“That’s not fair.”
“Fair doesn’t matter,” I said. “He doesn’t want me. He made that very clear. He told me I was dead to him and I should never show him my face again.”
She hesitated. “Do you want me to talk to him?”
Hope flared in my chest, traitorous and sharp. “Do you think he will listen?”
“I don’t know, Ilana,” she admitted honestly. “But I can try. I saw how happy he was with you when the two of you came for dinner, and looking at you together made me feel like you were meant for each other. I don’t want something so beautiful to go to waste, and if for this to work out, I have to talk to him, I will.”
I nodded even though she could not see me. “If he does listen to you, I would be forever grateful if you talk to him. Please. Just tell him… tell him that I never told anything to my brothers. Not even once. I only called one of my brothers once, and that too was because I wanted to confirm if they were involved in the Bratva. After I got the confirmation, I asked them to stay away from me and not to come looking for me. They found me on their own.”
“I will, Ilana. Please take care of yourself. And call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Elisse.”
When the call ended, the apartment felt emptier. I curled onto the couch and allowed myself to break completely. I had no idea I had fallen so deeply in love with Avgust Chernykh that his absence almost made it impossible for me to breathe.
***
The gallery-come-art shop smelled like dust and oil paint. It was the same place where Avgust had taken me on one of our dates. The same creaky floorboards and the same elderly owner who had smiled at me like he too understood that art held magic. It had been two weeks since Avgust had kicked me out, and I finally had the time to come to terms with it.
It was still just as hard, but I was thinking practically now.
And the first thing I knew was that I needed money.
I carried the painting under my arm as I walked inside, my gaze falling on the multiple art pieces in the windows. All of them were beautiful, each carrying the scent of the painter. The painting I was carrying was one he had thrown away. It was abstract, light breaking through shadow, gold bleeding into blue. It was hope fighting darkness. I had painted it late one night, barefoot on cold tile while Avgust slept peacefully.
I wondered if he had ever known it was about him. Most of them were.
I no longer felt hopeful about anything. But that didn’t matter. Despite all of it, I had to battle myself to sell this painting. These were the only things I was left with now that Avgust was gone from my life. I had nothing but these memoriesto cherish, and if I began selling these paintings as well, then I would be left with nothing. Avgust would disappear completely.
But I did not have a choice. Not when I needed money.
“Hey,” I greeted the old man, who smiled at me thoughtfully.
“Hello, my dear. How can I help you?” he asked, still kind.
“I was wondering if you could help me sell this painting or perhaps buy it for your shop,” I said, keeping the canvas before him.
The man studied it for a long moment. “You made this, my dear?”
I nodded.
“It’s good,” he said quietly. “Very good if I am being honest.”
Relief flooded me, but it was brief and fragile.
“The only problem is, if I keep it in the shop, I am not sure when it will sell, and I can’t pay you much.”
“That’s fine,” I smiled tightly, already knowing it was going to be a problem. Selling art was already difficult, and selling art by unknown artists was even harder.
Before the owner could say anything else, the door chimed behind me and opened. I turned around, my eyes falling on a very familiar face. The last face I wanted to see in the moment.
“I knew you would come here.”
My blood turned to ice. Fyodor.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said, sighing.
