Her words are meant to comfort me, but I don’t deserve them. “I should have been there. Shouldn’t have let you go into that room alone.”
“You didn’tletme do anything. We agreed on the plan ahead of time, and you did exactly what you were supposed to do. In case I need to remind you, the traitor is dead, whereas I am very muchalive.” Zahra leans back and closes her eyes. I’d dimmed all the lights in the room, but her injury was still very fresh, and she’d declined to take any of the stronger pain meds my doctor offered.
“You still got hurt,” I huff, as if I wasn’t talking to a literal boss. As if I wasn’t a Made man myself.
“I run a fucking mafia, Declan. Getting hurt is part of the job description. So is being unable to fully protect the people you care about, no matter how much you want to. You and I know that better than anyone,” she whispers.
“That used to be easier for me to accept,” I admit.
“What changed?”
“What do you think?” I pick at my fingernails, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation, but refusing to walk away from Zahra.
“Our fathers being murdered,” she guesses correctly. Shetakes a long, hard swallow, eyebrows pinching together, and I can tell she’s trying to hold in tears. “Damn concussion is making me emotional.”
“I thought you said you weren’t concussed.”
Her lips lift up slightly. “You’re right. I’m not. Must just be my allergies then.”
“That makes sense, the room is quite dusty.”
Zahra snorts. “If Maura heard you say that, she’d whack you upside the head with a feather duster.”
“Probably. Who knows, maybe she’d swing so hard we’d both be concussed,” I tease.
“Ha-ha.” A full-on smile breaks out on Zahra’s face for a moment before her expression turns serious. “Blaming yourself for their deaths is an unfair burden to carry.”
I shake my head. “I should have been there.”
“You had another job to take care of,” she argues.
“That doesn’t matter. I should’ve been there. If I had taken a second before I left to make sure I had my phone with me, Iwould’vebeen there,” I seethe, repeating the same words I’ve been saying to myself every day.
“Then you would have been dead. There’s no way their killer would have let you walk out alive.”
“Maybe that would’ve been for the best,”I snap. The immediate shame that hits my stomach is too much. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I shut my eyes as if that will somehow allow me to disappear.
I feel a soft caress on my cheeks and my eyes snap open.
Zahra’s delicate hands are placed on either side of my face, and she looks a mix of concerned and empathetic, as if she had read my mind. “Just because they’re dead doesn’t mean you should be too. Survivor's guilt is one of the deadliest poisons you can consume, Declan. It seeps into your bloodstream andconsumes you bit by bit until there’s nothing left. You have to fight it. Every minute of every day. Promise me you’ll fight.” She searches my eyes, desperate for me to agree.
“I’ve been fighting. It’s just exhausting.” I wait for the judgment to come. Zahra excelled at keeping her composure and demonstrating how lethal she is even after her life had just been threatened. Admitting weakness is not something a boss should ever do, and I had done just that.
I mentally prepare myself for a berating, to just suck it up and get over it. Instead, Zahra surprises me—giving me a glimpse of the person hidden behind all the armor. “I know it is. It drains me every day too. There are so many days when I just want to crawl into a ball and let it all consume me, but I can’t.Wecan’t. Too many people are counting on us. All we can do is take it day by day, and hope that tomorrow feels a bit lighter than yesterday.”
I place my hands on top of hers, letting the contact ground me. “Day by day. I can do that.”
“Good. I’m going to hold you to that.” She lets out a sigh of relief before gently removing her hands from my face and sinking back into the couch.
We sit in comfortable silence, long enough for me to think she’s fallen asleep, until Zahra speaks. “A princess will die, and the King will rise. How many times do you think he practiced that line in front of a mirror?” she snorts, though a deep frown consumes her face.
“At least fifty. Probably part of whatever initiation he went through to join his league of misfits. Along with that awful vulture tattoo.”
“His league of misfits nearly killed me three times.”
“Nearlybeing the operative word,” I remind her.
“I knew my rise into power would be controversial. I anticipateda few old heads getting up in arms about it. A couple of threats to pull out of old deals. Jokes about marrying me off to their younger sons so I could join their family. I never anticipated a whole coup against me though.” She drags a hand down her face.
