Page 135 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

“Twenty-seven thousand dollars,” he says, looking around. “I believe that was your total bill for the renovations.”

“Will you shut the fuck up?”

He gives me a tired glance. “Are we still doing this?” he asks. “Yelling at each other instead of just talking? We used to be good at that, you know.”

He’s right. I take a deep breath and resist the urge to break the last vase standing.

“How did you get here so fast?”

“I’ve been here for the last two days,” he replies.

I blink. “What?”

He shrugs. “After you called off the attack, I decided to come back. I figured you wanted me out of your hair. Thought some space would do us both some good. Room to breathe, you know?”

“Matvei…”

“Don’t,” he says at once. “It’s okay.”

The fact that he knows exactly what I was about to say makes me feel even worse for treating him like some lackey over the last few weeks. I doubt he wanted to hear my bastardized attempt at an apology, anyway. We both know I don’t know how to say sorry.

“I’ve been a fucking asshole lately,” I say.

Matvei smiles. “Hey, no arguments there.”

I smirk. And it actually feels good.

“Anyway, enough of that shit. Are you gonna tell me what happened, or do we have to keep talking about our feelings?”

I give him a recap of our visit to the Garden. I tell him about Violet and our subsequent getaway with the files. By the time I’m done, I’m exhausted. I slump onto the chaise and close my eyes.

“I know you didn’t get Theo back,” Matvei says after listening carefully. “But you did manage to accomplish something.”

“That’s not why I’m pissed.”

“No?”

Matvei sits down in the other armchair.

“The files,” I say. “I found something in them. A picture. A picture of Elyssa, specifically. A picture of Elyssa… holding Yuri.”

Each word is agonizing, like they have thorns tearing me open on the way past my lips.

Matvei’s jaw drops open in shock. “So maybe she remembers—”

“She doesn’t fucking remember,” I say bitterly. “She was too young. And you should’ve seen the look in her eyes—like a drugged cow on its way to the slaughterhouse. But it was definitely her in that picture. And it was definitely Yuri.”

“So she worked in the Garden.”

“Yes,” I say with a heavy nod.

“But you already knew that.”

“Somehow, it was different before I knew about Yuri.”

“Because it wasn’t personal,” Matvei points out. “Now, it is.”

“Yeah. Maybe. Fuck.”

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