Each string of rings slices through me in thunderous waves. What if she refuses to answer my call? What if she still hates me?
The worried voice in my head snaps shut when the ringing cuts off.
“Hello?”
God, I missed her voice.
“Cassandra.” I breathe, listening carefully to the small hitch in her breath.
“Mikhail,” she says softly. She doesn’t exactly sound mad, but I’m not sure how to read the confusing tone of her voice. The anger I can deal with. At least that, I understand.
“How was your day?” I ask, my tone gentle.
She laughs, and the sound is musical in my ears.
“It was alright, I suppose. What is the real reason behind this call?”
“I heard you had a conversation with Ivan.”
“Yes. He was quite a bit more forthcoming than you.” She says, the words biting into my skin.
“I’m sorry for not giving you direct answers before. I thought it would protect you from certain aspects of my world and—” I take a breath, forcing the next words from my throat. “I guess I was scared. It’s been a long time since I’ve trusted someone else. I might’ve forgotten how.”
She says nothing for so long, I begin to wonder if she walked away from the phone. Eventually, a sigh of air crackles into the speaker, indicating she’s still there.
“It’s been a while since I trusted someone new, too.”
I wait in hopeful silence, praying that she keeps talking just so I can hear that beautiful voice.
“You know, I didn’t tell my best friend about being drugged that night. Partly because I didn’t want her to blame herself for leaving me alone. But also, I was ashamed of doing something so stupid. Every girl in the world knows to watch her drink at the bar. I knew better than that, and I didn’t want her to think of me as one of those naive girls who need to be watched to make sure they don’t wander off into danger they can’t handle.”
My heart twists in pain at her words, the poor organ pumping in double time. It wasmyclub. Neither of those girls is at fault for what happened, and shame courses through my veins at the realization that she’s been struggling with that completely misdirected sense of fault.
“Menace, that was my failure, not yours, and absolutely not your friend’s. I’m so sorry you felt that way for even a second. I won’t ever let something like that happen to you again.”
“It’s okay, Mikhail, my point is that when I finally told her what happened, followed by everything that went so wrong between you and me, the world didn’t come crashing down on my head like I thought it would. It felt better.”
I hate the memory she stirs of that night in my apartment, wanting to bury it, eat it, and swallow it so that it never hurts her again. But I know that’s not possible. So instead, I take deep, steadying breaths.
“My father—he wasn’t a good man. He ran the Bratva into the ground with his meaningless feuds and fostered enemies. And the worst of it all was that when he finally fell, he managed to take my brother and mother down with him. I inherited my position during the lowest point of my existence, and I carefully sifted through the entire organization to ensure that anyone who stood for my father’s values or relished the old ways was quickly obliterated.”
I sigh, realizing I’ve never spoken this truthfully, this openly, to anyone before. Cassandra said the world didn’t come crashing down on heradmissions, but part of me still tenses in anticipation, waiting for her to end the call. To walk away.
When nothing but calm silence fills the call, I push myself to continue.
“It seems that my father’s old enemies have infiltrated my syndicate once again. It takes me right back to that obliterating hopelessness I felt back then. And that feeling blinded me when I got a call that night, telling me you were at the center of it all. I’m so sorry, Cassandra.”
Pain fills my useless apology, spilling over into the hollow bounds of my ribs as I listen to the static silence gracing the call.
Cassandra
My mind races to process all of the information and emotions Mikhail has willingly shared with me in the last ten minutes of the call. When my phone rang so late, his name flashing across the screen like a sigil, I almost didn’t answer, unsure of what would meet me on the other side of the line.
One thing’s for sure, though.
The Mikhail who called me is not the same man who ignored all of my probing questions and parroted back a parade of dull, vague explanations.
I’m not ready to excuse the choices he made, but at least now I understand the strange trail of events. The whiplash of emotions that led to that awful night.
