“How do you feel?”
“I feel …” How can I answer that question? “I’m glad they’re dead. But I have blood on my hands now.” I gaze down at them, noticing how small and pale they are. These are the hands of a murderer. Vik covers my hands with hers.
“I know we haven’t always gotten along, but I’m here, Sofiya. I’m always here.”
When I look up at her, I’m struck by how much she looks like our mom. “Will you be ok?”
She frowns. “Why wouldn’t I be ok? I wasn’t the one kidnapped and forced to kill people in self-defense.”
“I just meant that you and Mila can now return to New York if you want. Boris is dead. He won’t bother you anymore. You’d probably be safer there than you are here.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me that easily?”
“No.” I squeeze her hands. “I want you and Mila here with me. But Moscow is my home now. New York can still be yours. You can return to the ballet company. Start dancing again. You can have your freedom back in New York.”
Her eyes turn glassy for a moment before settling back on me. “You’re right. I could. I really want that,” she admits.
“You belong in New York.” Even as I’m saying the words, they hurt my heart. “We both know it. And I don’t want any of Mikhail’s enemies coming after you or Mila again. You’re both safer in New York now that Boris is gone.”
Vik inhales deeply. “Are you ok with that?”
“Only if you want to return to New York.”
“I do. God, I want to. I miss our home. I miss dancing. I want to go back.”
“Then you should.” I push back the tears threatening to spill over.
“Will you be fine here without us?”
“I have Mikhail. I’ll be fine. I’ll just miss you so much.”
“Wow,” she says, smiling faintly. “Never thought I’d ever hear you say that. I’ll miss you, too. Are you sure you want me to take Mila back with me?”
“Yes. New York is her home, too. She has a right to it.”
“New York is your home as well.”
I shake my head. “No. Moscow is. And I’m ok with that. More than ok. I have Mikhail, who will keep me safe. Just promise me you’ll keep Mila safe.”
“You know I will.”
I hate how final this goodbye feels, but it needs to be done. Today proved that, once again, my sisters would be in danger if they stayed in Moscow. Vik deserves her freedom to dance, and Mila deserves to make her own choices. The more removed they are from the Bratva, the better.
“Don’t get sappy on me,” Vik says, wiping at the tears that have fallen down my face. Turns out, I couldn’t hold them back. “We’ll see each other again.”
“It’s still sad.”
“I know,” she adds softly.
Then, my older sister pulls me into her arms, offering me comfort in a way no one else can. Silently, she’s telling me everything will be all right.
I find Mikhail in our bedroom. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he replies in his deep voice. “Come here.” He opens his arms again, and I sink into them. “I’m so fucking grateful you’re all right.”
“I killed them, Mikhail.”
“I hate that you had to. I promised always to keep you safe, and I broke that promise.”
The pain in his voice makes me pull back. “Mikhail …”
“When I entered the house today and saw Mary’s body, for a moment, I thought it was you, and I was reminded of the day I found Alexei’s body. I’d thought I’d lost you.”
“But you didn’t.”
“But I could have. And I would have regretted not telling you what I need to tell you.” Right before me, he gets down on his knees. Mikhail has never been in a supplicant position before me. The sight of him on his knees fills me with awe. “You mean everything to me, Sofiya. I know I kept things from you because they were too hard to talk about. But almost losing you today made me realize it would hurt me more to lose you than to talk about my past. I’m so sorry I’ve kept you at a distance. When I lost my son, I shut my heart off. It was easier. But I’m done doing that now. I want you to know all of me. See all of me. Not just the hard parts but the vulnerable parts, too.”
“Mikhail,” I whisper, cupping his face. “I want to know all of you, too, and I want you to know all of me. I don’t want there to be any barriers between us.”
“You need to know something about me. When Alexei died, I sat in my car and cried for hours.” The image of my tough, Bratva husband crying is strange, but it only makes my heart love him more. “Men like me don’t cry about anything. But I cried. And once I was done, I vowed to shut my heart off. I was never going to love anyone ever again.
“But,” he continues, “I met you, and I knew I needed you in my life. At first, I thought I just wanted to claim your body. But over time, I learned it was you, Sofiya, who I wanted to claim. It was your heart. All of you. I haven’t cried since I lost my son, but today was the first day that I thought I would cry again.” A single tear slips down his cheek. I don’t wipe it away. He needs to feel it, and I need to see it.
“Mikhail, I don’t judge you. I’m so happy you’re opening up to me. That’s all I’ve wanted for us. You need to know I had no doubt you would find me. And you did.” I lean down and press my lips to his. I don’t deepen it. Instead, I let the kiss linger.
“I’ve never told anyone this before,” he admits.
