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I nod. It suddenly occurs to me that I don’t mind him calling meZaykaanymore. “They do. They’ve been with me for years. Since before Pops…” I clear my throat. It’s been years, but I still tear up when I think of losing my father. “Since before Pops passed, they’ve been my people. Carl, Jess, Tony…even Cody, that little shit. Artie was there before I was even born.” I smile. “He’s like my uncle.” I frown as I think of Art and the bullet he took today. He had no reason to go through this, but he chose to. And I know he did it for me.
Anton’s hand tightens over mine, again seeming to read my mind. “He’ll be alright,Zayka. Luka has contacted the hospital. The wound looked worse than it was. He’ll be back with you soon.”
I sigh with relief, feeling myself sag slightly. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost any of them.”
He nods. “I understand loss.”
My heart clenches because I know he does. I want to ask, but the words seem to get stuck in my throat. “Yes,” I finally say because it feels like I should be sayingsomething.
Anton looks away, his eyes growing distant. He takes a deep breath before speaking again.
“My wife,” he says quietly, his voice barely audible over the soft music from the speakers overhead. “When Volkov… When she was killed, I thought I deserved to die the same way.”
His gaze drops back to our hands, now locked together tightly on top of the tablecloth. His fingers trace over mine as he continues to speak.
“It was my fault,” he adds, his voice thick with regret. “If it weren’t for me she would still be alive today.” He swallows thickly and looks up at me again, pain etched in every line of his face.
I open my mouth to speak but then close it again, sensing that he needs to get something off his chest. I give him an encouraging smile, knowing how hard it is for him to say these things.
“I chose the Bratva life, an assassin’s life,” he goes on. “Then I left it when I could no longer tolerate what it stood for. I did that without ever considering what that might mean for my family. For her and Niko. I made that choice for them.” A muscle flickers in his jaw. “No matter how much time has passed since she was taken…” his voice is hoarse, “I will never forgive myself for what happened to her.”
I gulp as I take this in. It’s probably the most I’ve ever heard him say in one conversation. But the words rolled out as if he needed to shove them away from himself. Who could blame him? I wouldn’t want feelings like that locked up inside me either.
The hurt.
The guilt.
It must be eating him alive.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I try to reassure him, but he shakes his head. His lips twitch into a humorless smile.
“Some things we must account for,Zayka. The decisions I made were mine – it doesn’t matter that I thought my reasons were good. The consequences lay on my shoulders.”
I can’t argue that. But what I know without a doubt as I look at this beautiful man in front of me, is that he is not a bad person. Yes, he did bad things. Took lives. But whatever is in his past, the man I’ve come to know is strong, firm in his beliefs. Good – in his own way. Just the way that I like to think that I am good too, even though my career choice may offend some. I’ve never stolen from those who would feel the loss. Just from assholes like Cartwright and people who’ve trampled thousands of souls to get to where they are.
Scarlett Jones, the red-haired Robin Hood.
Yeah, right.
The thought almost makes me laugh, but now is not the time.
“You’ve raised an incredible little boy, Anton.” I give him a gentle smile. “Whatever you may have done back then, you’re doing something right now.” The thought gives me pause as I think about how fiercely he loves his child.
He’s such an incredible father. I don’t know how many men could do what Anton did tonight. Or the way he led his men to go into battle with him. Isn’t that what I’d want for my own child?Ourchild? A father who wouldn’t just provide the basics but love so fiercely?
We could raise this baby together.
The thought shakes me so much that I suck in a sharp breath.
I still haven’t told him.
Should I tell him?
If yes, when?
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I give a little shake of my head. “Just thinking of those we’ve lost.” It’s not entirely untrue.
