Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
A squeak pops from my mouth when a deep Russian accent says, “Do you want me to scoot over, Doc, or are you cool sleeping on top?”
My heart stays somewhere in the vicinity of my chest when a second lamp is switched on.
With my sheets thin, it doesn’t take a genius to realize Ano sleeps naked.
“Why look away?” Ano asks when my eyes drop to the floor. “If I’m going to be killed through no fault of my own, you may as well make it worthwhile by giving my ego a quick stroke by taking a look and gasping in awe.”
I don’t know where to look, but my brain has no issues replying. Words leave my mouth before they’re fully formed. “How can you joke about murder like it’s funny?”
When silence is the only thing shared, I sheepishly raise my eyes.
Ano is peering at me with his brows crossed and his midsection exposed.
After a beat, he murmurs, “I’m probably not the best person to answer that.”
I return my eyes to my feet when he scoots across the thin mattress, his modesty maintained by the scrunching of the sheet near his crotch.
I hear him walk away more than I witness it. His bare feet stomp the cold floors for almost thirty seconds before the door I forced closed is opened with less muscle.
Since I refuse to turn around, I assume I am alone.
Ano proves me wrong two seconds later. “Fuck it. From one orphan to another, you deserve to be told the truth.” He waits for my curiosity to get the better of me before he says, “You’re putting the men he killed on a pedestal they have no right to be on.” Nothing but honesty shines in his eyes when he hits me with straight-up truths. “They deserved to die. Just like the men who raped and brutalized your mother for hours deserved to die. They got what was coming to them.”
“You can’t put what Maksim and my father did in the same realm.”
Ano almost exposes himself when he holds his hands out as if to say, Why?
“Because they’re not in the same domain. The men my father murdered had done it before. They’d tortured and raped dozens of women but continuously got away with it. They’d still be doing it now if he hadn’t stopped them.”
I understand Zoya’s frustration when Ano asks casually, “And?”
“They deserved to be prosecuted for what they did! They deserved to die,” I shout, finally speaking from my heart and my head.
I hate that I was left alone and that my parents didn’t uphold the promise they made when Stefania died, but I never understood the pain my father was experiencing until I saw the hurt in Maksim’s eyes a second before the elevator doors closed.
It cut me to shreds.
The anguish on Ano’s face clears, making him look closer to his age. “Exactly my point, Doc. You’re assuming you know who the villain and the hero of this story are, but I know you’ve got them mixed up. They both have power, but it is how they chose to use it that differentiates their titles.”
“Maksim—”
“Protected the people he loves. That’s all you need to know.”
When I can’t think of a single thing to say, he reminds me that the bar in the middle of the sofa bed is back breaking before he exits without a backward glance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“You’ve reached Zoya. Leave a message.”
The pounding of my brain against my skull ruffles my exhale. “Z, it’s me. I really need to talk to you. Can you call me back?”
I wait to see if our call magically connects before I hit the end button and dump my phone onto my bed. I had no clue how spoiled I’ve been the past week. The sofa bed springs are nonexistent, and the bar in the middle dug into my back all night.
I hardly got any sleep. An hour, two at max. My head is throbbing, and my stomach won’t quit grumbling, but for some stupid reason, I’m more devastated about waking up in my apartment alone than anything.
It didn’t matter how late Maksim came to bed, I always knew when he arrived because, as per our agreement, he slept inside me every night.
There’s no denying how empty I feel this morning—both in my heart and between my legs.
I also couldn’t stop the photographs of Maksim’s childhood injuries from rolling through my head. They made me desperate to comfort him. My stubbornness just refused to listen to a single plea of my heart. It wants it to believe the events of our formative years don’t shape who we are as adults.
I know that isn’t true. I’m merely struggling to wrap my head around anything since I am operating on minimal sleep.
As I flop back onto my pillow, I throw a hand over my puffy eyes.