Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Oh fuck. She doesn’t know.
But of course she doesn’t know—nobody from the Bratva’s talking to her right now. Her fucking sicko father hasn’t told her shit, and her brother Lev’s too wrecked with grief to take the initiative.
Which leaves this awful job to me.
“He’s dead.”
No reaction. Not at first. Her face is pale and her eyes are wide, and every inch of her screams out stress and utter sadness. And then she crumples down to the ground, pulling her knees up and hugging herself with her back against the wall, and when I try to touch her she swats my hand away.
She cries for a little while. I let her get it out, feeling crushed and helpless. I mourned for my dead best friend already, and it isn’t fair that she didn’t get a chance until now.
None of this is fair. None of it is right. But it’s happening, and I’m going to be strong for her.
An old man wanders past and frowns at Natalya. I stare him down and practically dare him to say something. The old fuck speeds up.
Natalya doesn’t deserve this. She’s been punished enough for running out on her arranged marriage to Valentin Zeitsev. Keeping Stepan’s death from her for this long was just cruel.
“What happened?” she says finally, getting herself together and wiping her face. She pushes back to her feet, looking small and frail. I want to hold her, but can’t cross that line again.
Not ever again.
“You don’t want to hear the details.”
“Fuck you, Alex,” she snaps, glaring hard at me. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? You knew this whole time. You came here, and you knew my brother was dead, and instead—“ She stops herself, and I don’t deny it. Because she’s right.
I came here knowing I’d have to have this conversation, and I fucked her last night instead.
Like I said, I’m a piece of shit and a real bastard.
So much for the perfect Bratva soldier.
“He was shot,” I tell her finally, even though I know it won’t help make her feel better. “Killed doing his job. It happened a few months ago.”
She kicks herself off the wall. Her coffee slams to the ground and the lid breaks off, spilling all over the sidewalk. The expression on her face is pure, horrified betrayal.
“A few months ago?” she says, her tone trembling with rage.
“Someone should’ve told you sooner.”
“No fucking kidding,” she says, getting in my face. Little firebrand Natalya. People are staring, and a part of me is worried someone might call the police. But I’m not about to tell her to calm down, not when this reaction is entirely justified.
“I had assumed your father or Lev got in touch, but when I was instructed to come here and bring you home, your father also mentioned that I should break the news.” My hands curl into fists and I hold back on my anger. This is her moment to feel, not mine. “I agree that this is fucked.”
She hates me. It’s all over her face. That’s a look I’ve become intimately familiar with. Nat has always despised me, and I can’t even blame her.
I never treated her right, because the second I did—I’d ruin my fucking life.
“So you came here on my father’s orders to tell me that my older brother was murdered and oh yeah you have to bring me back home. Is that about it?”
“Almost everything, yes.”
“This is fucked up, even for the god damn Bratva,” she snarls at me and kicks her coffee cup. She leans her hands against the wall, breathing hard. “God, I’m so mad. This is so fucking fucked.” She slams her fist down and lets out a string of curses as she cradles it against her chest.
And like that, most of her fight drains away.
She leans back, head hanging. Tears roll down her face, but she’s not sobbing out of control anymore.
“I can’t make excuses. But I can tell you that Stepan didn’t suffer.“
“Like that makes it any better.”
“And he was buried with honor.” I know that doesn’t matter to her, but it meant something to me at the time.
She lets out an ugly laugh. “I bet the funeral was nice. I bet it really helped you gain some closure, right? Except I wasn’t there and nobody even bothered to tell me about it.”
We stop talking. The sound of the city creeps in. Cars in the street, birds in the nearby park trees. A laugh erupts from half a block away as a couple of young women stagger together, arm-in-arm.
I don’t tell her that she’s right. I don’t explain to her how horrible I find this whole situation, how much I hated her father when he dropped this nightmare into my lap, and how painful this is for me, too. Watching Nat break down is almost like losing Stepan all over again, and that nearly killed me.