“I want her home,” Misha sobs now, the fight slowly draining out of his body. “Bring my Elena home. Bring her home, Sasha. I need her here. I can’t do this without her. Please.”
The word please nearly tears him in half.
And that’s when it hits both Kostya and me at the same time.
He wants Sasha to go back to the grave where his wife was laid to rest… and dig her out.
So he can bury her here.
Sasha isn’t a religious man—not even close. But like mostBratva soldati, he is superstitious. And disturbing a body once it’s been put into the earth? That’s the kind of sin that stains a soul forever. That’s bad karma of the darkest kind.
And yet Misha is begging for it like a dying man begging for air.
None of us knows how to react to that. None of us has the right words to reason with our erratic brother.
Then we hear it.
Soft sobbing from the staircase.
We all turn to find Kira clinging to Lucky for dear life, her entire body shaking with quiet cries. Beside her stands Stella, her eyes locked on mine, almost pleading, as if knowing exactly what choice is forming in my chest.
“We’ll get Elena,” I hear myself say, staring straight at my soul’s emerald eyes.
If the roles were reversed, I’d probably be on my knees too…begging to keep the woman I love close, in any way I could have her.
“We will?” Kostya asks, uncertain, fear threading his voice.
“Yes,” I answer firmly. “We will.”
“I’m coming with you,” young Romano calls from above. He presses a trembling Kira into Stella’s arms without hesitation, trusting his sister to protect the person that matters most in his life, while he willingly steps into hell with us.
I guess he understands it too.
Why a man would desecrate a grave just to be closer to the woman he loves.
I keep my frantic brother pinned long enough to pull back and look him in the eyes.
“We’ll get Elena,” I tell him firmly. “But in the meantime, you can’t kill Sasha. You hear me, Misha? Don’t fucking kill our brother or I’ll be rightfully pissed.”
He doesn’t answer.
Come to think of it, his screaming and cursing at Sasha has been the most I’ve heard him speak in days.
“I’ll watch over Misha,” Stella says assuredly, stepping forward. “You go. Do what you need to do. We’ll be here.”
On that, Kostya and I slowly release our grip. Misha immediately goes slack again—numb, empty, barely present in his own body.
I hold Stella’s gaze one last time before turning toward the door, Kostya and Lucky falling in behind me.
“I knew coming to Russia was going to be a clusterfuck,” Lucky mutters as we head out, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. “But I never thought it would go this bad.”
None of us says another word on the long drive into Moscow, much less utter a sound when we reach the cemetery Elena is buried in.
The earth is still loose when we reach the grave.
That makes it worse.
Kostya drives the shovel into the soil with a curse under his breath, every movement sharp and angry, like he’s trying to punish the ground for what it’s holding.
