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There’ll be no running this time. It’s just not in my nature. Last time I did it for Nikolai, but I can’t do it anymore. I won’t.
This time, I fight back.
And I’ll make sure it won’t be pretty.
***
Darkness envelops the room, leaving me feeling suffocated. The hours crawl by, the silence only broken by my thoughts, a jumbled mess right now. Sleep escapes me tonight; it seems my past won’t let me rest.
I throw off the covers and pad silently to the kitchen, my feet silent on the bare floor. A mix of anger and anxiety coils in my gut, an unwelcome companion.
I reach for the bottle of vodka in the drinks cabinet, fingers wrapping around the cool glass, as I pour myself a generous serving. The chilled liquid swirls in the tumbler as I bring it to my lips.
“Fuck it,” I mutter under my breath, swallowing the fiery liquor. It burns my throat, but it’s a welcome distraction from the thoughts that plague me.
Her image is etched into my mind. My wife, my love, my everything – gone in the blink of an eye. I can still see her face so clearly: her delicate features, her soft smile, and those eyes…eyes that could pierce through even the darkest corners of my soul. She was my anchor in this turbulent sea, and when she died, I felt the weight of it.
“Lyubimaya,”I whisper her endearment. “Forgive me.”
My chest tightens at the memory of our last moments together as a family. The blood, the screams, the pain – it all comes rushing back, drowning me in guilt. If only I had been stronger, faster, more vigilant…maybe she would still be here. Maybe Nikolai would still have a mother.
Move forward, dammit!
I don’t have the luxury of time for regret. Dwelling on what-ifs is a dangerous game; one I cannot afford to play right now. Or ever.
I take another swig of the vodka. The warmth spreads through my chest, dulling the sharp edges of my memories for the moment.
Fight and survive.
That’s what’s important.
“Fight and survive” has become my mantra, echoing through my mind with every turn we’ve taken from danger. It’s what Katya would have wanted – for me to live, to protect our son, to get him far away from the Bratva.
That’s exactly why I must face whatever comes head-on. For her, for Nikolai, and for a chance at redemption. I will stand against them and fight.
I finish my drink and set down the empty glass with newfound determination.
The kitchen is silent, the only sound is my own harsh breathing. I stare down at the counter tightly, trying to ground myself, when suddenly the door swings open. Scarlett barges in, wearing little more than a clinging satin robe, flaming hair falling loose around her shoulders.
“Anton!” She looks startled to find me. Hardly surprising, since I rarely leave my room at night – probably to avoid confrontations just like this one. “I couldn’t sleep. Came down for some milk.” Her brow furrows over those chocolate-brown eyes. “You…um… Is everything alright?”
“I’m fine,” I snap, my anger flaring. “I have no need for your concern.” I feel too raw right now, and I don’t want her anywhere near me.
Scarlett, however, isn’t so easily put off. Her eyes narrow as she steps further into the kitchen. “You know, Anton, sometimes it helps to talk things out,” she retorts, her voice low and even. “I can handle whatever it is you’re dealing with. I’m not some fragile flower that’ll wilt at the first sign of trouble.”
Is she for real?
“I don’t talk things out, Scarlett,” I mutter trying to keep my eyes off her lush curves. Fuck, at this rate, I might need another drink. I eye the bottle on the counter. Impulsively, I refill my glass.
“But what if you—?” she begins.
“No!” I snap, my frustration boiling over. With all that’s happened, I’m not in the mood for her sass on top of it. “Just go back to your room and forget you saw me.”
“Excuse me?” she snaps back. “You can’t just order me around like that!”
“I’m your boss. I can do what I want.” I sound surly. I don’t care. But if anything, it seems to antagonize her. She stalks up to me, setting her hands on her hips. From the way the satin swirls around her, it’s clear there’s nothing beneath that robe.
Fuck.
