Page 114 of Cruel Juliet

His eyes narrow. “I’d hope not.”

“Relax. I wasn’t looking into you.It was just a happy coincidence.”

“Happy, huh?”

“Or useful.” I shrug. “My wife asked me to find her sister. While I was looking into her, I found the connection.”

Misha’s fingers drum on the mattress. A habit of his, I’ve noticed. Whenever he’s thinking, the drumming starts. “Well, that’s a fucked-up coincidence.”

“Yeah,” I say flatly. “She was eighteen when they married. He was, what, sixty?”

“Closer to seventy,” Misha mutters.

“I take it you didn’t show up at the wedding.”

“Fuck, no. You think I ever approved of that shit?” He rubs his temples. “I sent a card and the ugliest flowers I could find. Plus a bottle for the missus. Figured she’d need to drown her sorrows. Had no idea who she even was.”

He walks to his liquor cabinet and pours us both a glass of Macallan 25, then sits back down.

I accept the glass. “What can you tell me about Timur?”

“That he’s always been a parasite. Power, money, control—that’s all he cares about. And of course, pretty girls young enough to be his granddaughters.” He says that last part with deep disgust. I can’t disagree.

“I’m not here to argue morality,” I say. “Fuck knows we aren’t saints, either.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“I just need to know if she’s safe. If she’s alive. And if she wants out.”

Misha tilts his head. “Why not find out yourself? You’ve got the means. If you asked for a meeting, Timur wouldn’t dare spurn you. Not when you control half the city by yourself.”

“Because I can’t get close without putting her in danger,” I tell him. “If Volkov even suspects what I’m looking for, he’ll tighten the leash. He knows I’m at war with the Danilos. That alone will connect me to his wife, even if he has no idea who mine is.”

He studies me for a moment, eyes narrowed. “Which means you want me to reach out to him, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.” I don’t bother to sugarcoat it. “You still have contacts in that circle. I’d appreciate some intel. Whatever you can find out.”

He huffs out a slow breath, rubs his jaw. “We’ve never been close, Petyr. He’s my half-brother by blood, nothing more.”

“Blood matters to men like us.”

“He’s not a man like us. He’s barely a man.” His face clouds over. “He’s a fucking monster.”

I don’t take his words lightly. Most people would call us monsters. If Misha’s using that word to describe someone else, a man he shares blood with, then he damn well means it.

But I’m not walking out of here with a no. It’s out of the question. Finding the connection between Misha and Timur was a stroke of luck, and I’m not about to let it go to waste.

He’ll help me. Because I saved his life, and he owes me.

That kind of debt drowns out all else.

Misha seems to come to the same conclusion. His shoulders slump. He sighs, low and deep. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

“You’re asking a hell of a lot more than that, friend.”

He gives me a long look, but there’s no resentment in it. In fact, I’d say he’s a little amused. He must not come across demands like this often. In his corner of the world,he’sthe one who makes the demands.