Yelena’s chest rises and falls with a breath, but she remains silent.
“Um. . . I’m not. . .” I can’t find the right words. I curl my sweaty hands into fists, resting them on my thighs.
I focus on Tristan’s presence beside me rather than the room full of nosy Russians.
“I don’t normally have any trouble. . . with killing people.”
Yelena messes with her sleeve as she listens.
“I’ve never had to ask for help killing a man.”
We probably wouldn’t be in this position if I had.
Lev takes a step forward. “And why would you ask my wife for help with killing a man?”
Yelena shoots him a look, but he ignores it, coming to stand by her side.
“Why are you asking my wife for help?” Lev asks, and Tristan goes rigid beside me.
I pull a photo out of my hoodie pocket. “Because other than me, your wife is the only person I know who’s ever met a Spider.”
CHAPTER 32
Tristan
I’ve wanted to see Lev get knocked down a peg, but it’s so much more satisfying seeing him, Dimitri, and Boris get thrown for a loop.
This meeting wasn’t my plan. It was all Isolde’s. I’ve known the thoughtful planner had to be spinning ideas around in her mind this whole time. All I can do is support her, and I’m almost okay with the fact that she didn’t give me all the details, since I now get a courtside seat to the Bratva losing their shit.
Dimitri’s head swivels around with the same jumpy frustration I saw the other day at Fujimori’s. Boris is still, and so is Lev, who stares at his wife.
Elijah tilts his head in interest. He’s poured himself a glass of liquor, and he’s eating trail mix. Maxim is impassive, like always. Roma falls somewhere between the two, his curiosity making him straighten next to Ren.
Lev might be staring at his wife, but the true focus in the room is the photo in Isolde’s hand. If it were left to Dimitri, he’d jump for it.
Instead, she reaches her hand out and forces Yelena to take the photograph.
The woman is brittle thin, but her spine remains straight. She’s not wearing her normal uniform, though, her jeans and heels still probably cost thousands.
I see where Max gets his stoic stature because she doesn’t break once. Her pale face doesn’t move as she gazes down at the photo, crossing her arms over her chest. There’s a deep breath, like she acknowledges that she’s looking at a ghost, but other than that, she neither confirms nor denies.
“Yelena?” Lev asks.
“Is that one of the photos we were looking at?” Russet whispers to Isolde. “From the albums.”
Isolde nods, but her attention remains on the older woman.
“Mom?” Roma sits down in a chair beside his mother, studying the photo in her hand. “Who is that?”
Her thumb runs across the picture.
He leans forward. “You look really young. How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Mom,” Roma murmurs. Worry shines on his face as he stares at his mother. “Is that. . . Is he a Spider?”
Yelena’s chest lifts with a deep breath.