Page 58 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

Well, that’s not entirely true. He’ll meet the same end no matter what he does.

There’s a knock on the door, but before I can answer, Matvei pushes it open and enters. Again, his expression is impassive, but I know him well enough to know that he’s concerned.

“He’s in the basement cell?” I ask.

“Tied up like a Thanksgiving turkey,” Matvei replies with a curt nod. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“Has he come to?”

“He tried. I put him back to sleep. Should be out for another hour or two.”

I smirk as Matvei steps up to the wall beside me. But I can tell he’s not really looking at it. He’s looking at me.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” he inquires.

“What’s to talk about?” I ask. “We’ve been through this before. First thing tomorrow morning, I start the interrogation.”

Matvei turns to me with one arched eyebrow. “Obsessing about Astra Tyrannis isn’t going to make them disappear, you know.”

I rub my temples. “I don’t have the fucking time for this.”

“By ‘this,’ I assume you’re referring to your son?” Matvei asks innocently.

I walk back to my desk. I sit down and focus on Murray’s file, but I’m not seeing anything other than Elyssa’s face. Theo’s face.

I’ve dreamed about her for months.

And then out of nowhere, here she is. With my son in her arms.

I shudder. This is a fucking disaster.

Matvei walks over to the desk and sits down in one of the chairs opposite me. “Is it true?”

“It could be.”

“Define ‘could.’” I crane my head back to look above. The ceiling overhead is ornate and spotlessly clean. My housekeeper deserves a raise.

“Does this by any chance have something to do with the night of the botched meeting with Ozol?” Matvei asks shrewdly.

Of course he’s figured it out. Fucker is sharp.

I nod grimly. “That’s the night I met her.”

“So she’s the one,” Matvei murmurs. “I always wondered what happened. You never told me you slept with her.”

“Because it should never have happened,” I retort with a growl, wrenching my gaze back down to meet Matvei’s. “I was reeling from the disappointment of letting Ozol slip through my fingers. And there she was… in a fucking wedding dress with blood caked under her fingernails.”

“Jesus. Gruesome.”

I shake my head, remembering that night. “There was just something about her. She looked at me like…” I trail off, realizing that I’m speaking out loud now.

“Like what?” Matvei presses.

“She looked at me like she needed saving.”

The acknowledgement is heavier than I intended it. And it’s more telling once the words are out there in the ether.

I couldn’t save my wife or my son. So I’ve tried to save every other innocent soul who’s crossed my path.

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