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Mom puts her hands on her hips. “Misha! Don’t be an ass.”
Without another word, he leaves with my uncles in tow.
Exhaustion bears down on me. Between my injury and my sorrow, I can barely find the will to keep my eyes open. There’s a hole where my heart should be. It’s uncomfortable, cold, and I feel incomplete.
Even as Mom and Charlotte rush over to tell me everything’s going to be okay… Even as Aunt Nat says she’ll put me on painkillers to manage the pain… Even as I lie down and let the world crumble around me… I suddenly realize nothing matters if I can’t have him.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to drown out my rapid-fire thoughts. It doesn’t work. All I can think about is the loud crack of the rifle. How he must have been alone when he was shot. Was it quick, or was it slow? Could I have done something? Does it even matter now?
The man I love is dead.
And I never even had the chance to tell him.
Chapter 35
Andrei
Pulling up to the Antonov’s private residence is practically begging for immediate execution, but I have no other options. I need to see Sandra, need to know she’s okay—even if it kills me.
The place is swarming with armed guards, all of them training their weapons on us as the car screeches to a halt in front of the house. The moment I jump out, at least four of them barrel toward me. I came fully prepared for the beating of my life, but what happens next is so much worse.
“Stand down!” Mikhail Antonov shouts at his men. They do so, snapping to attention as he trudges down the front path, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles are white. I see so much of Sandra in him.
And that’s why I don’t react when he winds back and punches me in the jaw. I stumble to the ground, my ear ringing and my face throbbing. I deserved it. I deserve all of it.
I see no point in fighting back. Even if I wanted to, Mikhail Antonov is almost three times my age. There’s no honor in fighting an old man, so I let him take out his anger on me for the small, shining hope he’ll at least give me answers about his daughter.
“Andrei!” Leo shouts, attempting to approach.
I stick a hand out, stopping him. “Let him. It’s fine.”
The bitter taste of iron coats my tongue. I’m a disheveled, anxious mess. I don’t struggle when Mikhail grabs me by the collar of my shirt and hoists me up.
“You son of a bitch!” he seethes, flashing his rabid snarl. “This is all your fault, you rat bastard!”
“Please—” I gasp. “Please, let me see her.”
Something violent shines behind Mikhail’s dark brown eyes. “Never.”
I grip his trembling wrist. “At least tell me she’s alright. Is Sandra alright?”
“My daughter is of no concern to you.”
“I’ll do anything,” I rasp. “I’m begging you. Just tell me she’s okay.” Over his shoulder, I spot a wisp of bold red hair. My heart leaps up into my throat, my feet carrying me forward on their own. “Sandra, I—”
“Charlotte!” Mikhail snaps. “Go back inside.”
My lungs collapse in on themselves. That’s not my Sandra. “Where is she?” I ask her sister. Surely Charlotte wouldn’t lie to me. “Charlotte, tell me!”
She glances at her father, worry in her eyes. The longer it takes her to answer, the more my soul dies, piece by ragged piece.
Mikhail set his jaw, his face impassible and colder than ice. “My daughter is dead.”
I don’t hear him at first, mainly because my brain doesn’t want to. Four words. Four simple words and suddenly my whole world has shifted out from under my feet.
“No,” I mumble. “No… That’s—She was just—”
I can’t stop thinking about the moment she was shot. How she pushed me out of the way. All I can see is red, the pain in her expression, the paleness of her skin as she slipped into unconsciousness. I can’t believe it. I don’twantto believe it.
