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“So now you share a telepathic connection with her?”
“No…?” he asks, unsure. It’s the right choice of words. If he had said he did have that connection, I would’ve killed him.
I already hate that she shares an easy friendship with Yan. That she smiles at him more than she does at me lately. And while I’ve wanted to snuff it out since the beginning, even I realize how much she’s needed a friend. Kolya also said that it would be smarter to let her be friends with her guard rather than seeing him as a threat.
“Just talk to her without being closed off.” Yan sighs. “Then you can kill me.”
“I also don’t see why she shouldn’t know her place in the great scheme of things,” Kolya says.
“What?” I ask.
“She’s been your wife for six years and if she learns about everything, it will prepare her in case something happens.”
Yan holds him by the shoulder. “Fucking finally! That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”
I stare back at Lia. They think I’m doing this to keep her in the dark, when everything I’ve done was to protect her.
Her childhood wasn’t the best and I know how she feels about my world, so I’ve been trying my fucking hardest to keep her as far away from it as I can.
That, and I didn’t want her to meet my mother’s fate if her true identity is discovered.
I halt tapping my finger. “How about the other one?”
“The other one?” Yan frowns.
“The fake Lia.” I give him a glare. But on the bright side, even he couldn’t tell her apart from my Lenochka.
“Her name is Winter Cavanaugh, twenty-seven, American,” Kolya starts. “She’s been homeless for a few months after having a stillborn. The child’s father is unknown. She has an alcohol addiction and she comes from a lower-class background.”
“Is there more information about her parents?”
“Not really, but I’ll look further into it.”
“How about her medical condition?”
“She’s in a coma.”
“Keep her in the guest house until I figure out what to do with her. I don’t want Lia’s lookalike roaming the streets.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Lia’s fingers twitch in my hand and her eyes move beneath her lids before she slowly opens them.
“Call Dr. Putin,” I order, then lean forward as Kolya gets out of the room.
My wife blinks a few times, and as I witness life slowly creeping back into her, I make a vow to get her back, to make things right.
Somehow.
“Hey.” I stroke her chin and cheek. “How are you feeling, Lenochka?”
She stares at the ceiling, blinking slowly, but shows no signs of hearing me.
“Lia. I know you’re mad at me, but look at me.”
She doesn’t.
Instead, she’s limp, her numb expression making her blue eyes muted, almost like a haze has covered them.
