Page 56 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

She didn’t want me.

Jessica, I’m here. They’re still calling her that. Why?

Because they still want to hide her from me. Anger settles under my skin all over again.

“Hey, Jess. Look at me,” Lourdes murmurs, her voice soft but firm.

They’ve done this before. I need to watch and learn.

Holding Sandrine’s hands, Lourdes whispers, “Breathe with me, okay? Go slow, as we practiced. In and out.”

Sandrine resists at first, holding back tears. But Lourdes doesn’t waver. She shows strength and steady patience. Watching them breaks my heart.

“Where is her medication?” Lourdes asks through strained teeth, not looking up at me.

“I—” Guilt catches in my throat. “I don’t know.”

I abducted my wife and didn’t ask about medication. The reality of how my actions have affected Sandrine settles over me in a way it didn’t before. God, I’m scum.

Drago puts a hand on my shoulder. “Pakhan,” he says, already pulling out his phone. “We’ll get her medication records from Marlowe. Whatever she’s on, we’ll have it here within the hour.”

Within the hour.

And yet, it feels like too long.

Ares pulls me into the corner by my suit jacket lapel. His expression hard, bordering on disdain. “Do you see what you did?”

I don’t answer.

“She needs to rest,” Lourdes says, hugging her sister.

“You know where her bedroom is.” I point, keeping my anger in check. “I’ll bring in her meds when they arrive. It’s only been since yesterday!”

Lourdes walks away, holding Sandrine, who doesn’t even look at me.

Ares doesn’t follow his wife. He stares at me like he wants to rip my head from my body and doesn’t want his wife to see all the blood.

I divert the situation. “Follow me, Zervas.”

“Kirill, you owe me some answers.”

“This is my house. That is my wife. You are a guest. When I tell you to⁠—”

“You’re right.” He lowers his head. “Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.” I hike back through the maze of hallways to the kitchen.

Violet sits at the island, kneeling on a stool. With a small apron tied around her waist, she watches Nadia place a tray of cookies onto the cooling rack. The faint, sweet scent of sugar and butter hangs in the air.

With flour on her hands and a smudge of it on her cheek, she looks up the moment we enter.

“Daddy,” she says, bright again, as if the last five minutes didn’t happen. “I’m making cookies for the sad lady.”

Ares stops beside me. The shift in his demeanor is so immediate, it’s almost jarring.

“Daddy? Who is that?” he asks, low and curious.

“That’s my daughter,” I answer, the words coming easily despite everything else. “Sandrine’s daughter.”