His arms wrapped around me from behind, holding me steady.
“It’s for you,” he said softly against my ear.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
I lifted my eyes to his face.
I searched for anything — suspicion, warning, fear, hesitation.
He gave none of it away.
He trusted me to read it.
Trusted me to face whatever truth my sister had sent.
I swallowed hard and tore the seal open with trembling fingers.
The paper unfolded slowly.
Thick. Expensive.
The handwriting immediately stopped my breath.
Sharp. Familiar.
The same looping strokes I had seen on notebooks years ago — before everything shattered between us.
My throat tightened.
“It’s her,” I whispered.
Ruslan tightened his hold slightly.
“Read it,” he said quietly.
I forced air into my lungs and began to read aloud — my voice barely above a whisper so he could hear every word.
Dear Elena Jnr,
If you’re reading this, it means I’m still breathing — and that terrifies me more than dying ever did.
If this letter ever reaches you, know that I wrote it with the last of my strength and the very last flicker of hope I have left.
Life has not been kind to either of us.
We seem to carry the entire curse of the universe on our shoulders — two daughters of the same poisoned bloodline, both punished for sins we never committed.
I know I am the reason your nightmare began.
When Ruslan couldn’t find me, he turned his rage on you instead.
I used you as a shield without ever meaning to, and I will never forgive myself for it.
I am married to a monster.
An Italian mafia boss whose name I can barely bring myself to write.
They call him Il Mostro behind his back — and the name fits.
