rabbit hole. I wish someone would shoot me or send a terrier to come fetch me out of this thing by the neck. Biting my lip, I click on one of the thumbnails to read the articles.

Each one speculates about an upcoming engagement between the elusive CEO of Mid-West Iron and an executive’s daughter.

Two of the most powerful families in Chicago are joining together.

Yuri Volkov Approved!

Chicago’s most eligible and mysterious bachelor may be off the market, ladies.

The headlines keep going.

Looking closer, it pains me to notice how comfortable he stands beside her. A piercing ache settles in my chest. It’s part jealousy and part anger since I had no idea about her until now.

Did I know about her before? Or was that a false bluff?

I asked him if he’d been with anyone and he said no. He lied to me.

I tap open Tamara’s Instagram account from the convenient tag in the post I’m ready to cry over. A photo posted yesterday captures my attention. She’s sitting in a silk robe with something green on her face. Oh, it’s a facial mask. Even in green, sipping champagne, and smiling, she looks elegant.

I read the caption: Prepping for the wedding of the century.

Better not be to my fucking husband. Is that the dress she was shopping for?

The post is actually a carousel of photos with a collage of diamonds and palm trees. Enough to make me nauseous.

Digging further, I see she brags about not paying her share of a charter flight and how she will just go to the airport tomorrow, expecting the airline to accommodate her.