Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (108)

“Camila.”

I jerk up and meet his eyes. The very same eyes that convinced me that cheating on my fiancé was justified because he didn’t deserve my loyalty.

“You made me believe he didn’t care for me.”

Isaak’s expression is flawlessly impassive. “Is that what you believe?”

“You told me he was using me.”

“And he was.”

“But… it is possible that he fell for me,” I say, glancing at the letter I’d handed back to him. “He was honest in that letter. He admitted that he sought me out for all the wrong reasons, but…”

“He fell in love with you?” Isaak scoffs. His tone carries a biting sting that I cringe away from instinctively. “His love for you outweighs his ambition?”

“Is it so hard to believe that he’s capable of love?” I ask softly.

I hold my breath as I wait for his answer. Because if it’s so out of the realm of possibility that Maxim could have fallen for me… then does the same hold true for Isaak?

He looks me in the eye. “I know the man.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he’s not capable of love.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Are you capable of love, Isaak?”

His eyes flash violently. For a moment, the air in the room seems to evaporate.

Then, in a low growl, he says, “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”





41





Isaak





Cami’s question burns in my head. Are you capable of love?

What a fucking question. Am I? She wants to believe. And she hates herself for wanting that.

That conflict in her is obvious. It ignites in her eyes like bonfires.

Not just one conflict, either. There’s two. Because a part of her also wants to believe that Maxim is sincere. Another part of her wants to hate him. She’s trying to reconcile her feelings for him with her feelings for me.

My cousin and I are at war on multiple battlefields.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” she insists. “I still want to speak to him.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

She stiffens, but it’s clear she’s expected the answer. She turns her face to the window and as she does, I catch her profile. Her nose is small and delicate, her lips are full and pouty, but her eyes are heart-wrenchingly sad.

She looks lost. Confused. Close to being broken.

“He’s not worth it, Camila,” I tell her.

Her green eyes snap to me. “Of course you would say that. He’s your enemy, the man who killed your father. You need me to believe that. You’ve manipulated me into believing it. Or tried to, at least. Just like you’ve manipulated everything else.”

“I haven’t manipulated everything.”

“Haven’t you?” she asks. “I walked into the hall that day ready to marry Alex. And instead, I was forced to marry you. Since that day, I’ve never seen or spoken to Alex.”

“Alex is a fucking fiction,” I snarl. “He doesn’t exist.”

“Don’t you understand?” she whispers. “He does to me.”

The weight of those words falls between us. I’ve underestimated so much, and I’m not used to feeling like I’ve fallen short in some way.

The worry is only fleeting. I’m not about to waste time stewing. Taking control means pushing back the regret of past mistakes and focusing on fixing them when you can. Cowards dwell on the past. Dons burn it to ashes.

“I spent a year and a half of my life with him, Isaak. I let him into my world. I chose him.”

I lean in a little. “You chose a lie. You may as well have picked a character from one of your books.”

She shakes her head in defiance. “I’m not na?ve enough not to believe that. I know he lied to me. I know he manipulated me. I know he used me. But… it’s possible that somewhere in the middle of all that, he fell for me, too.”

It sounds like she’s waiting for me to agree with her.

She’d better be prepared to wait for a fucking century, in that case.

“You read the letter,” I say suddenly. “It’s only fair you hear the rest of it, too.”

Her brows furrow together. “The rest of it?”

“Remember the meeting Maxim and I had? The supposedly peaceful conversation we were meant to share?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I taped it.”

Her eyes go wide. “You taped the whole conversation?”

“Yes,” I reply with a nod. “And I think it’s time you hear what he said.”

She sits there frozen in place when I pull out the tiny recording device that’s been sitting in my pocket this whole time. She eyes it suspiciously.

I fire up the machine and fast forward to about midway through our conversation. It lands right where I want it to.

Camila’ eyes tense when she recognizes Maxim’s voice. “You’re offering me scraps and asking me to be grateful.”

My voice slices in. “That’s just fucking it, isn’t it? I shouldn’t be offering you anything. We are Bratva, Maxim. We don’t wait to be offered. We don’t wait to be given. We take what we want.”