83

Anatoli
I make my way upstairs to my bedroom with a heavy heart.
Avrora’s sobs filled me the moment I turned the corner to get up the stairs.
We’ve been back for the last two days, and her tears haven’t ceased. I don’t expect them to. What Avrora has been through is beyond anything I could have imagined. Or expected.
I’ve been with her all day, but I had a quick errand to run that took about an hour. It was already nightfall when I left, and she was asleep. I’d hoped she would continue to sleep because she hasn’t in days.
I keep asking myself what I actually expected from that trip but come up with a blank every time.
Truthfully, in my heart, if I’d known that trip to L. A. was going to destroy my wife the way it has, I would never have gone.
I would have sailed her across the globe and hidden her away from the certain pain, devastation, and despair.
Regardless to the answers we received, and the mystery solved regarding the Butyrskayas, I never would have traded that for her demise and this living nightmare she now lives in.
As of last night, we now know with certainty that she is Mischa Butyrskaya. We had a DNA test done on the bones to confirm everything, and it checked out. The people in the grave were the Butyrskayas, and Avrora is their long-lost daughter.
All that confirmation, yet we still don’t have the full story as Uther remains at large.
If I had to guess, my assumption would be he took Avrora because something happened to his daughter. There is no record of anything, but there has to be.
And that begs the question of what happened to the real Avrora.
Uther inserted my girl into his daughter’s life, and no one knew the difference. I imagine they must have looked identical. I’ve seen pictures, and I can’t even tell the difference. Uther’s wife had the same white-blonde hair and blue eyes Avrora has.
That accident Avrora had would have helped Uther’s plan massively because she lost her memories. Not to mention that the Galitzes were gone a lot for years before the shit went down.
Children’s features also change so much during that time of their life. A seven-year-old can look very different at ten years old. When you can get your hands on someone with a slight resemblance, what you have there is a solid plan and a doppelganger to make sure you still have access to a billion-dollar oil company when the daughter you stole comes of age.
Just one time I wish I could have been wrong about Uther, but I’ve always been right.
I push the door open and my gaze falls on Avrora on the bed. She looks like a doll lying there in the center. Her tiny shoulders wrack with her sobs that are louder in here and deepen the ache in my heart for her.
She’s frail. That’s not surprising either. She hasn’t eaten since we found the grave, and whenever she’s tried to drink water or juice, it doesn’t stay down.
She’s a mess, and I don’t know what to do with her to fix it.
I walk around to her side so she can see me, and at least she reaches for my hand.
I sit on the bed, pick her up, and lie back down with her resting against my chest.
I stroke her hair, loving the feel of the silky strands between my fingertips.
“It’s going to be okay. You will be okay.” I whisper the words in her ear.
She clings to my shirt and lifts her head to stare at me. “I just feel so awful, Anatoli. I keep trying to remember my family, but I can’t remember anything beyond that night. Nothing at all but horror and death.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” I stroke her cheeks. “I’d like for you to see a doctor. Just for the shock.”
That’s the only thing I could think of that might help.
“I don’t know if that will help me.”
“I’m sure it will. You’ve been through a lot, and that will weaken you for a while.”
“Okay, I’ll go.” She sniffles and dries her tears. “Anatoli, I’m supposed to see Mira on Sunday. I think I’d still like to see her. She was the only person who was able to help me after my accident. We arranged to meet because she wanted to help me work through my nightmares. I think seeing her would help me now. If only to see her. She’s basically the only mother figure I have left who understands me.”
I sigh, trying to hold back my disapproval of that idea. Mira is a nice person who genuinely seems to have Avrora’s best interest at heart. They have a special bond I never wanted to interfere with. But she’s Mikhail’s mother. That’s not going to change any time soon.
When I last spoke to her, she mentioned allowing Avrora to have her support. This is the time when I should be considerate of that, no matter who it is.
“Please, Anatoli.” Avrora’s voice is small and meek, like a child’s.
“Of course, that will be okay.”
“Thank you so much. I also want to tell her what happened. She told me the other day that she knew something was off, but my parents never acknowledged it. She said my mother, my … other mother, always looked like she was hiding something when she mentioned it. Now I know why.”
“I’ll speak to Mira, so when you see her, you guys can just talk.” I want to keep those who know the truth down to a minimum for the moment.
“Thank you so much.”
I’m only agreeing to tell Mira because she’s going to be helping Avrora, and I’ve also told Zakh, Malik, and Aleksander.
He had to know because the situation has escalated to a crime the Knights will have to deal with. My saving grace now is that Avrora is not only my wife, but she’s also a Butyrskaya.
The fact that days have passed and there’s been no sign of Uther meant I needed more eyes and the resources that only the Knights can give me.
I’m hoping like fuck we find that bastard soon. He has far too much to answer for to enjoy freedom even for one day. Now I regret not killing him when I had the chance.
I could have done it at the wedding, but I didn’t think blowing his brains out in front of his daughter would go down well.
“What’s going to happen now? How do I move forward?” she mumbles, resting her head on my chest again.
“Together, baby. We move forward together.”
“I’m so glad I have you.”
“And I you.”
“Anatoli, can you tell me more about them? My family. I mean from what you remember.”
“Yes, of course I can.” I would have offered before, but I didn’t want to make her feel worse. It’s different if she asks me.
“Your… mom loved Sundays. She used to bake these amazing cakes. I’d eat a ton before dinner and always get in trouble, bust she didn’t mind.”
She tries to smile. “Tell me more.”
I do. When her breathing slows, I know she’s drifted off. Just so I don’t wake her, I decide to stay where I am and fall asleep, too.