Page 69

“That’s a lot of hate you carry around with you, brother,” Irina says softly. And this time, the sadness that darkens her eyes is real.
“Well, it’s a sad day when your family conspires against you,” I point out.
“I never conspired against you,” Irina denies.
“No?” I take a sip of vodka. “Let me continue. While I was worried about you and Gavriil adopting, the two of you were seeing your fertility doctor, getting ready to have a baby.”
The color drains from her face. I see it. She knows she’s been caught.
“So while I was worried about Gavriil's mistress stressing you out and coming between the two of you, you got Tara to be your surrogate.” I watch her. “Just to ensure, in case you were being followed, the day of the egg implantation, you set the stage to look like Tara and Gavriil were spending the night together.”
Irina’s eyes just narrow, and she doesn’t say anything. “You don’t drink vodka anymore?” I look at her untouched drink.
“I don’t drink alcohol anymore. It ages you.” Irina doesn't even look at the glass.
“Very well then. Let me get to the best part of the story,” I say. “You needed Tara out of sight before her stomach started to show, and you needed her to leave in a way that wouldn’t raise suspicion.” My eyes hold hers, and she doesn’t flinch. “What better way than to get your brother to drive her out of town. Then, when she gave birth, you arranged to look like you had adopted an unwanted pregnancy.” I salute her. “You adopt your own flesh and blood. Flesh and blood that, as an adopted Mirochin, had no obligations to them or our family. Being adopted, it would not inherit the Russian and European side of the Mirochin Bratva.” I salute her with my vodka. “Tell me, what were you going to tell the child when it found its adoption papers?”
“That its father was a lout. Arrogant and…” She closes her eyes and swallows before looking at me. “Yes. Fine. I did it. But you left me no choice.” She rises. “You’re obsessed with the Dragunov-Mirochin heir like it’s some fucking Holy Grail. And you’ll rip it from anyone’s hands to get it.”
“I am trying to get us back what’s rightfully ours!”
“And using a baby. An innocent baby.” Irina laughs bitterly. “You sound just like Boris Mirochin.”
“Don’t you dare?—”
“Oh, I dare. Someone has to say it without fear of landing up in the Dragunov version of Siberia.” Her eyes heat with anger, and she throws another jab at me for exiling Nadia to the village. “You’re becoming the very man you loathed.”
“I’m nothing like that evil man.” I seethe.
“No, you’re worse,” Irina throws at me. “At least Boris Mirochin owned who he was. You wrap it up in the guise of this big noble cause to raise the Dragunov Legacy from the ashes.” Her lip curls in disgust. “But it’s nothing more than a cover for your hatred and revenge against the Mirochins.”
“It’s retribution,” I hiss.
“Always the attorney,” Irina accuses. “Cloak the truth with a noble bow and ride it all the way to justice on your high horse.” Her fists clench. “One man’s truth is another man’s lies. Isn’t that what grandfather always said?”
“Grandfather was weak. He thought things could be done in peace and with a handshake,” I sneer. “The Mirochins don’t know the meaning of peace.”
“That’s not true,” Irina’s voice drops. “You want revenge so badly, you’re willing to destroy lives. Even if you get your heir, then what? Moscow? Europe? What do you do with them?”
“I rebuild what they stole. Dragunov Territory, and rebuild the legacy so our people can once again prosper without the constant threat of Mirochin retaliation. Or getting caught up in another brutal Mirochin family feud.”
“That generation of Mirochins is gone,” Irina points out. “It was not Oleksi or Gavriil that killed our father or…” She swallows. Her voice lowers. “Or Alisa and Eva.” The names slice through me even after nearly thirteen years. “There are better ways,” she says. “But blood is all you know.”
My eyes bore into her. She stands looking at me like she has all the answers. But she doesn't, and I think it's time for some hard, cold truths. Irina wants to play this game. I’ve shielded her from the truth for too long now.
“Why do you think Gavriil was the Mirochin who married you?” I ask, my voice neutral.
“He volunteered for the marriage for the sake of the Mirochin and Dragunov alliance,” Irina answers.
“Oh, little sister, you think you’re the only one who can manipulate?”
Irina blinks. “Gavriil volunteered,” she insists.
“No. I chose him.” I feel the lick of the searing burn flicker as I unlock the door to one of the most painful days of my life. “Because he was the one who killed Alisa. And Eva.”
She staggers like I slapped her.
“You’re lying.”