Satin Princess(86)

“How?” he breathes.

“Simple,” I say. “She faked her own death and pinned it on me.”

“But… but Rodion didn’t know she was alive.”

“That’s because she didn’t tell him,” I say. “She didn’t tell anyone.”

Yaromir shakes his head. “You buried her. You had a funeral for her.”

I glance at Yulian. My brother shifts on his feet uncomfortably, but his expression remains confident. Never exhibit weakness in front of an enemy or an ally. It was a core part of our training.

“That was a fake,” I explain irritably. “A decoy.”

Yaromir nods uncertainly. “Okay, so you buried some nameless woman, believing she was Marina Ivanov. How did you find out that the real Marina was still alive?”

“Because she tried to kill my woman and the mother of my child,” I drawl. I’m getting tired of explaining every little detail to this moron.

“The same woman you were seen with at the dinner you hosted for my uncle?”

I frown. Word traveled fast. No wonder Rodion was so agitated that night. “The same one.”

“And she’s pregnant,” Yaromir infers.

“She very nearly wasn’t,” I growl. “Thanks to your cousin.”

Yaromir’s face flushes with color as he realizes the gravity of this meeting. “If you think I had any idea she was alive—”

“Calm down, Yaromir,” I say before the man can tilt into panic. “I believe you.”

He sighs. “Good. Because I would never align myself with that fucking bitch.” His tone is so severe that I know there’s a story there. It’s the first time I’ve seen him exhibit such decisive hate. Matter of fact, it’s the first time I’ve seen him exhibit decisiveness of any kind.

“Something tells me that you’ve seen Marina at her worst.”

“We were cousins,” he says in a hoarse whisper. “Growing up, she used to torture me. And I’m not exaggerating when I say that. I have the scars to prove it.”

“Again, I believe you.”

“I’m assuming you wanted to talk to ensure that you would have my support in cornering Marina?”

Maybe I was wrong about Yaromir. There is a straightforwardness about him that I can use. He’s no don, but he’ll be a useful tool. And loyalty isn’t the worst thing to have in an ally.

“Exactly.”

“You have it,” he says at once.

Yulian raises his eyebrows. “Some would question why you would turn against your own flesh and blood in favor of the Stepanov Bratva."

“The Ivanovs’ alliance with the Stepanovs goes back decades,” Yaromir points out. “I’m merely carrying on a long-standing history.”

“Marina certainly won’t be in favor of that,” Yulian argues, playing devil’s advocate.

“Then fuck her.”

I smile. “I might have underestimated you, Yaromir. But you do realize that the woman is poised for a takeover, don't you? She’s going to want to take back what she feels is rightfully hers.”

“Women can’t lead a Bratva. The men won’t follow her.”

“That doesn’t mean she won’t try.”

“I’ll be ready for her,” Yaromir says, the bite of determination clear in his tone.

“Good. Because I expect she'll try and make contact with you soon.”

Yulian glances at me. “Why do you assume that?”

“She’s been on the run for a few weeks now. And she made an attempt on Jessa by rigging up an explosion. There’s no way Marina would choose such a detached way of murder if she had the choice. She likes to see her victims’ faces when she kills them.”

Yaromir shudders visibly.

“She’s running out of options,” I continue, “which means she’s either losing her support system or she’s running out of resources. You have both, Yaromir.”

“It’s a risky plan, even for her,” Yulian warns.

“Marina is nothing if not bold. Now, head back to the car, I’ll meet you there.”

Yulian fixes me with a questioning look.

“I want to speak to Yaromir alone.”

Yulian gives me a reluctant nod and heads back. I know he won’t like me sending him to the car like some errant child. But I’m not sure that Yaromir will talk freely in Yulian’s presence.

Yaromir waves off the two men standing at his back. They retreat as well, leaving the two of us standing in the thick of heat beside the dilapidated train shed.

“I didn’t realize you had a history with Marina.”

“Not so much as we got older,” he says. “By the time we were teenagers, I tried everything in my power to stay clear of her.”

“What did she do, Yaromir?”

His eyes go blank for a moment, as though he’s trying to ward off a memory he doesn’t want to remember. But when he focuses his eyes on me, I can see the pain he’s still carrying around with him.

“She got off on other people’s pain. She liked watching people suffer. She found a door into the basement and she used to sneak down there to watch her father torture and maim. That started when she was about six. And it became a habit. A weird, twisted kink. She said it made her feel alive.”