Page 145 of Betrayal and Vows

And now Anton Malikov is dead.

Who will he be?

Who will we be together?

Anton’s hand stays on my back. I can feel the violence radiating from him, barely contained beneath the surface. He's a predator. I know he’s the most dangerous man on this earth—but not to me.

The chapel comes into view. It’s a small stone building with a collapsed roof and windows without glass. And there, sitting on the steps with her head in her hands, is my mother.

Dmitri was right. She looks broken.

Elena Rostova has always been immaculate. Perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect posture. The woman who taught me how to smile for cameras and never let them see me sweat.

This woman is a stranger.

Her dark hair hangs limp around her shoulders. She looks up when she hears us. The proud, controlled mask she's worn my entire life has crumbled away, leaving behind raw grief and exhaustion.

"Mom." The word slips out before I can stop it, and suddenly I'm five years old again, running to her after a nightmare.

She stands slowly, like her bones hurt. I see tears streaming down her cheeks. "Lena."

Anton's hand catches my arm before I can rush to her. "Careful," he warns, but his voice is gentler than before. Even he can see this isn't an act.

"I'm alone," my mother says, her voice cracking. "I swear to you, I'm alone. I had to see you. I had to know you were safe."

I know she nearly forced me to marry a man that would have made my life hell. But she's still my mother. And she looks like she's been through hell.

"Are you?" she asks, taking a tentative step forward. "Safe?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. Anton's grip on my arm loosens but doesn't release entirely.

"I've been so scared," she whispers. "I thought I'd lost you forever."

The dam inside me bursts. All the fear, the anger, the desperate love I've carried for this complicated woman comes pouring out. I break free from Anton's hold and run to her,throwing my good arm around her neck as she collapses against me, sobbing.

"I'm here," I whisper into her hair. "I'm here, Mom. I'm alive."

When Dmitri told us my mother had put out the word she needed to talk to us, Anton shut it down. He trusted no one.

I reminded him of how much she had done for us.

I believed I could trust my mother. She had risked everything.

“What do you want, Elena?” Anton’s voice is gruff.

"You have to leave.” My mother has regained her composure. The careful, controlled woman I grew up with is back.

I look at her face and I see what she’s trying to hide.

She’s not sleeping or eating.

“Did Dad hurt you?” I ask.

She smiles. “I’m okay.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m fine, Lena. We don’t have much time. They believe I’m visiting my sick aunt.”