Her eyes meet mine. “I’ve spent twenty-four years seeing family one way. Living my life by a belief system. I have been good. And in my head, to be good and quiet and careful has always meant the possibility of quiet in return. If you are careful, you don’t set off the minefield.” The tears that have been shining in her eyes spill now, rolling in twin streams down her cheeks.“And tonight you showed me a room full of people who would take a bullet for each other. I know what my circumstances are. What my—what mylifehas been. Iknow it.But I have never been stupid enough to want something I can never have before. I have never felt so alone or broken.”
The shrapnel of her words sinks into my skin.
“Why?” I ask, as gentle as I can be. “You are a part of it now. You’re a Yuri, Janella.”
It isn’t enough. She lets out a sound that is as much a laugh as a sob. It makes something deep within me ache for her. Precious, wounded girl.
“I’m not!” she insists, the words sounding pleading again. “I’m not, Iosif. I’m—borrowed. Bought and paid for. Temporary. You may have given me your name to give me a different door… but you don’t want a wife. Your family was wonderful to me. Because they loveyou.But no one loves me. I belong nowhere. I belong to no one.”
“That’s bullshit,” I bite out.
Janella’s lips curl into a weary, pitying smile. Again, she shakes her head. “It’s just reality,” she sighs, her shoulders hunching in a weak shrug. “I just need a minute to acclimate. I know you think I’m weak, but it helps me that I’m good at that.”
Fuck.That.
“Pull over,” I bark at Otto, furious.
Otto squeaks, “Sir?”
“I said pull the fuck over. Now.”
The man has the good sense to comply. The SUV slides to a standstill by the curb of an idling street. I bolt out of my seatand round the car, ripping her door open. I yank her out of the car before she can protest.
“Iosif!” she shrieks.
It’s hard to take her ire seriously when she’s shivering. She could just be shaking, overwhelmed. But the thought of her being cold inexplicably bugs me.
I set her on her feet, pulling off my coat and throwing it around her shoulders. My anger is going to keep me warm. I can feel it.
“We’re getting ice cream,” I announce.
She balks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
I’m getting used to that look, actually.
“We just had dinner!” she argues.
“Which you stopped eating halfway through. You were mostly pushing food around your plate,” I retort, swiping the tears from her face one cheek at a time, and sizing her up with a stern look. “You need a pick-me-up. There’s a place around the corner that Nadya loves. Fucking humor me.”
For a second, I’m certain she’s about to refuse. Or worse, burst into tears again.
Instead, she says, “Fine. But I’m not cold. You can have your coat back.”
I roll my eyes and throw an arm around her shoulders, dragging her into my side—lest she make a run for it. “You’re about to have ice cream in the middle of a Bostonian winter, doll. If you’re not freezing your tits off yet, you will be.”
I grin when I see her rolling her eyes back at me. I swear I hear her mumble, “Nuts.”
“Go home, Otto,” I toss over my shoulder. “We’ll walk back.”
Automatically, she chirps in addition, “Thank you very much!”
***
I take my time studying her while she studies the flavors, her nose almost pressed against the glass case.
“What the hell is ‘Lavender Honey Cardamom’?” she questions, dubious.
“Foo-foo shit.”
