Empire of Sin (Empire #2)(85)

“Hi, Vladimir,” I whisper, unsure.

“Don’t hi me.” He has a thick Russian accent and a glare that can serve as a weapon. “Where have you been?”

That means Kirill and Adrian didn’t tell anyone about my whereabouts. That gives me less to worry about.

“Around.”

“Around isn’t a place.”

“It was nowhere important. Now, can I come in or are you going to keep interrogating me here?”

His lips press together, and I’m sure he has a million other questions he still wants to ask, but even he must realize this isn’t the place to do it.

“Follow me,” he grunts, then turns around without waiting to see if I’ll do as he says.

My feet carry me inside and my heart shrinks as the echo of the metal gate reverberates behind me.

It sounds final, as if I’ve signed some sort of a deal with the devil and will never be able to escape.

The guards fall in behind us as we step into the main building. The shrinking in my chest gets worse when my gaze falls on the giant painting in the entry hall.

A painting that Papa and my dead uncle—the previous Pakhan—put here for every visitor to see.

The clashing of angels and demons in a ferocious battle is depicted in raw detail. If you look closely, you can feel the blood coating your fingers and hear the howls of pain deep in your soul.

It’s an indirect message that lets everyone know what’s waiting for them.

It’s meant to bring assurance to every ally of the Bratva yet terrorize them in case they think of betrayal.

And I see myself in the dark side of the picture, the one that’s shadowed by the lighter color and unable to win.

I’m the slaughtered demon lying on the ground, clutching his chest and choking on blood.

My ominous thoughts are brought to a halt when Vladimir stops in front of the double golden doors of the dining room, where Papa conducts his meetings with the leaders of the brotherhood.

Meetings I were never allowed to attend.

My pulse skyrockets and any semblance of calm shreds into a million pieces. Does this mean Papa will confront me in front of everyone? Adrian and Kirill included?

Shit. I’d hoped to talk to Adrian first, because if he finds out I didn’t abide by his orders, he won’t hesitate to make his threat about Knox a reality.

Before I get the chance to hyperventilate, Vladimir opens the door and I freeze.

Because I’m attacked by a hug out of nowhere.

A warm, soft hug that I’ve known since I was five, when she promised to protect me.

My great-cousin, Uncle’s granddaughter, Rai, pulls back to check me out as if I’m a soldier home from war.

She’s wearing a beige pantsuit and her hair is pulled up in an elegant twist. It’s blonde, too, but it’s a bit darker than mine.

Everything about Rai is darker than me. Whether it’s her childhood or how involved she is in this world.

“Are you okay? Did anyone hurt you? Just give me a name and I will personally make sure they know their place.”

I resist a smile at her overprotectiveness. She’s always acted like my shield against this world, but unfortunately, that was never enough.

“No one hurt me, Rai.”

She focuses on my face for the first time, a frown deepening between her brows. “Then where were you?”

“She willingly left, as she mentioned in that measly note she wrote before disappearing.” The apathy in the older male voice turns my blood to ice.

I stare over Rai’s shoulder and my eyes meet those that are identical to mine.

The same eyes that I considered safe when I first met him.

Sergei Sokolov.

Even though I found his eyes safe that first time we met him at the park, I didn’t want to leave with him, because that meant abandoning my mom.

That same day, however, someone told my stepfather that they saw Mom with a man and he beat her up so badly, I couldn’t remain hiding under the bed anymore.

I rummaged through my pocket for his number and called him. Papa. I begged him for help and he came within half an hour.

It was too late, though.

Because my stepfather had finally managed to beat Mom to death. I’ll never forget the scene I walked in on that night.

Mom’s head was lolled to the side, blood splattered on the table, and her teary eyes stared at nothing.

My stepdad was on his back next to her, a bloody hole lodged between his eyes.

In the midst of the gruesome scene stood Papa, a gun in hand.

When he saw me, he hid the weapon and reached his hand out to me. That time, I didn’t hesitate to take it.

Because I had no one but him. The man who ended the nightmare my stepdad represented, even though it was too late.

That same man is now staring at me with ice-cold eyes that rip through my soul. He’s so much older than back then. His hair has whitened and wrinkles have appeared around his eyes.

But no amount of aging can take the killer out of him. No amount of changes can deny how powerful he is.

The Sokolovs were born to do great things, he told me when I was young, but I don’t think he meant using my skills to steal from the brotherhood.

I slowly walk to him and reach for his hand to kiss the back of it the way everyone is expected to greet the Pakhan, but he turns his face away from me in clear rejection.