Page 56 of Vengeful King

When I ran with Vasiliev across the bridge, it didn’t cross my mind that he’d do anything. I’d thought of him as a suspect the same as anyone else, but I didn’t imagine he would try to kill me.

And then he’d turned with a gun in his hand, and I’d reacted.

“I heard it. That’s what gave him away,” I say, remembering. “He had a flask in his coat pocket. It clinked against the gun. I heard it, saw the gleam, reacted. It was close.”

“Jesus.”

“I blocked him with one arm, shot him with the other hand. I didn’t think. It happened fast, and then he staggered back. He went off the bridge.”

That wasn’t exactly right, was it? Hehadstaggered back. I shot him. But when he got close enough to the railing, I pressed the barrel of the gun to his chest and watched him tip over.

There was a part of me at that moment that didn’t care about family or rules. I only cared that the man had tried to kill me, and I wasn’t going to stand for that. I didn’t care if his death wasn’t what we’d usually do. I didn’t care to try to nurse him, take him back for interrogation.

I all but shoved him off the bridge, and now he’s back.

“I left him for dead,” I say lowly. “Clearly, he survived.”

I still don’t know how it’s possible. That far up, bleeding out, I can’t see how Vasiliev made it. But the more I think about it, the more I have to write it off as pure fucking luck. Vasiliev was nothing if not persistent.

The implications of his return are massive. It means he survived, and since he’s trying to kill me, he remembers. It’s pure spite that’s driving him. I never stole anything from him—except his life.

Vasiliev was in the business long enough to know how grudges in the mafia work. He knew that he was in the wrong; he broke his tie when he tried to kill me. He tried to steal from the family. Even if he’d succeeded, he’d be persona non grata for the O’Reilly organization. And the other families wouldn’t trust him for what he did.

Maybe the fall drove him off the deep end. Maybe all he cares about now is retribution.But is someone else bankrolling him?

I have to figure out why Vasiliev is back, what he’s been doing all this time, and why he chose now to try to take me out.

“It’s time to check in with the Kozlovs,” I say. I don’t know why I’m still telling Katrina this, but it feels good and concrete to say it aloud. “They’re a Russian mafia family in Boston. They tend to keep an eye on their people, and on any other Russian interference.”

If they knew Vasiliev was back and didn’t tell me, that would be bad. More so than a problem, it would be annoying. It would, quite frankly, piss me off. I don’t have time for betrayal right now.

I need to know if the Kozlovs are involved or working with Yuri at all, and what they might know even if they aren’t.

There’s a chance they’d protect Vasiliev over helping me. He’s Russian, after all, and the ties of a nation are strong. But he’s been out of the picture for years, so maybe he doesn’t have connections. Still, the uncertainty is there, especially since I know the Assembly members aren’t happy with my family.

They think we’re too powerful. Maybe this is them taking action.

I don’t like the implications of Vasiliev being alive. But I know that no matter what happens, I killed him once. I can do it again.

I pull up to the house and unlock the front door. Katrina is silent when she follows, but I can feel something tenuous in the air between us. It’s like a guitar string that was plucked and is still vibrating, still sending ripples through the air.

I barely set foot in the living room before I hear her sob once, a rough, gut-wrenching sound. When I turn to look at her, the back of her hand is pressed to her mouth. Her brow is furrowed as she stares at the floor, obviously trying to hold herself together.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her break down. She was falling apart when I got information from her, but that was different. This is true crushing despair. I’ve seen it.

I know she doesn’t want to be involved in this. I know she probably just wants to go home—but I also know that’s not possible, likely the same way she knows it.

Even if I didn’t need her to figure this out, she’d be unsafe every moment of every day. Vasiliev knows who she is. He probably wouldn’t hesitate to tie up a loose end if he decides he was too lenient on her before.

I don’t know why it matters, but I can’t stop myself from stepping toward her. I reach out and hold her chin, turn her face up toward me. Her gray eyes are cloudy when they find me.

“Breathe,” I command.

She doesn’t speak. I can hear her unsteady gasping start to deepen, matching my pace. Her eyes are locked on mine.

Suddenly, there’s heat flaring between us. I can feel the fire spreading through me, almost burning where my hand is touching her skin. I’m aware of her body so completely that I forget about how we got here, what we were doing in the first place.

All I can think about is how fucking gorgeous she is. She’s looking at me with her gray eyes, her full lips parted, a flush on her cheeks.

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