Page 74 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

He looks stone cold sober. And yet a comment like that forces me to question his state of mind.

My house is in order. I’m certain I can trust every single person under my roof. Wait—I stop short on the heels of that thought, realizing that it’s not entirely true.

I can trust every single person under my roof—except for the two women who are currently occupying one of my guest rooms.

A part of me still thinks it’s unlikely. That no one who looks at me the way Elyssa does can possibly be working for my enemies.

But I’d be a fool to dismiss it outright. She can’t be trusted. I have to remind myself of that.

“Phoenix?”

I turn towards the door. Matvei is standing there with Konstantin and Alexi. I gesture them forward.

“What are you going to do with me?” Vitya asks. “Kill me?”

It irritates me that he thinks that. “Of course not. I’m not going to hurt you, Vitya. I’m just trying to help you.”

“My daughter swallowed your lies,” he hisses. “I won’t be so foolish.”

What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? I stand there silently as he’s untethered from the chair and marched across the room. He doesn’t go quietly. He sends accusations and insults flying in a stream of rapid Russian.

And I just stand there and listen. Swallowing every single one.

* * *

I’m walking back to the office when I notice a receding shadow on the staircase. I recognize the delicate silhouette instantly.

“Elyssa.”

She re-emerges hesitantly, her expression composed but nervous. As she bends forward a little, a tumble of blonde hair falls across her shoulder.

And I’m hit with strange fluttering of déjà vu.

The night I’d met her, her hair had fallen in the exact same way when I’d grabbed her by the hips and set her on the bathroom counter…

Right before I’d fucked a baby into her.

“Where’s the baby?” I ask, shaking my head to dislodge the memory.

She takes two steps down the stairs. “His name is Theo, for your information.”

I grit my teeth. “Is he okay?”

She looks like she wants to yell at me for something, but at the last moment, I see the fight leave her eyes. She’s clearly not comfortable with confrontation.

“Yes,” she says instead. “He’s sleeping. Charity’s with him.”

“And why aren’t you with him?”

“Because I wanted to make sure everything was alright,” she murmurs, taking another step down towards me.

I stand still and watch her. She’s so frail. So vulnerable. I want to believe there’s no way she could be working against me.

Don’t listen to that voice,I snarl to myself.Don’t fucking trust her.

“Who was he?” she asks timidly. “The man in the window, I mean.”

“No one that concerns you.” My tone shuts down any further questions, which was exactly my intention.

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