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“Excuse me, please.” I say to them all, including Olive, letting go of her and pushing through the group to go up the stairs.
“Well, that was easier than we thought it would be.” I think I hear Antonio say and by the silence that follows, everyone gave him a look usually reserved for dumb things he says without thinking.
The tears in my eyes can finally spill over when I’m at my door. I fumble with the handle through bleary eyes and slip into my room, closing the door behind me gently and crumpling to the floor before I can take two steps inside. The sobs that rack my body now, are sleepy, drained, powerless. Everything in me is shutting down, and I want it to, need it to, so I can escape to somewhere in my head that’s better than this place, better than any book I could read?
I continue to sulk for hours, my body doesn’t have the energy left to do anything but this. The floor is cold, and now a puddle of tears rests under my head. My wet hair is tangled in it and I think I’m dying because my stomach feels shaky and weak, and I can’t feel my fingers anymore.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here, only that I will remain here until someone peels me off the uncomfortable floor and tucks me in bed. If that never happens, if Olive gives me my space and the night turns to morning again, I’ll lay here until the wedding.
This might be my last night in my room, and all I can do is sink into the floorboards and disappear. Maybe if I did that, I wouldn’t ever have to leave my room and I could ignore everything in the world that has torn me to pieces— namely, Adrik Mikhailov.
Chapter Thirty One:Adrik
I’ve barely caughtmy breath since coming home, haven't brought myself to look at Espie’s letter, either. So, that’s shoved in my back pocket and will most likely get thrown in the next wash cycle if I forget to pull it out. I’m going to intentionally forget because I can’t think about her without getting this horrible bone-aching pain that carries throughout my body in sharp pangs.
What the hell did she do to me? How have I gotten this pathetic over a woman I didn’t even like a couple of months ago?
“Adrik?” My father is snapping his fingers in my face. The second I got off the plane, I was called into his office, and he’s been going over the details of some new plan with me. I could focus if I had a smoke before coming in here, and if the ripped up contract that I’ve just gotten out of wasn’t reminding me of the shit-show that took place yesterday in Russia.
“Yes?” I straighten up, eyes as serious as I can manage, tone as grave as it should always be when I address my father— when I don’t want to get punched or worse, that is.
“Were you listening to a word I was saying?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Certainly? What are we in the 1800s?” My brows tense in a quick twitch that I iron out before he can see. Espie— that certainly was because of Espie and her eloquent speaking.
I bite my cheek until it bleeds and when I test the blood, I feel relieved, only a little, but it’s enough to get my mind away from the thought of her, so I can refocus.
“Regardless, tonight, I need you keeping watch of the Homefront.”
“Why is that?”
“Because, we’ll be going to the San Giovanni’s house.”
“What for?”
“To collect on a promise I made to them a long time ago— much longer than this idiotic contract.” He scoots it aside, but I keep my eyes on him, so I don’t have to think about it, refocus on the blood on my tongue as he continues. “We’re going to end the San Giovanni’s.” For some reason, my entire body reacts and I feel like I’m being pulled into an endless pit, falling at full speed.
“What does that mean?” I try to make my tone even.
“Exactly what I said— No one in that wretched family will be left alive by morning. Whatever members of their gang would like to join us— non-blood related, of course— will be escorted to the Magdalin for immediate testing. If they pass, they will be initiated into the Bratva.”
My mind is swirling because that endless pit I mentioned has somehow ended, and I’ve crushed every bone in my body at the base of it. I falter for a moment and my father cocks his head.
“Are you going to be sick?” He looks at me, disgusted— more than usual.
“No.” I force out through tight and unsteady lips.
“Then what the hell is your problem, boy?”
“I want to go with you.” I stand up straight, making myself look like a soldier.
He laughs in this sick way that makes me want to punch him and then when he sees I’m still serious, despite his incompetency, he raises his brows.
“No.” He laughs, shaking his head. “No, you won’t be going.”
“Why not? I know them better than any of you by now? Or have you forgotten I’ve been exiled to Russia with them for the past three months?”
