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“You answer mine first. Why do you want to know?”
“Andrei and I… We…”
“You’ve been having an affair with Andrei Nicolaevich?” Uncle Pyotr asks, his tone grave and low. He shoots Charlotte a hard look. “Did you know about this?”
My twin shifts her weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I mean, I, um…”
“Hold on a second,” Uncle Dima interjects. “How long has this been going on? Don’t tell me that bastard did something to you while you were his captive—”
“No!” I scream. “No, he didn’t do anything to me. We just—”
“He’s dead.”
I stare at Dad, unable to comprehend his words. “What?”
“He’s dead,” he repeats, serious and unwavering.
My heart twists in my chest. The rest of the world suddenly fades away, leaving me drowning in an endless cold. I shake my head numbly. How can that be? I remember pushing Andrei out of the way when I saw that sniper on the roof. Isavedhim, so how could he be dead? This doesn’t make sense.
“You’re lying,” I whisper, tears like a thousand needles stinging my eyes. “You’relying.”
Dad frowns. “I’m not lying, Sandra. I saw it happen.”
“No—”
He turns to the rest of the room. “Everybody out.”
“No!” I scream. “No, you have to tell me what happened! Andrei was right there. He—”
“Was shot,” Dad says coldly. “Just as your uncles and I were putting you in the car, he was shot by the sniper on the roof. They didn’t miss the second time. I saw it with my own two eyes.”
My stomach churns, nausea sweeping through me with a vengeance. This can’t be happening. Dad has never lied to me before, but would he go to such lengths because he’s angry knowing the truth? I can feel my mind fracturing, overcome by my grief and debilitating confusion. If Dad’s telling the truth, it’ll break my heart.
I turn to my uncles, barely holding it together. “No, I…No!”
Mom looks utterly horrified. Charlotte is crying, struggling to keep her sobs in as she wipes her eyes. Frederick looks disgusted and outraged. My uncles are dismayed. And Dad… He just looks disappointed in me. That’s what finally breaks me.
I wail into my palms, groaning against the pain of my injury and the agony of my loss. I don’t understand it. Andrei wasjusthere, holding me in his arms and telling me it was all going to be okay. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Turning in Ivanovich was supposed to be a new chapter for us, the opportunity to start anew.
Aunt Nat sighs and ushers everyone out. “Dammit, she popped a stitch. All of you, out. She needs her rest.”
“Maybe I should stay,” Mom says softly, worrying her bottom lip.
Dad rises, staring down his nose at me with a hardened expression I’ve never seen him wear. “Do whatever you want,” he says. “The rest of you, with me.”
“Where are you all going?” I ask through desperate breaths.
“The Antonov Bratva is without a leader.”
“I’m right here.”
“I’m coming out of retirement,” Dad says, “to fix this mess you’ve made. Reports have been coming in. All our allies are either dead at the scene or arrested. We’re vulnerable right now, and you’re in no position to lead.”
“But Dad—”
“Was he worth it?”
His question cuts through me sharper than any knife. It’s accusatory. It’s bitter. And it amplifies the agony I’m in.
