Page 208 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

As far as they know, there’s no security breach—because the spy was always inside the house.

I’d fucking invited her in.

Then I smell it—blood, rich and tangy. I walk around the desk.

The baby is nowhere to be seen.

But her body is there, sprawled on the floor, hands stretched out as though she’s trying to catch someone’s attention. Her eyes are glazed over, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. The bullet in her chest has caused her to bleed out onto my carpets. The stain is crusted dry.

By my guess, she’s been dead for at least half an hour.

I walk forward and stand over Charity’s cold corpse. She doesn’t look like a spy.

But then again, isn’t that the whole fucking point?

43

Elyssa

The Kovalyov Mansion

“We’re here.”

I open my eyes and look out at the mansion. Is it right to call it home? I don’t really know what that word means anymore.

Vlad turns and looks at me over his shoulder. His sunglasses are off now. Those gray eyes are seeing things in me that I’m afraid to see in myself.

“I don’t like to ask people about themselves,” he begins in a gruff rumble, “but I’m gonna make an exception just this once. Are you okay?”

I take a deep, shuddering breath that doesn’t really help. “I honestly don’t know.”

He nods slowly like that’s a good enough answer, even though it’s a little ridiculous.

It’s funny how intense situations can compress time. I feel like I’ve known Vlad for a lifetime, despite having said maybe two dozen words to him ever.

I think back over the last year and realize that’s true of all my new relationships. They’re like diamonds—horrible things squeezed by intensity into something beautiful and rare. There’s something weird about that, and also something perfectly normal.

It’s not weird to be craving Charity’s comfort—she’s the one who saved me from tumbling over the edge, after all. My first friend in the real world.

It’s not weird to miss my son, either. He’s my baby boy. The silver lining to the darkest cloud I’ve ever faced.

What’s weird is longing for Phoenix.

It’s not just my body that craves the proximity of his. I want to see his face, speak to him, be as close to him as he’ll allow.

I want him to kiss me so I know I’m safe.

I want him to touch me so I know I’m loved.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Vlad asks, wrenching me back to the present. “Back there?”

I weigh my answer. “I suppose in one sense, I got exactly what I expected.”

He nods again. “Nothing quite like going home to break your heart, eh?”

I blink and look at him in a new light. For some reason, it’s strange to think of him as having parents or a home. Men like him—brutal, gruff men, rough around the edges—seem like they ought to just spring from the ground fully-formed.

But he did have parents, and a home, and a childhood, and dreams of what his life might one day become. I wonder if he’s happy. I wonder if he’s ever even asked himself that question—Am I happy? Did I do the right thing?

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