“In the car, riding back home.”
“She’s studying in the bedroom.”
“More studying.”
“Just went to sleep.”
I’ve never spent the day glued to my phone like this. Not even when the arms deal with the Italians was supposed to go down.
Bitterness fills my mouth at that thought. That was exactly Mikhael’s criticism for me. That I wasn’t present enough in my Bratva’s time of need.
I push that out of my mind and turn the key into the front door.
The house is quiet when I step inside. It’s not a comforting kind of quiet. Lately, Sima has brought a spark of life to this place, but now that she’s retired for the night, the oppressive silence of the mansion compounds with the tension riding on my shoulders.
Dimitri’s voice should be echoing down these halls. His booming laugh, his heavy footsteps. He always knew how to fill a room. I never thought his absence would turn the world so much emptier.
Then again, I never thought he’d be gone.
I find Kira in the living room. She’s sitting in one of the armchairs, sprawled with none of her usual grace and composure. A half-empty bottle of wine sits on the table beside her and a glass dangles between her fingers.
“Your wife’s already in bed,” she informs me. Her speech is slurred by alcohol, her cheeks flushed, her eyes a little too bright. “That’s what happens when you marry a college student. They have to be up early in the morning. Fucks the whole honeymoon vibe right over.”
I set down my keys. “You should probably do the same. It’s nearly two in the morning.”
“Hah.” Kira barks a mirthless laugh. “And here I was hoping this shitty day would end sooner.”
“Technically, it has already ended.”
“No, it hasn’t.” She gazes angrily out the window, like the moon has personally done her a disservice. “The sun isn’t up yet. Until then, it’s the same fucking day all over again.Whoever decided to reset the clock at midnight clearly never had to stay up past that.” She tries to pour herself another glass, fails, and just puts her lips straight to the bottle. “Pizdets.What a fucker.”
“Kira, it’s late.” I don’t feel like entertaining the drunk musings of my inebriated sister-in-law. “I’ll walk you upstairs.”
“So I can see Dimitri’s face behind my eyes every time I close them?” She chugs down more wine. “No, thanks.”
Suddenly, I realize why she’s hitting the booze hard. “You went to see him today.”
She doesn’t reply. Just stands on shaky legs from the armchair, eyes downcast, lips pressed into a white line. Kira was always the type to get stuck on the anger phase of grief. “Yeah. I did.”
“How is he?”
She swallows, and for a moment, I think she’s going to dodge the question. Instead, her voice wavers. “He’s probably going to die.”
I keep my face neutral. I don’t get the luxury of falling apart, and I certainly won’t do it in front of her. It wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Dimitri.
“Don’t say that.” I take the bottle from her hand and put her back on the accent table. “We don’t know that.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “You’re thinking the same thing. I can see it.”
I don’t answer that. She’s not wrong, but she doesn’t need to hear me admit it. Instead, I guide her back into the chair andcrouch in front of her. “He’s strong, Kira. If anyone can pull through, it’s him.”
She shakes her head, staring sightlessly past me. Her face is etched with regret. “If I’d given him an heir… maybe things would have been different.”
“Heirs have nothing to do with this.”
“He might have been more careful,” she mumbles. “Thought more about the future. Aboutus.”
“What happened to Dimitri wasn’t his fault.” I clench my fists and force myself to breathe. I have to remind myself that Kira’s drunk, and heartbroken, and speaking from the bottom of her grief. “It was nobody’s fault but the people who shot him. And they will pay for it.”
