Page 58 of Beautifully Deranged

And then… there’s Mikhail.

Silent. Still. Eyes flat but burning. He doesn’t want me here.

Too bad. I’m not leaving.

I pull the cover off, and Sergei whistles. “Holy shit,” he mutters, walking closer. “It’s fucking perfect.”

Roman’s eyes don’t blink. He just drinks it in. “Accurate,” he finally mutters.

“Accurate?” Sergei scoffs. “This shit’s criminal. Are you sure you’re not some undercover art thief, sweetheart?”

I feel Mikhail tense beside me. His stare goes lethal. “Don’t,” he growls.

Sergei throws his hands up. “Easy big guy. Just giving your girl credit.”

Roman chuckles, and Sergei keeps going. “If we’d used her from the start, would’ve saved us a ton of trouble.”

I bite down on my lip to keep the smile at bay. Jesus, even the iciest bitch has a soft spot for compliments.

Sergei turns to me. “Hell, next time you need a job done, it’s on the house. You’re family now.”

Roman nods, still watching me. “You’ve got our backing.”

Twisted heat comes off Mikhail. He fucking hates this. Hates that they’re praising me. That I’ve walked into his world and held my ground. That they know things about me he doesn’t. Ice snakes down my throat. They know about what I did. About what I am. They know the part of me Mikhail’s still blind to. Are they going to out me? Rip it all open before I get to say it?

“Enough.” Mikhail grabs my wrist. “We’re leaving.”

He drags me through the warehouse, down a hallway, into a small room with metal walls and a steel door that slams shut behind us. He pins me there. His hands frame my face, too soft for how furious he looks. “Tell me.”

I raise my chin. “Tell you what?”

“I’m done waiting. I’m done being in the dark. They know more about you than I do, and I’m fucking sick of it.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It is. I’ve been patient. I let you hide things. I thought you’d let me in when you were ready. But no more. I’m not gonna be the last one who knows you.”

My pulse is wrecked. “You want the truth?” I whisper.

His arms slam the wall beside my head. “I want all of it.”

My skin buzzes. My palms sweat.

“I was sixteen,” I start, “when my mom got sick. One week she was up, making breakfast, laughing, painting. A few weeks later, she couldn’t move. It was cancer. Fast. Ugly.”

He watches me like he already knows what’s coming but needs to hear it anyway.

“My father?” I shake my head. “He was fucking someone else. While she was dying. Didn’t even bother hiding it anymore. He brought the woman into our house. Into their bed. She wore my mom’s jewelry. Sat in her seat at dinner. He couldn’t wait to erase her.”

I press my palms to my arms. “I hated him. Hated her more.”

“And?”

“I did something.” My voice drops. “I hired Sergei.”

There’s a beat of stillness.

“This was before the Bratva. Before anyone knew who he was. I found him when I was messing around on the dark web.”

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