Maria
A tear streams down my face as I stare at Anton’s coffin, surrounded by white fragrant lilies at the front of the church. He was treasured, and his passing will be remembered by neither anonymous burial nor a quick disposal of his body.
The old priest gives the eulogy in an ancient church tucked away on a side street in Manhattan. The attendees are few. People like Zhanna will not come to a funeral for a guard, no matter his loyalty and devotion.
But Anton meant the world to me and everyone here in attendance.
The pain is raw and leaves a wound that will be hard to heal. My heart aches with the hole of his absence, our friendship stolen by my father’s insane vendetta. I choke back a sob, forcing myself to breathe and focus on what will happen next. For Anton, for the Bratva, and for myself.
Mikhail holds my hand firmly as the priest leads us in prayer.
I wipe away my tears and stand to leave, feeling a sense of purpose. It’s time to put an end to this senseless feud. And to do that, I need to convince Mikhail to let me meet with Zakhar.
Mikhail pauses to speak to a few of his men outside the church while Gunsyn and Alexander pause on the sidewalk to chat with some guards. I keep my distance, not wanting to be near those two. Balling my fists, I close my eyes and examine my feelings. It’s not fear that makes me avoid them.
No, the tightening in my chest is anger, hate, and a desire for suffering.
I am angry at those men for not caring about their actions, and I hate myself for not treating them the way I should. Why isn’t my father going after them instead?
And for that, I find myself wishing that all of them might suffer for their indifference.
Alexander’s distinctive laugh catches my attention. “Genovesi is definitely a spy.”
That bastard. My feet take me over to him before I can think it through. “Don’t you dare spread any more lies. Not here. Not now.”
His mouth tightens. “I intend no disrespect.” He glances at the small group surrounding him, guards I’ve never met before and only know in passing. “We should be more sensitive when women are near. Lest their bodies dictate their thoughts.”
“Don’t forget that my child will dictate your fates one day.” I soften my tone. “And don’t forget your allegiance to your pakhan or his hatred for traitors.”
Alexander eyes me cruelly-his snake-like eyes dare me to speak, as if he is eager to put me in my place. But he doesn’t utter a word, and soon I realize why when Mikhail places his hand on my shoulder.
“Anton would not want petty squabbling at his funeral. He had a high esteem for Maria Zakharovna,” his voice is firm. “And the funeral director needs the pallbearers.”
Alexander nods to Mikhail but ignores me as the men disperse. A part of me wishes I was married to Mikhail.
If nothing else, so that I might share his power.
When Mikhail and I arrive home, the penthouse is eerily quiet, as if the entire place is empty, but the staff is always around. Instantly, my gaze goes to the spiral stairs, and another feeling of guilt drives into me. Mercy has been unusually quiet, and I can tell by her cross looks that she feels betrayed by me. She expected to leave the wedding for home and won’t accept my reasons for Mikhail keeping her here.
I don’t blame her.
Unlike me, there isn’t a Prince Charming who’ll storm the tower to rescue her.
I’m her only hope.
Mikhail tugs at his tie as he enters his office, and I approach the open door. I brace myself for the confrontation we’re about to have. It won’t be easy to sway him, but I must say something. I have to try again. Mikhail turns to look at me, and his searing gaze makes my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth.
“Maria,” Mikhail’s voice is stern. “She has to stay here.”
“That I understand.” I shake my head at the misunderstanding. “But we can’t continue like this and lose someone else … It has to stop. I have to meet with Zakhar.”
“I know you want to save your father,” he speaks cautiously. “But he’s too dangerous. Unhinged. No one can reason with him, including you.” Mikhail looks me in the eye. “I’m sorry, Maria, but I can’t allow this.”
“I’m not trying to save my father.” I sit down on the couch, and when I look up, I notice the painting is gone. Nothing is in its place, and not seeing it makes me feel sick, as if I’ve lost something else significant.
“Zakhar will never change,” I continue. “But I don’t want to feel this way again because of what he has done. Anton’s death can’t be another name on an endlessly growing list of casualties. Who will he kill next?” I stare hard at Mikhail as my voice rises. “Maybe he doesn’t want to kill you. Maybe he wants to kill us all to make you suffer.”
Mikhail’s eyes darken, and the truth of what I said penetrates his mind. “I want this vendetta to be over, but I won’t risk you to do it. Or our child.”
“Please, Mikhail.” I can’t keep the desperation out of my voice. “I need to do this. I must talk to Zakhar … to my father. Give me a chance to make things right.”
He stops in his tracks, bewildered by my words. “Make it right? Maria, you are the last person to blame for any of this.”
My breath picks up, but I have to do it. I’m no longer the little girl in the tower, and I have to take responsibility if I want his respect. Mikhail may be angry, but I can’t wither before his anger anymore.
I have to be strong. I have to lead if I want to end this feud.
I can’t hide behind mistakes and watch quietly as they turn into lies.