That man?
Something bitter and acidic rose from deep in my chest, like someone had reached in and crushed my heart in their fist.
Boris retreated quickly, closing the door behind him with excruciating care, afraid to make a sound.
I sat alone in the empty office, staring at that photo, thoughts in chaos.
She found someone else.
In the seven months since she left, she'd found someone else.
Should I be angry? Yes. She was my wife. We weren't divorced. But what right did I have to be angry? Who locked her in a basement? Who hung up on every call the night her brother died? Who pushed her away, straight into another man's arms?
Me.
Me, you fucking asshole.
I rubbed my temples. They were pounding.
Maybe... maybe she was happy with him. Maybe he'd take care ofher, wouldn't hurt her like I did. Maybe I should let her go. Let her live the life she wanted.
Should I let her go?
The thought barely surfaced before another, stronger voice crushed it down.
No.
I couldn't.
I'd spent seven months searching for her, destroying myself in the process—not to let her go the second I found her. I had too much to say to her. Too many wrongs to make right. At least... at least let me tell her to her face how much I regretted it. How much I loved her.
If after that she still chose to leave, I'd accept it.
But until then—until then, I couldn't give up.
I didn't bring any men. Didn't even bring Boris.
This wasn't a business deal, wasn't a mob hit—this was the most important apology of my life, and I didn't want anyone witnessing me lose every shred of dignity I had left.
The cab stopped in front of an ordinary apartment building. Older construction, painted a warm cream, with a row of mailboxes downstairs and a small patch of reasonably well-kept shrubs.
Plain. Almost shabby.
I stared at that off-white door, heart hammering like some kid visiting a girl's place for the first time.
She was in there. She and that man were in there.
The thought made my stomach clench.
Pathetic.
I could put a bullet in someone's skull without blinking, but right now I was terrified—terrified she wouldn't want to see me, terrified she'd already erased me from her heart completely.
I got out of the cab, stood at the bottom of the stairs for a full ten minutes before I worked up the nerve to climb them. I took a deep breath, straightened my collar—I'd worn a fresh shirt, even put on cologne, shaved, trying to look less like something that crawled out of hell.
Though I knew none of that would probablymatter.
Standing outside that ordinary apartment door, I took a deep breath and knocked.
