Page 69 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

“What did he look like?”

“I don’t know. Older. Receding hairline. He looked… desperate,” she says. Then she adds, “And sad.”

I frown. No one matching that description comes to mind.

That’s when I hear a commotion from the next room. The sound of fists on glass.

“That’s him!” Elyssa gasps. “I know it.” Her trembling is worse than ever. I can see the baby’s chubby cheeks shaking with her terrified motion.

Leaving Elyssa where she is, I run into the next room just in time to catch a glimpse of the mystery man’s profile darting past the windows.

So Elyssa hadn’t imagined him after all.

I glance back at her over my shoulder. “Go back to your room and wait there. Now!”

I don’t stick around to see if she listens or not. I take off after the man, wondering how the fuck anyone has managed to breach my walls. Bursting out into the garden, I see his silhouette racing towards the shrubbery.

“Ostanovis' pryamo tam!”I roar. “Stop right there!”

Caught by the sound of my voice, the man freezes. Turns. And as the predawn glow illuminates his face, I realize something: I know him.

“What the fuck?” I say out loud. “Vitya?”

His eyes go wide, but I register the same desperation that Elyssa mentioned. Coming to his senses, he tries to duck away.

But he’s an old man. Certainly not fast enough to escape me. I catch up to him in no time and grab him by the collar, dragging him away from the hydrangea bushes. I don’t care if I choke him half to death in the process, either.

I expected a fight. But the moment I grab hold of him, he stops struggling. Just a limp fish, helpless on the line.

He coughs and sputters as I haul him backwards. When he’s far from any avenue of escape, I drop his dead weight on the grass and stand over him.

“Blya radi,Vitya,” I growl. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

My father-in-law looks weathered. He’s aged about a hundred years since I last saw him. There are dark circles under his eyes, a patchy beard, and his skin sags in all the places he’s lost weight.

It nearly takes me to my knees.

Will I ever escape the guilt? It seems not. It hits me at every fucking angle, reminding me of why I have never been able to rest these last few years.

Vitya looks at me through narrowed eyes. I can tell he’s scared. But there’s a manic look in his eyes that overtakes the fear. The kind of mania that says he’s cast all reason to the wind.

He’s given up. Let the grief consume him.

“I had to come,” he rasps. “I had to tell them all about you…”

“Tell who all?” I ask in a low, menacing voice. “About what?”

I’ve known Vitya for many years. At one point, he’d welcomed me into his family and embraced me as his son. He used to look at me with deference. With affection.

Now, all that is gone. He’s a shell of a man. And all that’s left in his eyes is anger, contempt, and accusation.

“About you,” Vitya says again.

He’s unsteady on his feet, bobbing from side to side as though he can’t stand still. He looks drunk. On vodka, maybe, or perhaps just on misery.

“They deserve to know who you are.” His words slur.

“Vitya,svekor,” I say gently, “you’re not well…”

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