Mikhail
A solemn Maria looks past them toward the spiral stairs. Then, she turns and walks toward the window, staring at the reflection of her ruined gown. Beautiful, but at the same time melancholic … like a dream destroyed.
“Maria.” I speak gently as I close the office door. “Mercy must stay here.”
She turns to face me. “I agree, Mikhail. And probably for the same reasons. The Bratvas will blame the Lanzzare, even though they weren’t involved. And the only way to keep things from escalating will depend on my cousin being here. I’m not the naive girl you saved all those months ago, remember?”
I glance over at Pavel, who shoots me a surprised look. I conceal my emotions behind an indifferent mask. I had expected an argument-Maria pleading for her cousin’s release and using herself as an example of what could go wrong. But she’s right.
She’s not the naive girl I saved all those months ago.
I’m about to dismiss Pavel when Maria speaks first. “I’m going to check on Mercy. And someone needs to warn the people at the bar immediately, just in case. I don’t want anyone else to die because of this.” Maria lowers her head, maybe to conceal a tear, and leaves the room as Rurik enters.
A part of me hopes it’s a mistake that Anton is dead. But he’s gone and won’t be following Pavel or Rurik into my office anymore. I conceal my grief behind a rude scowl as I shut the door and pull out the burner phone that Bianchi gave Maria from my desk. In a fluid motion, I toss it to Pavel.
Bianchi’s smug grin replays in my mind. You never know when you’ll need to make a call … or take one.
“Call the petukh,” I order him. “And if the Lanzzare don’t already know about it, warn them.”
Rurik pulls a hand over his grimy face as he sits down. He reaches for a journal and flips it open. “What are you really going to do with the girl?” he asks.
“She will be treated as a guest, but she is still a hostage.” I reach for the vodka and place three glasses down on the table. “Vito Genovesi will talk as long as his daughter is my guest.”
Rurik’s stoic gaze transitions into a smug smile. “Was that the plan all along?”
I meet his gaze but don’t answer the question, which means yes. Mercy Genovesi was always going to be my guest, if only to stop the Lanzzare attacks while I hunted Zakhar down.
At least Zakhar was kind enough to help speed this process along, even if he did so inadvertently.
“She won’t have the same freedoms her cousin did,” I emphasize. “She will have two personal guards and be watched at all times. She’s not naive like …” I pause, reminding myself that Maria is not naive anymore.
Rurik and Pavel bow and leave the office. Alone, I sit on the couch in front of the painting of the single chrysanthemum. The day’s events have put me on edge, and my body vibrates even as I sit still. The frustration of not taking that shot turns into a suffocating regret that strangles me.
Failure latches onto hurt and anger, and doing nothing isn’t a solution.
But it’s too late. I put my head in my hands, mourning Anton and blocking the thought that it could have been Maria that I have to bury.
Maria. And my child.
My fist slams down on the coffee table and sends the stack of journals cascading across the table. This was not how thingswere supposed to go today. I was supposed to be happy, finally. Or at least satisfied with the life I’ve chosen.
But I didn’t choose this life. I was born into it and cannot exist any other way.
This was never supposed to be my burden to bear, Desmier. It was supposed to be yours.
I slouch against the couch, the anger seeping out as I stare at the painted flower. My obsession with collecting beauty taunts me. Just when I think I’ve found the one perfect thing, the universe conspires to make that beauty into something different.
But Maria is not a possession. She’s human like the rest of us, and people change. I’ve ruined her innocence-I’ve ruined her, and in the process, us.
Mercy is right. You learned quick.
Maybe I was wrong to chase after happiness. Maybe it’s a warning to stay on the destructive path where I belong. My gaze rests on the journal with the missing pages. I pick it up, hold it tightly until my nails turn white, and play back the suspicious look Alexander gave Gunsyn.
A look of shock and surprise like they had been caught. I’m suddenly reminded of Rurik’s offhand comments when we first found the journals and my own response.
I wonder why Gennady ripped out the pages.
Or if he’s the one who did it.
Sighing, I take the journal and lock it away.
Whatever answers are hiding in its missing pages will have to wait.