Page 28 of Cruel Juliet

“What? No.” I shake my head quickly. “Of course not. I just—I didn’t want you to worry that Petyr might blame you.” The wordscome out rushed. “You can trust me, Anya. I wouldn’t throw you under the bus.”

“That’s your way of building trust? Lying to your husband? Making me an accomplice against my will?” She barks out a bitter laugh. “You don’t know the first thing about trust,sobachka.And I, for one, could never trust you.”

It’s the most I’ve ever heard her speak. The little Russian moniker—“puppy”—floods me with a mix of anger and shame, along with everything else she just threw at me.

“I lied to protect you.” I try to keep my face even. My voice comes out thinner than I want. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“I know enough,” Anya spits. “Just like I know the young master made a mistake bringing you back here.”

“On that, we agree,” I bite back bitterly.

“No, we don’t.”

She steps closer. Her frame is thin, but darkness radiates from her. For the first time, I wonder how Anya came into the Gubarev family’s service. If she, too, has a bloody past she needed to outrun.

“If he had been smart,” she hisses, “he would have cut his child from your womb and buried you in the garden.”

Holy shit.Did she really just say that to me?

I want to snap back at her. To scream, throw the tray at her head—anything rather than just sit here and take it.

But nothing comes out. Not even a breath.

The image she just painted flashes in my head, vivid and brutal. It makes my stomach lurch. Just glancing at the breakfast she brought makes me feel queasy now. I never truly thought she’d poison me, but now, I don’t know anymore.

I feel like I don’t know anything.

But what horrifies me even more is the reason she said those things. They weren’t just cruel—they were specific.

Because, clearly, it’s what Petyr might actually do.

I know he’s capable. I know he’s done worse. Maybe he’s already done exactly that to someone before me.

Anya seems to read it on my face. Her mouth twists into a smirk. “Don’t forget who your husband is. He’s apakhan.The Bratva doesn’t flinch away from doing what must be done. You should know that better than most.”

And I do. God help me, I do.

My throat closes up tight. “Thank you,” I croak. “That will be all.”

Anya doesn’t move right away. She’s probably enjoying how pale I’ve gone.

Then she turns on her heels and slams the door behind her.

I listen to the bolt sliding home. Once, then twice. She checks it again before walking away, just to be certain.

I wait for her footsteps to fade into the hallway. Then I plunge my face in my hands and break down crying.

13

SIMA

Anya doesn’t return for the rest of the day. I can’t say I’m sad about that. Right now, the less I see her mug, the better. They say pregnancy hormones are unpredictable, and I’ve never felt that more. I could sock her straight between the eyes if she says one more thing to me.

When lunchtime rolls around, Luka brings it himself.

My breakfast tray lies untouched. He doesn’t comment on it. Just collects it without a word, sets the new one down, and walks out without looking at me.

The lock clicks, and I’m alone again.