Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (82)

The man lying on it is big and bloodied. Big enough that the frame groans underneath his weight, and injured badly enough that I can’t make out his face from here. I’m about to go running to it, but Nikita grabs my arm and pulls me back.

More Bratva men pop down the wheels of the gurney and start wheeling it towards the entrance of the house.

It’s coming closer. A crazy thought occurs to me: what if I could just pause the moment here? Torn between the desire to look away, to be ignorant, and the desire to know if it’s Isaak who’s dying on that gurney. I’d never have to know. I’d never have to feel. I’d never have to learn what I would suffer if I’m here to watch the final beat of his heart.

But then the gurney passes right in front of where we’re standing.

I catch a flash of fair hair. Pale coloring. Huge hands.

“Oh God,” I breathe. “Lachlan.”

I feel sorrow, but it only comes after. After the instant pang of relief that gets buried under a shit-ton of guilt.

“Hurry,” someone snarls.

My eyes snap up. I know that voice.

When I catch sight of Isaak, I feel a pull that terrifies me to my core. I have to fight the urge to go to him. Because really, at the end of the day, I have no right to.

He’s not mine.

Bogdan, who’d been amongst the men wheeling the gurney up to the mansion, sighs and stops. Everything and everyone grinds to a halt.

“I’m sorry, Isaak,” Bogdan sighs. “He… he’s already gone.”

Isaak’s expression turns from dark to black. A man like him can’t process grief in the same way a normal person would. I would turn to grief and wallow in the pain.

But all I see on his face is the promise of death.





32





Camila





It’s been twenty-four hours and I haven’t even caught a glimpse of him.

I know he’s here, though. I can sense him. Twice yesterday, I could have sworn he was close by, watching me. But the moment I turned around, there was nothing there but a line of portraits staring unseeingly back at me.

I’ve walked around the garden a hundred times now. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the motive is to run into Isaak. It might be foolish, but I feel like I can sense him out here. That he’s somewhere—

“What are you doing here?”

I whirl around as my heartrate ratchets up instantly. “Isaak.”

“What are you doing here?” he asks again.

I gulp, uncertain as to why I’m so nervous right now. “I… I just needed a walk.”

“Bullshit,” he growls, walking around the water fountain towards me.

His sky blue eyes are roiling and dark. A barely-contained storm unravelling slowly. I should want to get out of the way, but fool that I am, I stand my ground.

“You were looking for me.”

Denial is the easiest route, but I decide not to go there. Not today.

“Fine. I was looking for you.”

His jaw hardens. I’m starting to wonder if his black mood has more to do with me than it does with Lachlan’s death. He’s certainly looking at me as though that’s the case.

“Why?” The lone word snaps like a whip.

“I… I just wanted to say how sorry I am,” I say shakily.

“About what?”

I frown. “About Lachlan, of course. I didn’t really know him all that well. But he seemed like a nice guy.”

Isaak snorts. “A nice guy… yeah.”

“Why is that funny?”

“You didn’t know him at all.”

“I just said that,” I remind him. “But the few interactions we did have, he was nice to me.”

“I wouldn’t flatter yourself about that.”

Jesus. Whatever I was expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. Isaak’s always been aggressive, abrasive, argumentative. But this? This is different. It’s bitter in a way that makes my chest ache.

I ought to leave. He’s looking for a reason to lash out. And I’m giving him exactly that. If I stay here, it will worsen. Escalate.

But I stand my ground.

Maybe because I’m stubborn. Maybe because I’m stupid. Or maybe because I recognize that underneath all that dark anger is a man who’s grieving his best friend.

“I’m not flattering myself about anything,” I tell him calmly. “All I’m saying is that when I was at a low point, Lachlan stepped in and reminded me that I deserved to enjoy myself. In whatever way I could.”

“Is that right?” Isaak asks mockingly, as though he has zero interest in the conversation we shared. “That must have made you feel so very special.”

“Not special. Just… seen. And given that I’ve felt like a fish out of water my entire life, it was nice to speak to someone who understood.”

“Aren’t you lucky?” he seethes. “To have so many men be so willing to listen. To want to understand you. Truly spoiled for choice.”

I take a deep breath. I’m not sure how long I can resist my own anger, but for the moment I dig down deep to access the last reserves of my patience.

He wants a fight. I’m sure as hell going to try not to give him one.