The word hits me like a punch to the gut, and I press a hand to my mouth to stifle a sound that’s half laugh, half sob. I loved him. No. God help me, Ilovehim.
And maybe that’s what hurts most…because love shouldn’t feel like betrayal. It shouldn’t make you question every tender thing, every word that feels true.
A tear slips down my cheek, then another, until I give up trying to stop them. I turn my face toward the window, letting the hum of the engines drown out the sound of my quiet crying.
I can't stop thinking about his hands, his mouth worshiping my body. The staggering intensity of his eyes as he makes love to me. The way his eyes soften when he looks at me.
Was any of it real?
Or was I just the one person he couldn’t bring himself to tell the truth to?
My chest aches with every breath. The rhythm of the plane lulls me, the steady vibration seeping into my bones until the exhaustion finally wins.
As I drift off to sleep, I think about the sound of his deep velvety voice calling mezayka.
And even now, I don’t know whether I want to forget him…or hope he never finds me.
***
The first person I see as I step off the plane is Alexei, standing just beyond the security line dressed in a dark tailored suit, arms behind his back, with an unreadable expression.
He looks every inch the bratva boss he is.
Beside him is Katya, glaring daggers at his profile. She never cared much for any of the Balshov brothers, and she never hides it.
My chest tightens, and for a moment, my feet don’t move. Then Katya looks up, and her expression brightens, a welcoming smile tugging at her lips.
“Anya!”
She hurries toward me and wraps her arms around me in a familiar, warm embrace. I hug her back, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply. She smells like coffee and home. Comforting.
“Are you okay?” she whispers against my hair. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” I murmur, shaking my head against her shoulder. “No, Katya.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes darting over my face like she’s searching for bruises. Then, without lowering her voice, she throws a look over my shoulder.
“You can go to hell, you know that?”
I feel Alexei’s presence before I see his reaction. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just watches us with that same silent intensity that always makes my pulse jump. But now, it hurts to meet his gaze.
Still holding Katya’s hand, I finally turn to face him.
“We need to talk,” I say, my voice is steadier than I feel. “All three of us. It’s time you told us the full truth.”
Something flickers in his eyes—guilt, maybe relief—but he only nods once. “Let’s go.”
Katya snorts. “You’re lucky she’s the one asking. I’d rather feed myself to piranhas than get in a car with you.”
“Katya,” I whisper, giving her hand a squeeze. “Please.”
After a tense beat, she sighs and lets me lead her toward the exit.
The car waiting outside is sleek, black, and far too quiet inside. Alexei sits up front beside Sergei, his shoulders rigid, every movement restrained. Katya and I sit in the back, the air thick with things unsaid.
As soon as the doors shut behind us, Katya reaches forward and raises the privacy screen, separating us from Alexei and Sergei.
“What’s going on, Anya?” she asks under her breath. “Why are we even here with him?”
