“Mila.” It was a scolding if I ever heard one.
I lifted my head to see Ronan in the doorway, his eyes narrowed.
“How long have you been standing there?” I asked, embarrassment sliding through me at him hearing my pathetic monologue.
“Long enough to know fucking a mobster wouldn’t look good on your scholarship application.”
Ugh.
“Eavesdropper,” I muttered.
“What did I tell you about the dog?” he said harshly.
“His name is Khaos. And he and I are cool now.”
“You still have five stitches from him biting you,” he deadpanned.
Brow furrowed, I glanced down at my wrist. “Yeah, when am I supposed to get these out again?”
“Mila.” His soft but no-nonsense tone drew my full attention. “Come.”
The single word slipped through my blood with a mixture of hot and cold water. As much as I was tempted to fall into Ronan’s bed just to forget everything for a little while, my heart couldn’t handle the act of saying goodbye with my body tonight and my mouth tomorrow.
I couldn’t say goodbye twice.
I shook my head.
His eyes hardened. “It wasn’t a request, kotyonok.”
Throat tight, I shook my head again, saying, “I can’t.”
Ronan took a step into the room, pulling a growl from Khaos’s throat. Ronan ignored him. “You’re coming, Mila, even if I have to carry you out.”
Feeling confident with the growling German shepherd beside me, I said, “No. I’m staying in my own room tonight.”
Of course, Ronan moved toward me, not stopping even when Khaos got to his feet on the bed and bared his teeth in a menacing growl.
“Ronan, stop.” My heart raced. “He’s going to bite you.”
“I’ll stop when you come with me.”
Unconcerned, he took another step, and when Khaos’s growl grew lethal, his hackles rising, I blurted, “Okay! Okay, I’ll come with you.”
Gah. The man was insufferable.
I slid off the bed and smoothed Khaos’s hackles down. “It’s okay, buddy. He isn’t going to hurt me.” At least, not physically. When the German shepherd settled a little, I turned to Ronan. “I’ll come if Khaos can sleep here tonight. He likes my bed.” I’d even set up a bowl of water and a plate of pumpkin pie I found in the kitchen.
Ronan wasn’t impressed. “Fine. But shut the door. My brother and his family are still here. And your dog is a nutcase.”
“You’re a nutcase.”
“You were the one involved in a porridge catfight downstairs.”
“She pulled my hair,” I explained simply and shut the door behind me.
His eyes darkened. “That won’t ever happen again. Nobody pulls your hair except me.”
Apparently, Ronan was just going to pretend tomorrow wasn’t happening. The lance of resentment burning through me only reaffirmed my decision to make a break for it and find a hiding place until morning. I couldn’t sleep with Ronan tonight. I couldn’t handle it emotionally, physically—any of the —allys.
He turned toward his room.
I sprinted down the hall in the opposite direction.
A rough exhale. A growled, “Mila.” And then the sound of his expensive boots on my trail. I flew down the stairs, frantically thinking of a good place to hide. In my haste, I barreled into the dining room and came to a full stop when I saw Gianna, Christian, and Kat enjoying a nice family meal.
I panted, chest heaving.
Gianna hid a laugh.
“Uh-oh,” Kat murmured. “Mila is in trouble.”
Ronan grabbed me by the waist and pulled me off my feet. “Make sure you try the vatrushka,” he said nonchalantly. “Polina makes the best.”
Christian gave his brother an indecipherable look before Ronan swung me into his arms and carried me up the stairs. I could fight him, but now his masculine scent surrounded me and confused my senses. His warmth soaked into my skin, forcing the resistance to melt within.
He dropped me on his bed and straddled my hips. “You shouldn’t have heard any of that.”
I knew he was speaking about what Nadia had told me.
I swallowed. “Because I’m too weak to handle it?”
He shackled my wrists above my head. “Because you’re so sweet you fucking glow.” His eyes darkened. “And I’ll kill anyone who tries to take that light from you.”
“Don’t kill Nadia.”
“That’s still open for debate, but right now . . .” His lips ran up my throat. “Ty mne nuzhna.” I need you.
The deep rasp brushed my skin, burned my heart, and made the decision for me. I arched my neck to allow him more access, giving him what he needed even knowing he would be the one to destroy me.
fanaa
(n.) destruction of self for love
Rain dripped down the car window, blurring my view of remote Russia as Albert drove us to our destination. Snow capped the pine trees, outlined the horizon, and covered the ground.
The winter wonderland melted and turned to mud in front of my eyes.
My mind returned to an hour before, when Ronan slipped my arms into a mysterious yellow faux fur coat. I hadn’t said a word as he zipped it up before sliding my feet into a new pair of ankle boots. I hadn’t realized how dirty and worn my others were until then. He rose to his full height, pulled my hair out from beneath my coat, and said, “Poydem.” Let’s go.
Outside, I turned to give the house one last look and saw the menacing stone fortress in a different light. It was where Yulia’s eccentricity dwelled. Where Polina’s shouts and home-cooked meals could be found. Where rumpled black sheets lay undisturbed. Where doors, mirrors, and hearts were broken. And where sparks were made . . .
I turned to head to the car but stilled when Yulia appeared in the open doorway. We never acknowledged she’d taken care of me in the shower yesterday. The moment could have never happened, but I’d always remember it did.
Her permanent severe expression didn’t falter as she shut the door.
I continued my trek to the car, unable to glance at the kennel where I’d returned Khaos this morning, but I knew he was sitting outside watching me. I’d break down if I had to say goodbye to him. I wished I could take him with me, but I didn’t have a clue where I was even going, let alone if I’d be able to take care of him properly.
A single tear slipped down my cheek then and now, while I watched snow turn to mud through the car window. I wiped it away knowing if I let the tears fall, they’d never stop.
Ronan was unnaturally quiet, running a thumb across his bottom lip and watching the scenery pass by. I wondered if he cared he was devastating my life by murdering my father. My papa’s actions may be unconscionable—and unforgivable—but Ronan wasn’t his judge and jury. I wondered if Ronan cared at all that this would be the last time he’d ever see me. By his indifference, I couldn’t believe I was even in his thoughts.
Maybe I was just a fleeting amusement that had already passed. So many insecurities and fears wreaked havoc on my mind. Nothing made sense in this state—with my chest squeezed tight in terror of what would happen when this car came to a standstill.
To find some relief from my thoughts, I asked, “Is my papa still married?”
“Da.”
“What’s she like?”
“As far as I can remember, she’s agoraphobic and addicted to coke,” Ronan answered without looking at me.
Oh. She sounded nice. Though maybe she had some trauma from my papa’s lifestyle as well.
“How many siblings do I have?” I continued.
“Three brothers.”
“Will they be there today?”
“Adrian and Dimitri probably. Dima’s in prison.”
When I imagined having a family, it never occurred to me they’d be mobsters. I guessed I should have lowered my expectations when I thought of magical family Christmases. I’d jinxed myself.
Ronan traded Russ
We took a turn off the road and into an empty plot of land occupied by a couple of worn silos. Two black cars were parked on the far side of the area, their windshield wipers flicking back and forth. My heart ricocheted in my chest as mud sloshed beneath tires.
When we pulled to a stop, Ronan finally turned to me. He unzipped my coat and slipped a roll of cash into the inside pocket. Turning on my phone, he handed it to me. I watched him with a serene feeling as he zipped my coat back up like I was a child.
He didn’t say anything to me, and the pain splitting my chest overrode my fear of anything else. Before he could open the door, the heartache escaped my lips with a desperate breath.
“Proshchay.” The word sounded soft, but its meaning held a poignant note. It meant goodbye forever.
Fingers on the door handle, Ronan watched me for a long second. I could practically see D’yavol rising to the surface of his eyes. Soulless sophistication.
When he didn’t respond, my throat tightened. He had to say something. He had to let me know this—I—meant something to him. I deserved the words, or I knew they would haunt me forever.
“Aren’t you going to say it too?”
“Nyet.” The reply was so cold, its ice burned the backs of my eyes, sending a single tear down my cheek. It wasn’t until he watched it fall that I noticed the tightness in his shoulders; the turmoil he hid so well behind Giovanni.
A rough thumb wiped the tear away. “Ya ne govoryu togo, chego ne imeyu v vidu.”
Then he opened the door and stepped out, gesturing for me to follow. I did without a word, my thoughts too chaotic to muse on what he said.
I stayed close to Ronan as doors slammed shut and men filed out. I knew Victor drove another car that had followed us here. I’d hoped it was just a precaution and not because we were going to war. I’d be a sitting duck in my bright yellow coat.
Six men stood across from us, my papa and Ivan taking the center. My papa wore a gray tweed suit I’d bought for him last year. The silver in his hair was more pronounced than I remembered, but nothing else seemed to have changed. He still looked like the papa I’d always known and loved.
Though when my eyes met his, pictures of the child he’d tortured flipped through my mind. Then the faceless girls he’d trafficked. And the memory of my mother lying dead on our library floor.
“Papa, your friend . . . is she my mother?”
His gaze softened. “No, angel.”
The truth was, my heart had mourned my papa since I was that little girl. I mourned the father I wanted him to be. I mourned the love I needed to receive. And now, I had to mourn his death.
The wind whistled through the silos as rain dripped to the earth. Mud separated us from the men who were supposed to be my family; the ones to save me from D’yavol’s clutches. Yet in my gut, it felt like I belonged on this side.
“We did not think you would show. You are an hour late,” one of the dark-haired men beside Papa said, cracking his knuckles. Tattoos trailed up his neck, and his nose was crooked as if it’d been broken many times.
“It’s called fashionably late, Adrian,” Ronan said. “Don’t tell me you’re the guy who shows up to the party five minutes early.”
I guessed the man who spoke was my brother. Doubtful I’d ever see him in a Christmas sweater.
Adrian scowled. “You are lucky we are even going through with this trade after you have used our sister up like a whore—”
“Zatknis’,” Papa growled. Shut up.
Ronan didn’t blink beside me, but an almost imperceptible tension radiated from him.
“Do you think just because you kill our father, we will not become a bigger problem for you?” another man said. His gaze was empty, like he’d seen so much death the lifelessness had snuck into his eyes. I somehow knew this was Dimitri, my other brother, and another probable no on the Christmas sweater.
Ronan chuckled. “You couldn’t organize a luncheon, let alone an uprising.”
With a growl, Dimitri lunged toward him, but Ivan held him back. Ivan had barely cast me a glance since I arrived. He either felt guilty for leaving me to fend for myself, or he was not the man I thought I knew.
Papa must hold some esteem for his sons because the insult to Dimitri made him seethe. He glared at Ronan with venom.
“An inch. A single inch, and you would have been dead. I will regret that inch until I die.”
It felt like I had been transported to another world. One full of mud and gravity so heavy it dislodged my heart. This world revolved in the opposite direction. Spinning faster and faster.
“Then I guess you should be thankful you’ll be free of that regret shortly.”
“We have come to finish this,” Papa snapped. “So let us do it now.”
Ronan handed his gun to Albert just as Papa did so with Ivan. Detached, I followed Ronan to meet my father in the middle of opposing sides. My papa wouldn’t meet my eyes. I didn’t care. This world was heavy and unstable.
When Ronan looked at me, the spinning stopped. His eyes held me steady. Dark blue. The color of the one heart-shaped earring in my ear. And full of things unsaid. I didn’t ever want to look away, but I was forced to.
An explosion threw me back a step and trembled the ground. With a curse, Ronan shoved me behind him. Pieces of the silo flew through the air, fiery tin chunks landing in the mud. And then a closer boom split through the air, nearly knocking me off my feet. My ears rang, and I touched one, wincing when I came away with blood. Disoriented, I blinked through the thick smoke.
This world was spinning and on fire.
Both silos were in flames, and a smaller blast sent sharp shards of tin into the air. Ronan grabbed me and cradled my head against the falling shrapnel. The smoke cleared just enough to see my papa and the silver glint of a pistol aimed at Ronan’s back.
“NO,” tore through my body. I could handle mourning so much.
But not Ronan.
Never Ronan.
My heart made the decision for me. I shoved him away from me just as a pop sounded.
Then everything went silent.
The smoke drifted away.
Shrapnel stopped falling.
This world wasn’t spinning.
It was cold, quiet, and so very dark.
absquatulate
(v.) to leave without saying goodbye
I’d once thought Ronan would let me drown; that he would watch me sink, curly hair floating and aglow. But in the end, it was his voice that dragged me from the darkness.
“Prosnis’, Mila.” Wake up. “Goddammit, prosnis’.”
Ronan had demanded so much from me since we met—so many orders he was confident would be met—but this request held a vulnerable crack. It wasn’t a demand at all. It was a need.
I found another weakness.
He was weak for me.
Drawing in a shallow breath, I struggled to open my eyes. I forced them open and saw I was lying on the floor of a moving car that vibrated beneath me. Yellow and red. My new coat was ruined, the faux fur matted with streaks of blood. Crimson-soaked bandages lay discarded around me. My shirt was torn open, and the sight of the hole gushing blood in my stomach made me so dizzy I was almost pulled under again. Though Ronan’s voice as he snapped something at Albert grounded me.
My eyes lifted to Ronan, who ripped open a new sterile bandage with his teeth and used it to put pressure on the wound. I tensed in expectation of pain but only felt a twinge in my abdomen as a tremble began to shake my entire body.
Our gazes met.
Russian roulette.
One blink, and—
I’d only miss the sight of him.
A dark, tortured gaze held mine for a long moment. Finally, it seemed to sink into him I was awake and farther from death’s door than he’d assumed. Keeping pressure on my wound, he leaned against the back seat, rested an arm on his elbow, and dropped his head to his chest, eyes closed.
“Ona ne spit,” he exhaled roughly. “Fuck. Ona ne spit.”
“We are almost there,” Albert announced from the front seat.
I’d expected to be in a lot of pain from being shot, though my entire body tingled as if I’d been injected with lidocaine everywhere.
When Ronan opened his eyes, they pinned me with fury. “Zachem ty eto sdelala?” he gritted. “Zachem?”
“English,” I said softly.
“Why the fuck would you do that, Mila?” he growled with a deep rasp. “WHY?”
“You’re not immortal,” I whispered, my throat thick. “I didn’t want you to die.”
He stared at me with a mixture of disbelief, anger, and something else indiscernible. “You don’t get to sacrifice yourself for me.” He clenched his teeth. “You DON’T get to die for me, kotyonok.” His eyes crucified me. “If anyone dies between us, it will be ME. Do you understand?”
I didn’t understand, so I shook my head.
“Then let me make it clear for you,” he said, the shadows in his eyes flashing. “You would survive without me. You would move on.” His tone roughened. “I can’t imagine a world where you and all your fucking yellow doesn’t exist. So if you die, you’ll take me with you. Your sacrifice would mean nothing, kotyonok. NOTHING.”
A tear ran down my cheek as a coldness began to invade the tremble inside me. My marrow was turning to ice, and I shivered violently.
“I’m so cold, Ronan . . .” My eyes felt weighted down, so I closed them.
“Nyet,” Ronan growled, grabbing my face. “Don’t fucking close your eyes.”
“I’m so tired,” I whispered, lethargy pulling at every muscle in my body. “I don’t think . . .”
“If you die, Mila,” he said harshly, “I’ll send Khaos to a back-alley pound.”
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