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“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She laughs, and the sound forces the shards to expand past my ribs. I shiver and wrap my arms around my chest.
“I’ve lived much longer than you, moya ditya. I’ve been the wife of a pakhan for over half my life. I think I know a bit more than you do.”
Any irritation I have with her shatters. She is older than me, and she worked hard to keep me from the life I’m about to walk into willingly. “Liam doesn’t matter,” I say lamely, holding on to any argument I have left. “We weren’t even together when I left. We broke up a month ago.”
She scoffs. “You two have been dancing around each other for years. He loves you, Valentina, which is more than I can say for the other one.”
The other one. My fiancé. The man I love with all my heart and soul.
Not to mention, Ezra and Mikhail. It’s not just Andrei I have now; it’s all three of them.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I repeat, louder this time. Clenching my fists, I stand from the bench and step in front of her. “I’m not the same little girl I was five years ago, Grandma. I can make my own decisions. And I choose Andrei. Not the other one, Andrei Leonov. I choose Mikhail Monrovia and Ezra Reinoff, too, just so we’re clear.”
The anger in my grandmother’s eyes takes the breath from my lungs. So much anger.
It reminds me of how I felt when I first arrived. Andrei and I were so angry and hurt. We still are, I think, but I like to imagine we’re letting a little more of each go with each day that passes.
All of my men hold anger in their hearts, and although I understand some of its origins, there’s still one seed of anger that I’m not sure about. One particular topic that doesn’t make sense to me. “Grandma,” I begin, ignoring the way my heartbeat trips over my nerves, “they seem to think you’ve done something wrong. You’ve upset them somehow, but I don’t know how. Did you do something to the Bratva before I left?” I wring my hands together.
My grandmother’s lips press into a thin line. “Don’t believe a thing they’ve told you, Valentina. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you.”
“What does that mean?” A tendril of terror brushes against my heart, sending a tremor through me. Has she actually done something wrong? Is their anger against her justified?
I think back to the day I left the city, thinking I was leaving the Bratva and my past behind. No one was angry that day. We were all waiting for the wedding ceremony to begin, most of us eager for the future it would herald. So, with that in mind, it must be something that happened after that made my men so angry. Something that would have changed everything . . .
“Grandma,” I start again, “do you know anything about a letter my mother wrote before she died?” Andrei mentioned last night that my grandmother is the one who gave it to me, but that can’t be true. In the past five years we’ve lived together, she’s had plenty of time to tell me about the letter. The fact that she hasn’t brought it up even once must mean that Andrei has it wrong. It couldn’t have been her that planted the letter in my dressing room. She wasn’t even in the venue yet. She was still outside in her car . . . waiting for me to walk out.
The former matriarch’s lips turn down at the edges, cutting into her face deeper than any wrinkle. “Everything I’ve done has been for you, ditya. For us.”
A crack splinters inside my heart. “What have you done, Grandma?”
A gun cocks behind me, sending a tremor through my body. I’ve only heard that sound a handful of times in my life, and it’s never a good sign.
“Step away from her, Valentina.”
Andrei.
My grandmother ignores him and tightly grasps both my hands in hers. “Come now, Valentina. Let’s leave.”
Leave?
Andrei echoes my thoughts. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growls.
The two guards have shifted their position since our arrival, and now they’re standing behind my grandmother. Both of them raise their guns.
Not at my grandmother.
But at my groom.
“What are you doing?” Panic beats its wings in my chest, fluttering like a caged bird.
No.
“They’re following orders,” my grandmother proclaims coolly. “Do not worry, ditya. They won’t hurt you.”
I’m not worried about me!
