Mikhail
The elevator doors open, and we arrive back at the penthouse intact. Not what I expected from meeting with a Lanzzare, but life has been unpredictable since Maria arrived. We step off the elevator, holding hands, ready to spend time alone in our bedroom after the uneasy meeting. But our delusion of a peaceful home ends quickly as Mercy’s muffled shouts pierce through the door of a staff closet, a string of shouted obscenities that would make a sailor blush.
Pavel sits in a folding chair, blocking the door, and his stern gaze focuses on me. “She tried to make off with your laptop, but I caught her,” he explains. “This one is good with locks.”
Maria’s gaze flicks to the closet, then back to me. Her expression is unreadable, but she doesn’t object, silently agreeing with Pavel’s actions. The wheels turn in her head as she processes everything that has happened-her thoughts challenge what she thinks is right and wrong.
“Ask Dominika to take her back to her room,” she says, and I nod my approval.
Pavel looks skeptical as he takes his phone out of his jeans pocket. He taps the screen, looking relieved that Dominika will have to deal with our rowdy houseguest.
“Let’s talk.” I guide Maria into my office, closing the door behind us.
“I don’t like treating her that way,” she says, frowning at nothing. “But it might be necessary.” Away from her uncle and Pavel, Maria lowers her guard and lets her true emotions out. And so do I.
“Your uncle is right. You’ve changed, Maria,” I reply. “I hate what the Bratva has done to you- your innocence, it’s disappearing.”
Ignoring me, she changes the subject. “It went well, the meeting, I mean.”
I chuckle. “You mean no one was shot.”
Maria winces slightly, and I’m quickly reminded of Anton’s death. She lost her mother too early to remember what separation feels like. Unfortunately, I experience it on a regular basis and have become locked away from my grief. She walks over to the slightly open drawer in the bookshelf where I keep my laptop and frowns at the straightened paperclip lying on the floor.
“We can still find a way to make a truce with the Lanzzare, can’t we?” she says. “Uncle Vito offered you a property.”
I refrain from laughing, though I smirk. “Truce? For a worthless property that was once my father’s?” I scoff bitterly. “We have to remain on guard always. The hate won’t be forgotten quickly, even if Zakhar absolves them.”
Maria looks at me, her gold hazel eyes searching for a sign of hope. I know she wants to believe that there is some inside me, but hatred will always remain deep beneath the surface. Scratch it hard enough, and the venom will spew out again.
It’s not just her innocence that’s been lost.
She looks away and sits down heavily on the couch. Her faith in the possibility of a new future is slowly dying as the feud lumbers on.
“Love will have to be enough,” she murmurs, pretending she hasn’t changed. “It has to be.”
“Love can be a powerful thing.” I sit beside her and take her hand. “But it can also be dangerous. Your very existence is proof of that, especially when it’s tainted by revenge.” My jaw tightens at the memory of how Zakhar nearly ended our lives at the altar so he could avenge his own loss. “Zakhar has let revenge impair his reason.”
“And you haven’t?” she asks softly.
She’s right, but I cannot bear to admit it to her.
“I have to protect us from his madness,” I tell her instead. “I have to give the kill order, Maria.”
“Will you hunt him until he’s dead?”
“Not if he goes underground again and remains there.” I lean back on the couch, pulling her into my arms. “But I’m afraid he won’t give us what we want.” I place my hand on her belly, determined to reassure my child that nothing bad will ever happen to it.
The city lights gradually blink on at dusk and cast shadows into the room that seem to darken our souls. It’s impossible to ward the shadows away. I know they won’t let me forget them. I can’t help but notice the change in Maria, the way her eyes are alert, as if she also senses the darkness closing in.
“Is there really no hope for a truce, Mikhail?” She lifts her head to look me in the eye. “Can’t we find a way to end this without losing another life?”
I kiss her forehead and avoid giving her a brutal answer. The truth is I’m not certain if I want a truce. Desmier’s death hardened my compassion. It made me the man my father wanted me to become. My thirst for revenge is an all-consuming blaze of hate as devastating as Zakhar’s. The only thing that stops it is Maria-and realizing that Zakhar and I are one and the same is a frightening thought.
A truce is a fragile thing, but death is lasting. And it’s easier to get.
Mercy’s shouts travel through the thick doors and gradually fade as she’s led away. Some brave soul has released the Kraken and is taking her back upstairs.
“Family can change a person,” Maria answers our thoughts out loud. “It can bring out the worst in us.”
“Or the best,” I counter, thinking about our baby growing inside her. “But when it comes to the Lanzzare, I don’t know if a truce can exist. Not after everything that’s happened.”
“Maybe we can find Mercy a Bratva husband.” She smirks at her bad joke. “Maybe two marriages will do what one can’t.”
Pavel’s voice carries through the thick door. A string of Russian that I’m thankful Maria cannot understand, followed by a shriek from Mercy. And a flood of footsteps up the spiral stairs.
Despite the chaos, I need these talks with Maria. But I watch her forehead furrow in distress, and I realize that the greatest threat to our love might not be the Bratva or the Mafia-it might be me.
“Will our love suffer, Mikhail?” The question hangs in the air. “When the danger is gone?”
“Love has a way of surviving,” I reply, and my words sound hollow. “But that doesn’t mean it won’t be tested.”
She sighs, shaking her head. “There’s a certain appeal to danger. Does danger make me seem more appealing?”
I hold her tighter. “You think I’ll go mad if I can’t race out of here with guns blazing, shooting up Manhattan chasing after you, is that it?”
Maria squirms a little. “I can’t picture you in Holtsville. Obviously, it drove my father slowly mad.”
I laugh, pressing my lips against her cheek, and Maria leans into my kiss. “I admit it,” I reply. “My obsession for revenge consumed me until I found a reason to give it up. But it scares me to think about how it could hurt you.”
As our lips meet, I feel the first spark of hope ignite within me-a longing that Maria won’t let go of.
“Mikhail, your obsession is no different from my father’s.” Maria speaks the thoughts I’ve been thinking aloud. “The desire for revenge nearly ended our baby’s life. Are you thinking about the consequences if it continues?”
Once again, her words punch me in the gut. I found Maria, and her love calms me, but her father lost Maria, and now, he’s going mad. I can’t say I’m nothing like her father because the truth continues to dare me to acknowledge it.
Tears well up in Maria’s eyes, but she doesn’t hide her pain. “You’re not him, Mikhail. You’ve proved it. The baby has changed you.”
“And you have too,” I whisper against her ear. “I promise I won’t turn into Zakhar.”
As our fingers intertwine, I feel that spark of hope again, but it’s fragile. It needs to be nurtured and protected like our love.
“Maria,” I swallow hard. “I don’t want to be the reason for more pain in your life. I love you, and I don’t want to lose you because of my demons. I can’t expect you to love a madman unconditionally.”
Our confessions leave us vulnerable but somehow connected more than before. The weight of our lies could’ve broken us apart, but this time, it leads to understanding. I understand her better now.
“Mikhail,” she says. “I still want to marry you. More than ever, actually. I want to be your wife, to be by your side through everything-the good and the bad. To love you until the end of our days.”
My heart swells with relief and then is soothed by love. “Maria, I want our marriage. What are you thinking?”
“I want to see my parents’ old home in Long Island.”
I nod. “If that is what you want, we will go there.”