Forced By the Ruthless Bratva Beast (Tarasov Bratva #3)

Chapter 23 – Roman

I hadn't fully digested the idea that I was going to be a father sooner than I expected. I'd think about that later, but for now, something else occupied my thoughts.

Her words still lingered on the fringes of my mind, infusing me with doubt. I'd tried to the best of my ability to push back the possibility of her claims, but I couldn't.

Clearly, she was wrong. There was no way that Uncle Ivan was behind the murder of her parents.

But why would she lie?

Why would she jeopardize her life if she wasn't so sure?

Julia knew how much I idolized and respected my uncle; she knew I wouldn't take it lightly if she spoke ill against him. Yet, she risked everything to say what she did.

Was she trying to turn me against Uncle Ivan?

Was this still a part of her evil plan to take me down?

A family divided against itself would not stand—maybe that was her agenda: to divide us. It didn't make much sense to me. Nothing did.

I cupped my face in my palms, leaning back in my chair as I waited for Boris's arrival. With each passing second, my patience wore thin as I anticipated what he was able to find.

Just to prove to her and myself that Uncle Ivan wasn't guilty of this crime, I'd had Boris do a little digging. It was his thing, and he always returned with answers when sent on strands like this.

I was certain that Julia was playing me, and when I had proof of her lies, it'd be her brother who'd suffer the consequences. I'd make her watch as I tortured him bit by bit—not too much, but enough to keep him alive.

That would teach her not to mess with the Tarasov family. I owned her now. Her life, her body, and her mind were all mine, and the sooner she understood that, the better for her.

There was a faint voice in my head, urging me to recall the look in her eyes when she told her truth. I tried to drown it, but it wouldn't quit until I did, her face flashing in my head.

Beyond the tears in her eyes that day, there was a beam of conviction within their depths. She was certain of what she said; she believed it in her bones.

Despite this, though, Julia had proven to be such a good actress and a brilliant liar. For all I knew, she could have been lying, just as she'd been from the very beginning.

I couldn't trust any word that came out of her poisonous mouth. How could I trust a woman who tricked me for months? A woman who outsmarted me once and toiled with my emotions? I wouldn't let her fool me again.

Julia would do anything to bring down my family, and this was one of her schemes.

It had to be.

Right?

My fingers dug into my temple in a massaging motion as the inner struggle continued—my heart against my brain.

As cold and stoney as my heart was, it was of the notion that there was a possibility of truth in Julia's claims.

My brain, on the other hand, had a lot of calculations to make, lots of analyses on how this could be one of Julia's plots.

The two sides had constantly been at war since the day I found her in Bigfork, Montana.

A knock on the door cut through my thoughts, capturing my eyes in time to see Boris walking in, his boots clicking on the floor.

I sat upright, adjusting my coat as I watched him halt before my desk.

“Evening, Boss,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Did you find anything?” I asked.

Boris tucked his hand in his pocket and withdrew a USB drive. “Went through a lot of trouble to get this.” He passed it across the table. “It contains a comprehensive list of all of Uncle Ivan's successful kills.”

I edged closer, reaching out to accept it. “Did you go through it?”

He shook his head, placing the drive in my palm. “You don't really believe her, do you?” he questioned, locking his gaze on me.

I inserted the drive into my laptop and raised my head. “No, I don't.”

“Even if he did—which I know he didn't—his actions benefited the Bratva,” Boris said, arms across his chest.

“It’s not a question of whether he did it or not; I just wanna be sure that he didn't break the rules and lie about it,” I replied, navigating through the contents of the drive, my eyes narrowing on the flickering screen before me.

“So, you do believe her, then,” he said, his tone sounding more like a statement than a question.

Deep down, there was a part of me that wanted to believe her, but I couldn't risk it. I couldn't risk her disappointing me a second time.

He didn't do it. Uncle Ivan was innocent of this particular crime.

I just needed to prove it to myself and uproot this seed of doubt she'd planted in my head.

There were so many names on that file, so many folders to check, to go through. It took me some time, and just when I was about to give up, my eyes settled on a folder labeled “The Grays.”

My brows furrowed, my chest slowly heaving as I dared to open the folder just to confirm, even though every name on this drive was his victim.

On the first click, photos of Anthony and Margret Gray's lifeless bodies, lying in the pools of their own blood, were plastered all over my screen.

With bated breath, I stared at the evidence right in front of me, eyes widened at this shocking revelation.

A wave of disappointment washed over me as I sank into my chair, a palm swiping over my face. I was struggling with this ugly truth despite seeing it for myself.

The photos were sent from Jorah as proof of a job well done.

“Shit,” Boris whispered.

With my reaction, he didn't need anyone telling him what I'd just found out.

Uncle Ivan had lied to me—he was the reason Julia embarked on her revenge mission in the first place.

He’d broken the rules; the Bratva had a strict policy about killing women—especially innocent women like Margret, who I had no beef with.

Fuck!

Julia was right.

Uncle Ivan knew that she was only out for revenge, yet he wanted me to kill her even though I'd decided to torture her first.

Killing her would've covered his tracks, and I never would've found this out.

I was still trying to process how messed up this was when my eyes caught a file labeled “Emily Clarkson.”

“No,” I muttered, feeling my stomach turn as I leaned closer, my gaze fixed on the name.

The scowl on my face deepened, my jaw tightening as I opened the file. It had no photos of her, but the write-up was about Jorah neutralizing the threat.

Threat? I raged, my fingers balling into fists. Emily was no threat; she was my lover, and for eighteen years, I'd lived with the false fact that she was killed by an enemy.

Why, Uncle?

My chest expanded as my initial disappointment transformed into a blazing fury.

Losing Emily was the worst thing that had happened to me; her death had been the pivot point that anchored me to this path of ruthlessness. I lost my emotions and ability to feel compassion the day I lost her.

The fact that the man I idolized the most in this world was the one behind all of these atrocities made my skin crawl.

All that hurt, pain, and anger from eighteen years ago came rushing back to the surface, threatening to rip my mind apart.

My jaw tightened, as did my fists, and a wave of rage washed over me, prompting me to drill a punch into the laptop screen.

I jerked my head up, trying to steady my breathing. “Get the car ready, Boris. We're going to pay Uncle Ivan a visit.”