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“I know that,” I cut in. “I do. But he’s suffocating me, Cee. I feel like I can’t breathe in this house anymore.”
“He just wants us to be safe.”
“I’d rather be unsafe and happy than safe and sad.”
Celine winces. “I just think you should—”
“Don’t do that,” I interrupt again. “We can’t all be selfless martyrs like you.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, though, I grimace. I’m just walking around spreading happiness wherever I go tonight, it seems. “I’m sorry, Cee. I’m just not like you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that you have this big heart. You’re kind and patient and giving. But me… I don’t think I can do it anymore. It’s too much—living here, taking care of Mom, dealing with Dad and his overprotectiveness. He’s getting worse in his own way, just like she is. And I… I can’t do it anymore.”
“So you’re just gonna skulk out into the night with your things?”
“I wasn’t skulking. I was gonna leave a note.”
“How considerate,” she mutters with uncharacteristic sarcasm. She immediately flushes and backtracks. “Sorry. That was unfair.”
“No, it wasn’t. I’d understand if you hate me for this.”
She shakes her head. “You have the right to do what’s best for yourself. It’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you: you’re not afraid to go after what you want, even if it’s hard. Maybe evenespeciallywhen it’s hard.”
There’s not an inkling of resentment in her tone when she says that, and it makes me love her even more. It would be so easy to be petty. Celine has more than enough ammunition, given what lies in our past, but she doesn’t use it. She never does.
I throw my arms around her and hug her as tight as I can. “I’ll be back as often as I can. I don’t want you to feel like I’m abandoning you. I don’t expect you to look after Mom or deal with Dad alone.”
“Duh. I know that.”
She’s giving me the benefit of the doubt, because of course she is. She always does. The only exception was years ago, when…
No. I stop the thought in its tracks. We agreed to put that behind us and we did.
Mostly.
She gives me another hug and I pick up my duffel bag. She doesn’t ask me where I’m going. She doesn’t pepper me with questions the way that Dad would have.
But that’s because Celine has always known what Dad refuses to accept: that I can take care of myself.
7
ILARION
There’s a gentle breeze drifting through the garden. It’s quiet. Tranquil. Soothing. Still. It’d be easy for a man to relax in a place like this. After all, no one anticipates a murder when the stars are shining and the lilac is fragrant.
The man who’s about to die certainly doesn’t.
I turn to him. “Armond, you know Bruno Domi well, don’t you?”
Armond Ivanov, one of myvors, frowns. He looks mystified by the question. “Bruno? Sure, I know Bruno.”
“Known him a long time?”
“Couple of years,” Armond says with a shrug. “Decent guy.”
Next to him, Slava, one of the Bratva’s newer recruits, is squirming as though he’s got a nail up his ass. He keeps looking over at Armond, probably waiting for him to wise up.
He might; he might not. It doesn’t matter either way.
