I remember Dmitry driving around the city the night I left my father’s shop with him. He left envelopes with women. All of the women seemed so happy to see him, so grateful, and I couldn’t understand it at the time.
The man nods. “Rurik said it made Dmitry weak, but now … ”
His voice trails off, and I can see the regret swirling around his head like a physical cloud.
“It’s not too late,” I whisper. “You can help him. You can go back.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t. Not ever. I betrayed my Bratva.”
“Dmitry could forgive you. I’ll tell him what you told me. I’ll help you—”
Suddenly, the man spins towards me, knife held out, and I yelp, thinking he means to hurt me.
Then, the ropes around my wrists loosen.
I lift my hands and roll my wrists as he drops to one knee to cut my ankles.
Wh
