Page 93 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

Kirill

The thought of Sandrine’s mouth sits hot in my chest as I head down the stone path toward my idling SUV where Drago waits for me.

When I reach him, he says, “I heard back from my contact in Vegas.”

“And?”

“Nico Scava has been seen around the city with that brunette.” He clears his throat. “Including his hotel.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Is this really my problem?”

“She’s your wife’s cousin.”

“We’re already tied to the Greeks now!” I grumble. When there’s no response, I see Drago’s thinking face. “What?”

“Have you told Sandrine about what happened to her father?”

“No.” I shake my head. “She’s not ready to hear that.”

“She might hear it from someone else eventually.”

I’m about to argue when shouting cuts into my brain from across the courtyard.

My father wanders from the office wing in nothing but striped silk pajamas and slippers. He storms across the courtyard, toward the rear property, high drifts of snow soaking through his hems. His silver hair is disheveled, his face mottled red with fury.

“The garden!” he bellows at no one. “Look what they did to my fucking garden!”

Sandrine and Violet’s footprints and snow angels are everywhere. Evidence of joy that my father sees as a crime scene.

Two guards stand nearby, terrified to touch him. Even now. Even half-dead and out of his mind.

I march through the snowfall to the winter playground my wife and my daughter made.

“Papa!” I yank off my coat and stride toward him. “What the fuck are you doing out here?”

He jerks wildly toward me. “You did this. You brought her here. And now they ruined it,” he snarls, gesturing violently at the snow.

I drape the coat over his shoulders even though he fights me. I’ve not touched him in months. Fuck, maybe years. His body feels frighteningly thin beneath the silk pajamas. Bony. Like death already has its hands around his throat.

Good…

“Drago,” I bark.

My enforcer immediately moves toward the path, expression hardening when he sees what I’m dealing with.

Together, we walk Papa back into the mansion. The guards lower their heads as we pass through the entrance that leads straight to the north wing. None of them meet Yuri’s eyes.

Even like this, they still fear him. By the time we get him upstairs, my father is wheezing and coughing blood into his fist.

I shove the bedroom door open, furious that it’s empty. “Where is the fucking nurse?”

Drago shrugs. “A break, maybe? She’s entitled to one. He’s not left this room in months.”

I ease my father down onto the mattress harder than I probably should. He glares at me from beneath watery, bloodshot eyes.

“You ruined it all,” he mutters.

Drago disappears down the hall, probably looking for the nurse before I fire her.