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“I do now,” Alexei says before I can answer. “Vera raised Misha alone because she thought staying away from me would keep him safe.”
Rudenko’s mouth twists. “And now she hides under Volkov protection.”
Alexei turns to him. “She’s under my protection. She shares my bed, and she’ll have my name if she wants it.”
Belov’s smile fades.
Alexei takes another step, ignoring the guards as their hands move toward their weapons.
“You found no shame here,” he says, looking at Belov. “You forged a debt against a surgeon, murdered her friend, burned her home, and tried to use my son as a leash.”
Belov sets down Misha’s photograph. “You’ve just proved everything I told them. A woman and a hidden heir have compromised you.”
“No,” Alexei says, holding his gaze. “You betrayed your Pakhan, murdered a captain, and ordered men to fire on a Volkov child because you couldn’t defeat Maksim openly.”
Tarasov rises.
Chernov reaches behind his back. Rudenko pulls his pistol halfway free.
Belov draws first. The guard behind me grips my hair and jerks my head back as Belov comes around the table and presses his gun beneath my jaw.
Alexei stops.
Belov looks at him across my shoulder. “If they matter so much, prove it.”
The guard forces me onto my knees while Belov keeps the gun beneath my jaw. With his free hand, Belov points to the floor in front of Alexei.
“Kneel for them both.”
32
ALEXEI
Belov keeps one arm locked across Vera’s chest and the pistol beneath her jaw. He nods toward the floor in front of me.
“Kneel for them both.”
Her wrists are bound, one shoulder hangs lower than the other, and dried blood marks the side of her face. Her eyes shine with tears, but they stay fixed on me. The guard behind her has one hand twisted in her hair. His holster strap hangs loose near her elbow.
“Take the gun away from her,” I say, keeping my hands where every guard can see them.
Belov presses the muzzle higher. “Kneel.”
Vera holds my gaze. “Don’t.”
The guard jerks her hair, but she doesn’t look away.
“You came here for her,” Belov says, watching me. “One knee is a small price.”
“You’ll shoot her after I pay it.”
“Then you should make yourself useful before she dies.”
Chernov smiles near the table, while Rudenko keeps his pistol halfway out of his jacket. Zaitsev remains seated beside Kozlov, whose thumb has stopped moving over his silver ring. Tarasov stands at the end of the wall with his guard behind him.
All three are watching Belov’s gun.
I shift my weight off my left leg. The stretcher struck it during the crash, and the struggle to free myself reopened the incision beneath my shirt. The dressing is wet, and every breath pulls at the wound. I need minutes, but Vera may have seconds.
