Page 189 of Blood & Snow
The apartment greets us with warmth and the scent of baking bread.
Children's artwork covers the refrigerator, family photographs line the walls, and the tree I sent still dominates the living room with its ornaments and gifts piled high.
Nothing much has changed since that day I slipped in without anyone knowing, and it feels like a warm comforting home.
"Anya, Mikhail, go to your room," Irina orders.
"Adults need to talk."
"But Mama?—"
"Now."
The children retreat reluctantly, casting curious glances over their shoulders as they disappear down the hallway.
Irina waits until their door closes before turning her full attention on me.
"Start talking."
Nadya opens her mouth with wide eyes and a crinkled forehead.
She's preparing to confess everything—the crime scenes, the murders, my organization.
The truth that will shatter her family's innocence and possibly end with police involvement neither of us can afford.
So I step forward, placing myself between Irina's anger and Nadya's guilt.
"I'm the wealthy man who has been spoiling your sister," I say in a steady tone, and I place one hand in the small of Nadya's back while I smile at her warmly.
"The one responsible for the tree, the gifts, the expensive clothes she's been wearing."
Irina's eyes narrow on me before she flicks a glance at Nadya, whose cheeks are bright red with embarrassment… or perhaps shame.
"And who are you, exactly?"
"A businessman. Import-export operations throughout Eastern Europe. I stay at the Metropol frequently when conducting business in Moscow."
My ability to lie has always frightened me.
Even as a boy, I could swindle an old woman out of her inheritance.
But in this case, it's being used for good, not evil.
"Nadya cleaned my suite two months ago. We started talking, and I found myself drawn to her intelligence and beauty."
"So you started buying her things," Irina says in a flat tone, narrowing her eyes on her sister.
I'm not sure what lies Nadya made up to cover for my foolishness, but they'll come out eventually.
"I started courting her," I correct.
"Perhaps too aggressively. When you grow up with money, you forget that expensive gifts can feel threatening rather than romantic."
Nadya watches me with wide eyes, understanding dawning as she realizes the story I'm constructing.
A story her sister can accept, can believe, can live with.
"The night we argued," Nadya says, picking up the thread I've laid out, "I went to meet Xander.
