Graveside Confessions

**Chapter 6: Graveside Confessions**

Midnight cloaked Pine Grove Cemetery in a suffocating silence. Viktor's shovel bit into the earth with rhythmic fury, his shirt soaked with sweat and old rain. I stood frozen at the foot of my mother's grave, the headstone a ghostly sentinel in the moonlight.

*Margaret Delacroix*

*Beloved Mother, Sister*

*1975–2003*

"Liar," I whispered, tracing the epitaph. Monica had carved the lies herself.

Viktor paused, leaning on the shovel. "Last chance to back out, *malyshka*."

I grabbed the shovel from him. "Move."

The casket emerged at 1:17 a.m., its silver hinges rusted but intact. Viktor pried it open with a crowbar, the screech echoing like a scream.

Empty.

Except for a single envelope, yellowed with age, addressed to *Ashley* in elegant cursive.

My hands trembled as I tore it open.

*My dearest girl,*

*If you're reading this, Monica has won. She poisoned me slowly, whispering lies to your father until he saw her instead of me. But know this—Alfred isn't your biological father. I fell in love with a man named…*

The rest was illegible, ink blurred by what might've been tears.

"No," I choked. "This can't be—"

Viktor snatched the letter, his face draining of color as he read. "*Blyad.*"

"What? What is it?"

He stared at me, something like grief in his eyes. "The name she tried to write. It's *Dmitri Volkov.*"

"Who's that?"

"My brother."

The world tilted. *His brother. My father.* The truth hung between us, sharp as a guillotine.

Viktor staggered back, raking a hand through his hair. "Dmitri died in the same fire that killed Lena. Monica must've… *Christ.* She orchestrated it all."

I crumpled to my knees, bile rising in my throat. "Are you saying we're… *family*?"

"No." He hauled me up, grip brutal. "Dmitri and I shared no blood. He was Bratva—my *pakhan.* My brother in arms." His thumb brushed my cheek, softer now. "But if he's your father…"

A branch snapped in the dark.

Viktor spun, shoving me behind him as three Bratva enforcers emerged from the shadows, their leader grinning like a wolf.

"*Viktor Andreyevich*," the man crooned. "The boss wants his niece back."

Chaos erupted. Viktor threw a knife into the leader's throat before hurling me over his shoulder. Bullets peppered the ground as he sprinted toward the cemetery gates, our breath ragged in unison.

"Put me down!" I shouted.

"Not a chance, *printsessa*."

The pet name—*princess*—stung. Was that all I was to him now? A duty? A debt to his dead brother?

We reached the truck, but Viktor froze at the driver's door. A photo was nailed to the window with a butcher knife: Lena's sunflower dress stained with ash, a Bratva brand burned into the corner.

*Come home, traitor,* the note read. *Or the girl burns next.*

Viktor drove like a man possessed, his silence scalding. I clutched the letter, my mind racing.

"You knew," I said finally. "You knew Dmitri was my father."

"I suspected."

"And you didn't *tell me*?"

He slammed the brakes, the truck skidding onto a dirt road. "What good would it have done? You're still you. I'm still me. This changes *nothing*."

"It changes *everything*!" I shouted, tears blurring my vision. "You've been protecting me because of some… some *guilt* over your brother, not because—"

"Not because *what*?" He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. "Say it."

I couldn't.

We holed up in an abandoned chapel, its shattered stained glass casting kaleidoscope shadows over Viktor as he cleaned his guns. I watched him from the pews, exhaustion and anger warring in my chest.

"Why did you kiss me?" The question escaped before I could stop it.

He didn't look up. "Why did you let me?"

"You're avoiding."

"You're deflecting."

I stormed over, snatching the gun from his hands. "Stop treating me like a child! I deserve the truth!"

In one fluid motion, he pinned me against the altar, his body a cage of heat and rage. "The truth?" he growled. "I kissed you because I'm *terrified* of how much I want you. Because every time you look at me, I forget I'm a monster. Because if I let myself love you, it'll destroy us both."

His lips crashed against mine, desperate and raw. I kissed back just as fiercely, nails digging into his shoulders, the gun forgotten on the floor.

A phone buzzed in his pocket.

We broke apart, gasping. The screen displayed a single word: *Lena.*

Viktor answered, his voice trembling. "*Kto eto?*"

A woman's laugh slithered through the speaker—*Monica.* "Miss me, darling?"