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“I want to concentrate our men on the perimeter of the southern okrug,” I say. My voice doesn’t sound like my own. It’s distant and exhausted, an echo of what it should be. I try to speak clearly, to hold my own… But the harder I try, the more tired and defeated I become. “We need to contain them. They’ve been attacking and then running like cowards, but that stops now. We hold the line to keep them from advancing into the city. We’ll create a wall. Double the men posted at every one of our business ventures, and I’ll make sure the CCTV system is working to our advantage to call out any movements from their side. Got it?”
There are grumbles all around the room. Their lack of enthusiasm is telling. I’m losing the trust of my allies—what little I had to begin with—and it’s only a matter of time before they either leave or turn on me. The cracks are forming, weaknesses extending from the foundation of our organization. This is so much more than a war against the Nicolaevich Bratva. This war is breaking apart everything my family has built before my very eyes.
“Dismissed,” I grumble, turning in a hurry to be the first out the door.
I make a B-line for the bathroom. It’s blessedly empty, which is perfect considering the meltdown I’m about to have.
My heart is racing, pounding so hard I’m afraid it’s going to burst straight out of my chest. The loud ringing in my ears is borderline painful. Every breath I take burns all the way down, filling my lungs with lava. But despite the inferno raging inside me, my entire body is cold. My palms are clammy, my fingers freezing, terrible shivers wracking my body as I stumble to the sink.
I splash some water on my face, but it doesn’t help. The sudden coolness against my feverish skin gives me a headache. What on Earth is happening to me? Am I sick? God, I hope not. Now really isn’t the time to catch the flu. Too bad my stomach thinks differently.
I make it to one of the bathroom stalls just in time to get sick, retching violently into the toilet bowl. This is probably a new low for me. I’ve never reacted to stress this way before, but I suppose there’s always a first time for everything.
Three soft knocks sound at the door. It creaks on its hinges but doesn’t open all the way.
“Sandy?” Dad calls from out in the hall. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
Panic shoots through me. “I’m fi—”
I throw up again. Black spots bloom across my vision. I try to breathe, but the ache in my chest becomes too much and I exhale instead, a choked off groan lodged in my throat.
“Sandy?” Dad calls. The sound of heavy footsteps. The room swirls. Is this what dying feels like? “Jesus,Sandra!” In the blink of an eye, Dad’s beside me, his hands cupping my face. I’ve never seen him so freaked out before. “Sandy, talk to me. What’s going on? Tell me what hurts.”
I’m trembling so hard I can barely get the words out. There’s a pressure in my head threatening to make my skull explode into a thousand tiny pieces. The tears streaking down my face burn hotter than the sun.
“I’m not weak,” I sob. “I’m not, Dad.”
Dad sits on the bathroom floor and pulls me onto his lap, much like he did when I was a little girl. He holds me tight, rocks me gently. “I know you’re not, sweetheart. I know.”
“I think I made a mistake.” I cry into my palms.
Everything is falling apart and I don’t even care anymore. I’ve tried so hard to be the perfect daughter, an heir apparent destined to make her father proud. I’m none of those things and it’s killing me inside.
“What are you talking about, Sandy?”
“I think…” I choke on a whimper. “I’m the reason Freddy was shot. He got hurt because of me and—”
Dad hushes me. “Stop it. It wasn’t your fault.”
“But itwas.”
He presses his hand to my forehead and clicks his tongue. “You’re clammy. Have you not been feeling well this whole time? You should have said something.”
“I’m fine.”
“Just because you say it doesn’t make it true.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”
“What for, baby?”
“I just want to make you proud.” My voice comes out as nothing more than a pathetic squeak. “I just want you to be proud of me, Dad.”
He hugs me a little tighter. “Sandra Antonova, you’re mydaughter. One of the greatest gifts I’ve ever had. I willalwaysbe proud of you.”
My father’s kind, wholesome encouragements only make me feel worse. After everything I’ve done, how could he possibly say that? If he ever finds out the truth, I’m sure he’ll feel differently. That’s why it’s a secret I’m determined to take to my grave.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you home. I’ll ask Natalya to come and check on you.”
