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I nod along. “Good. That’s good.”
“Andrei?”
“Hm?”
Leo sets his tablet down and sits up straight in his chair. “I’m worried about you, brother. You haven’t been yourself since… Since.”
“I’m fine.”
“You can’t honestly expect me to believe that.”
I grit my teeth. “What do you want me to say, Leo?”
“I don’t care what you say as long as it’s honest.”
No words come to mind. It’s just blank. Does he want me to talk about Sandra? The fact that I’m running on less than three hours of sleep because I’m relieving her last few moments over and over again in my nightmares? Or maybe he wants to talk about how I need to get my shit together—I know I do—but I can’t find the strength or will to do it.
Grief is an endless pit of quicksand. The harder I struggle, the more I attempt to escape it, the further I plunge. There are no safety nets, no lifelines. Leo wants to talk about it? What use do I have for words now that I’ve lost everything? I thought dealing with Ivanovich would help me find closure, but it’s only torn open a wound inside me. I’m drowning on dry land, and I don’t think anyone can do anything to help me.
“I’m fine,” I repeat, because it’s all I can really do. I’m hoping if I say it enough, it’ll start to feel true. Fake it until you make it, as the kids say. Surely there has to be some wisdom in that.
“You must have really loved her,” Leo says, softer than I’ve ever heard him speak. My younger brother has never been much with words. He’s the numbers guy. He finds comfort in formulas and concrete results. Of all my brothers, I’d argue he’s the hardest to crack. That’s why his tone comes as a shock. I’d freak out if I had the energy.
“I did,” I mutter. “And I realized too late.”
“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”
“Would it have mattered? If I came out and told you I was in love with the Antonov heir, would you have supported my decision?”
Leo snorts. “Fuck no. I would have thought you were crazy.”
“Precisely—”
“But,” he stresses, “I’m sure we would have eventually understood.”
I slump in my seat. “It doesn’t matter now.”
Leo rises from his chair and starts toward my office door, peeking out through the built-in window. He stills. “One last question for you.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, silently praying my headache goes away. “What?”
“If you had to choose—the Bratva or Sandra—which would you pick?”
I scowl. “How the hell am I supposed to answer that?”
“By picking one or the other.”
It’s an impossible question and I think he knows it. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my brothers, for the empire we’re trying to build. We came from nothing, and now we rule half the city? I obviously take pride in all we’ve accomplished…
But it feels hollow. The only person I really want to celebrate my achievements with is the one person who’s no longer here. Things between Sandra and me were never supposed to happen the way they did, but what we found was better than I ever could have hoped.
“In an ideal world,” I answer, “I’d have both. But if I had to choose… I’d pick her.”
I see no judgment in his eyes, no cause to be defensive. Leo simply nods, opens the door, and steps aside to let someone enter. A woman. One with flowing red hair and startling blue eyes. I’m either seeing a ghost, or I’m looking right at—
“Charlotte?” I breathe. “What are you doing here?”
“I don’t have a lot of time,” she says quickly. “If Dad finds out I’m here, I might as well just shoot myself.”
