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“We’ll have to move fast, so please keep your body stiff. I don’t want you falling off the bed if I need to start running and dodging bullets.”
Their exit from the hospital was surprisingly smooth. It irked Zafira. Whenever they were approached, he was addressed as a doctor, which meant he had taken pains to establish a presence in the hospital over the past weeks. That he had gone to such lengths to get her out of there caused fear to ripple down her body.
For all she knew, she was about to live the final few hours of her life by staying quiet and playing comatose.
Blyad! I’ve played right into his hands.
A luxurious lakeside house at Valley's Lake, Codru, Moldova…
How he had become entangled in such a convoluted mess was beyond his comprehension. Life had briefly been idyllic and seemed to be heading toward a happily ever after with the woman he loved at his side.
Until fate intervened.
“Fate, my ass. The fucking devil is more like it.”
You know the saying blood is thicker than water? Yeah, it was a no-brainer. But nobody ever mentioned that you had to roll over and take a screw job from your own flesh and blood. Family’s supposed to have your back, right? Love you, look out for you—not manipulate and exploit you for their personal agenda.
Andrei Balan, aka Andrei Smirnoff, had learned that lesson the hard way. The past year had been a crash course in life’s hard truths. One of them was that you couldn’t escape your roots, no matter how fast or far you ran. So, the decision to abandon the man’s name he had believed to be his father was an easy one. Taking back his birth name suited him better. He was Russian, after all, and what better way to stand tall in his skin than to admit his lineage by using his family name, especially at this crucial time in his life?
It was a pity it came with the reputation of a murdering son of a whore as an uncle. Yet in the grand scheme of things, it was precisely the path he, as Andrei Balan, had walked his entire adult life. Still, over the past year, as he fulfilled the role his uncle had forced upon him, he had shed more blood than he had in his entire career as an assassin for the Guzun Bratva.
Regret and anger held a stranglehold over him ever since he had learned the truth from his uncle about who his biological father was. He had initially found solace in letting the beast inside him, the one true to his cruel familial ancestors, run rampant—that of a ruthless killer.
At least acting out that way had rid him of one of the emotions that had been strangling him at the time—regret. The past, with all its mistakes and missteps, had been irrevocably sealed, locked away in the annals of history. Besides, Vanya Guzun no longer deserved his regret. He had broken her heart, yes, but to have killed the only family he had left was the one thing for which he couldn’t forgive her. It didn’t matter that he no longer harbored any love for the man; blood was blood, and he was the one who had taught Andrei how to stand on his own two feet since he was a boy.
If only he could latch onto something to channel the anger that churned inside. He needed to, quickly, so he could start thinking clearly.
“Case in point of my fucked up mind,” he mumbled while gazing at the woman lying on the bed. Why he had even bothered bringing her here was a mystery beyond him. Yes, she was innocent and never knew that Viktor, in a drunken stupor, had fucked another woman at his bachelor’s party. In all of this, she’d become as much a victim as he had. Nonetheless, she was a Guzun, and that put a target on her back.
“Da, she doesn’t deserve to be punished for her fucked up family’s decisions.”
Da, just like you have been for yours.
Andrei dismissed the persistent voice in his mind. Accepting his true nature and identity had been a personal reckoning he had confronted long ago. The years between getting close to the Guzuns had been a respite from the darkness that was Janos Smirnoff.
Of course, at first, he had been oblivious to who the Guzuns truly were, viewing them merely as players in his uncle’s grand scheme to ascend to the pinnacle of criminal power. Janos’ ambitions had extended beyond just the Bratva. He’d aimed to command not only various Mafia factions but to unite them all under his rule, a hybrid role he had scornfully named thePhacapo di tutti phacapi.
Initially, Andrei had scoffed at his outlandish ambitions, until he returned home and witnessed the staggering expanse of Janos’ influence over the criminal underworld. His uncle had already assumed the mantle of leadership, and all that remained was the final piece of his master plan to secure his place as the supreme ruler of global crime. That was the sole reason why he had remained in Russia and assumed the role his uncle believed he had been preparing for his entire life.
Now, that weighty mantle to attain that goal rested squarely on Andrei’s shoulders, whether he desired it or not. It was a daunting choice—he, the reluctant heir or Janos’ faceless partner, a power-hungry man, known only as Gareth Sanders, who wanted to destroy everything good in the world.
Vanya Guzun included.
His gaze shifted back to Zafira.
“Time to wake up,Comare,” he muttered in a measured tone. “We both know you’re not in a coma anymore and haven’t been for weeks. Frankly, I don’t have any patience for this charade.”
Her eyelids fluttered briefly before reluctantly opening. The vibrant azure of her eyes sparked with fury as their gazes locked in preparation for a fierce confrontation.
“Just what the hell am I doing here, Andrei Balan?”
“Andrei Smirnoff,Comare. I suggest you remember that name. I’m not the man you remember.”
“You don’t need to remind me,” she mumbled as she struggled upright, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “Come, help me stand. I’m feeling shaky since I haven’t been on my feet for over a month.”
He was at her side in a flash, having always had the greatest respect for the regal woman.
Despite her tough exterior, she had a soft heart for those she loved. Until he had broken her daughter’s heart, he was one of those she cared to protect and love.
