I shove it deep into the bottom of the trash bin and cover it with cotton pads and a bottle of mouthwash—anything I can get my hands on.
It’s gone. For now.
My heart splinters with the decision.
But I can’t stay here—not with this massive time bomb of a secret, not when I saw that look in Miko’s eye.
The one that says he could burn the world down to find the truth.
I won’t let my baby get caught in the flames.
33
MIKO
When I finally rise from the cloud of destruction and despair, the guilt sets in as I stare at the hole I put in Svetlana’s wall.
It feels as though I’ve finally surfaced from the depths of a deep, dark, frigid lake—only to realize it’s not a lake at all.
I’m stranded in the middle of the ocean, with no land in sight and nothing to grasp on to.
I’ve been cut adrift, and only I know just how dire my circumstances are.
But that doesn’t give me the right to take my pain and anger out on this old woman, and the remorse that threatens to swallow me whole steals the oxygen from my lungs.
Is this what Pyotr felt like after he hurt Anika? A soul-crushing self-disgust and hatred? Am I sick like him? Can I even be trusted around someone so precious as the woman I love?
I’m terrified that the answer is no.
But Svetlana doesn’t look fazed at all as she watches me with a steady gaze.
How many generations of abusive Novikov men has she survived to be so calm around my violent rampage?
I feel terrible for unleashing my anger and denial right in front of her.
Swallowing hard, I kneel before the old woman, collecting the gold locket from the floor as it burns like molten metal against my palm.
“Forgive me,Bisnonna,” I say, bowing my head as I gently press the jewelry into her hand.
The Italian word sounds oddly foreign on my tongue, and with a blast of pain and loathing, I realize that’s not just because Svetlana is the first woman I’ve had the privilege of addressing as my great-grandmother.
I’m calling her by her title in a language that’s no longer my own.
It never was.
I’m a Russian who doesn’t even know how to speak his native tongue.
A mutant mutt who has no clue about his own heritage.
“I’ll fix the damage I’ve caused,” I promise.
I don’t dare lift my eyes to gauge her reaction, and when Svetlana cups my face in both gnarled hands, guiding it upward, I feel like a child again.
“Perhaps you still have enough of that goodness that your brother lost along the way,” she observes, her harsh amusementreplaced by a wise curiosity once more. As if she’s finally seeing me clearly now. “Pyotr had a hard childhood. It wasn’t easy carrying his father’s legacy upon his shoulders alone, knowing every day that the burden wasn’t his to bear, and yet bear it he must.”
I’ll never go so far as to forgive my brother for what he did to Anika.
The things he did, the horrors he put her through—some acts of violence are unforgivable.
