Page 72 of Sweet Deception

And I’d never recover.

Chapter 15

GLEB

––––––––

I entered the hospital ward where Uncle Antonio lay, disguised in a mask. The mask wasn’t for Antonio.

Grandma didn’t know that I had tracked down which country he was flown to. Since I was already in New York for business, I thought it necessary to pay him a visit.

Standing beside his bed, I took in his pathetic state. He had grown painfully thin, his eyes sunken and glassy. staring up as if begging for death. His mouth was twisted to the side, the telltale sign of a stroke. His entire left side, arm, leg, and even part of his face, was paralyzed. It was only a matter of time before the rest of his body followed.

I pulled up a chair beside him. “It’s me, Gleb.”

His body twitched violently in fear, his fingers weakly clutching the bedsheet. “Gleb...” he managed, his voice thick and slurred.

I leaned in. “You’re paying the price for touching my woman.”

His breath hitched, then came a wet, rasping laugh. “You’re... a wicked soul, Gleb. You chose a fucking Italian over me?” His words were barely understandable, slurred by his half-dead mouth.

“She’s my wife,” I said coldly. “I don’t care what nationality she is. You should have respected that.”

I sat back, crossing one ankle over my knee. “I’m not here for small talk, Uncle. I need you to call your sons, Yegor and Arseny. One of them put his hands on my wife. If I hadn’t already takenyou down and put the rest of the family on edge, I would have killed them both.”

Antonio’s chest rose and fell in short, panicked bursts.

“I’ll let this go. Once. But if either of your sons touches my wife again, I won’t stop at their tongues. I’ll make sure you outlive them. Just long enough to understand what real suffering means.”

His body jerked violently at my words. “Don’t you dare... touch my sons!”

I stood, adjusting my cuffs. “Then call them to order.” Without another word, I walked out.

Anna hadn’t followed me to New York as originally planned. Instead, she stayed behind with Grandma to my surprise. Before we left, the two of them had spoken briefly, and Anna had assured me she would be fine.

I had expected Grandma’s hatred for Anna to be unbearable. But she had been strangely calm. Civil, even. Why?

Perhaps because Anna looks like Anastasia.

I should have been relieved that Grandma hadn’t torn her apart. Instead, I felt uneasy. Grandma never forgot her grudges. And if she was suddenly treating Anna like family, then she had a reason.

My grandfather had once told me stories about Grandma and her stepsister. How they had been inseparable, best friends who attended the same school, wore matching outfits, and even married on the same day. Their bond was so deep that some even whispered that they were more than sisters.

But then her stepsister died giving birth.

It destroyed her. She drowned herself in alcohol, spiraling so far that she needed therapy just to function again. But she took in her goddaughter, her late sister’s daughter, and vowed to raise her like her own.

Then at the age of seven, the Italians took her away too. The same day they took her husband.

Grandma had never recovered. How could she?

I still remembered waking up as a boy to the sound of her sobs. She cried every single night for two years until she nearly went blind.

***

I left New York three weeks later. The business deals had gone smoothly, better than I expected. Unlike what I’d heard, they didn’t treat me like an outsider. Not openly. Not to my face.

But respect and tolerance weren’t the same thing. I saw it in their eyes, the way they weighed my presence, measured my worth. To them, I was just another Russian brute with money. But that was fine. Let them think that. Let them underestimate me.