Page 153 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

Chernov exhales a short, almost amused breath. “You know it was me, why don’t you⁠—”

“I know it was you who took my wife and daughter three days ago. For that you will be punished. But I also need you to tell me what happened five years ago.”

Adrian’s eyebrows lift, figuring out the bigger crime. “Your missing bride.”

“The one with a father you paid off to take her away from me.” I pace in front of him. “The one who changed her name. Hid her from me. You know she has no memory. So, I’m asking you what happened the night she disappeared.”

Shrugging, he says, “She begged for my protection. From you.”

For a fraction of a second, my legs feel unsteady. Insecurity wears me down, dreading there might be a sliver of truth to that.

I glance at Drago and give him a nod. He leaves the room, Chernov’s nervous eyes following him.

“Go on.” I’ll play with the Vor a little longer.

“She came to her father crying,” he continues, watching me, measuring the impact of every word. “Said you were a monster.”

My pulse slows instead of quickening, each beat controlled, as if I’m forcing my body to stay in line with my mind.

“She wanted out,” he adds softly.

Out.

I straighten, smoothing my jacket again, as if we’ve just concluded a minor negotiation. I don’t look at Chernov. I don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing anything on my face. But I brace myself for the next part that is about to unfold.

“You’re right,” I say to Chernov. “I am a monster. And what I’m about to do will prove it. But it will either save your life, or end my marriage.”

I will know the truth after tonight.

“Bring her inside,” I bark to Drago.

The door opens, and Sandrine steps into the room with one of the new guards at her back. Christ, she looks so fragile wearing a pair of slacks and a loose sweater. Her presence changes the temperature of the room. Not warm, as I usually feel when being near her.

With questioning eyes, she asks, “What do you need, Kirill?”

Before I can say anything, her gaze lands on Chernov. I tense, seeing the subtle hitch in her breath, the way her shoulders draw up around her ears. She takes a step forward, slow and uncertain. Then her eyes narrow, focusing intently on him. At the lines of his face. It’s not just her eyes. It’s deeper. Her body understands before her mind can catch up.

This version of my wife doesn’t know him. He wasn’t at the coronation. That could have been on purpose.

“Sandrine,” I say, my voice cutting through her processing.

But she doesn’t look at me. She can’t take her eyes off the man who was paying her father for the reason we’re all about to discover.

A payment or payoff.

Chernov tilts his head slightly, waiting. Not knowing that her memories have been slowly returning.

She just needs a trigger.

All at once her breath catches, sharp and sudden, like she’s been hit in the chest. Her fingers twitch at her sides, curling in on themselves.

“You,” she whispers, the word barely there.

“Yes, it’s me. Tell your husband the truth,” Chernov spits out.

“No.” Her knees buckle. “No, no.”

“Sandrine.” I rush to her without thinking, the distance between us gone in one step.