I clench my jaw. Petra’s face is a mask of heartbreak, hurt and confusion swirling together in the pools of her eyes.
But is that all it is? A mask?
Just then, my phone rings.
“Ignore it,” she growls. “Look at me, Matvey. Tell me I heard wrong. Tell me that Yuri didn’t…” She swallows a sob.
Fucking hell. If she’s acting, she’s doing a damn good job of it.
If she’s not, I can’t tell her what she wants to hear.
So I pick up the phone. “You have five seconds to tell me who you are, how you got this number, and why I shouldn’t have you killed,” I snarl.
“Only five seconds for all that?”
The voice on the other side of the line hits me like a sucker punch.
It can’t be. It’s not possible.
But it is. Because there’s no one else that voice could possibly belong to. “April,” I rasp. “You’r
