“It has to be.” His fingers intertwine with mine. “I won’t have our child grow up as I did—learning to handle a gun before learning to ride a bike. Watching men beg for their lives at my father’s feet. That’s no way to live.”
The conviction in his voice is unmistakable. This isn’t a hastily concocted excuse to placate his horrified wife. This is something he’s thought about, planned for, is actively working toward.
“The man just now, Igor,” I say carefully. “You didn’t kill him.”
“No.” His thumb rubs at the heel of my hand. “I showed mercy. For his children. For his years of service. He acted out of desperation, not malice.”
I lean back against the cushions. “I don’t know if I can live with this,” I admit quietly. “With knowing what happens behind closed doors. How am I supposed to smi
