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“Galina,” I say.
She doesn’t look at me. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask, moving toward her.
Her chin tips to her chest. “I didn’t realize how dangerous mercy could be.”
Hair shrouds her cheeks from how she lowers her head, speaking to the floor, her voice growing more agitated with each choppy syllable.
“I was a fool to believe everything she said. If I’d let you or maybe Mila search her, or if I’d just told you everything she said and that I saw, none of this would have happened. You wouldn’t have almost been killed, and I wouldn’t be standing here wondering why I bother to give anyone the benefit of the doubt when I keep. Getting. Proven. Wrong!”
A sinkhole opens in my chest. The longer she talks, the more cavernous it becomes. I grab her by the arms, ignoring how she tries to shake me off.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, ptichka. Madison was given the perfect set of words designed to appeal to good people like you.” Stroking her cheek, I force her to look into my eyes. She looks ready to fight or flee. “The part of you that dares to allow others close to your heart isn’t anything to be ashamed about.”
Tears rise up, then spill over, turning her lashes damp like dew on tufts of grass. Galina collapses in my arms, allowing me to hold her and guide her back to bed. She weighs nothing, and it’s easy to curl my body around her, settling on the blankets with her head tucked under my chin. She continues to cry, the tears staining her shirt and my hands as I wipe them away. But they keep coming.
“You’ll be okay,” I hush.
“It doesn’t feel like it.” Her voice is all cracks.
Hugging her protectively, I listen to her pulse as it flows between her skin into my own. I try to feel our baby’s as well. I can’t, not yet, but I know someday I will.
“I need to thank you. Tonight, your compassion kept me from killing a child.”
All her slack muscles morph into rocks.
I continue while stroking her hair. “You alone had the courage to stand up not just against me, but for what was right.” Breathing in, then out, I rub my cheek on her forehead. “Don’t you ever apologize for that.”
Other than her rapid breathing, she’s gone quiet. In my arms she seems like a fragile thing I have to protect from all the cruelty this world has to offer. Yevgeniy has made her suffer again and again. He tests me through what he does to her.
I’ll make him pay.
Galina stays in my arms without budging. She doesn’t try to move away or shake me off, and I’m grateful because any attempt would be pointless. I’ll never let her go. Not just tonight, as I wait for her to fall asleep, her chest rising and falling in an increasingly gentler rhythm that tells me she’s slipped into unconsciousness.
Galina is mine.
She always will be.
17
GALINA
Arsen is dead.
I’ve never seen him so still. Even in his most brooding moments, he radiated life. But lying on the floor, his throat split apart in a clean gash, ashen skin coated in blood, he’s as lifeless as a rock. The man who was constantly strong … a symbol of power … is no more.
And there’s so much blood.
The trail of glistening red goes from Arsen to the tip of the knife in Madison’s hand. She crouches over Arsen’s body, legs bent like a gargoyle perched on a roof. She shifts almost imperceptibly to turn one eye on me.
Her lips twist into a smirk as if to say, You’re next.
And it’s true. Because what defense do I have against a trained killer? She took down Arsen with ease. I’ll be a cakewalk.
“Madison, no,” I whisper. My mouth is too dry; the words are too quiet. But again, I know it doesn’t matter. Screaming won’t stall her mission.
She rises, stalking toward me with the patience of a wolf cornering a rabbit. The knife flips into her other hand, leaving a trail of bloody dots on the ground. Behind her, Arsen stares at nothing. I’m about to join him.
