Page 1 of Toxic Salvation (Krayev Bratva #2)

VESPER

ONE MONTH LATER

There are two ways to look at this situation.

One: I may have just saved my mother’s life.

Two: I sacrificed my ethics, my dignity, my happiness, my job, and my sanity to do it.

Right now, I’m clinging to viewpoint one. I’m a hero, I keep telling myself. I did the right thing.

… even though Mom has been staring at the ceiling for the past three hours, refusing to make eye contact with me ever since she woke up from the experimental surgery I basically blackmailed her into having.

Fine. If the price of keeping her alive is her hatred, I’ll pay it.

“Dr. Nass!” I shoot to my feet the moment that my mother’s oncologist appears in the doorway. “Mom’s been awake for over two hours. Lucid, responsive, no speech issues. That’s good, right? That’s what we want to see?”

Dr. Nass nods, her expression cautiously optimistic. “It’s excellent, actually. Better than we hoped.” She approaches the bed. “Hello, Annabelle. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck.” Mom sounds like she’s smoked a pack a day for half a century. Her lips are cracked and colorless. I’ve offered her water six times in the last hour, but she’s refused each time.

“That’s completely normal after major surgery,” Dr. Nass says. “Your body has been through a lot. But I have good news: The procedure went very well.”

I start to ask, “Does that mean?—”

Dr. Nass cuts me off with a look. “Vesper, you know better than most that stage four cancer isn’t something we cure overnight. This experimental protocol is designed to shrink the tumors and buy time. That’s what we’re measuring success against.”

I force myself to breathe. “So we won’t know anything definitive for?—”

“Days. Maybe weeks.” Dr. Nass turns back to Mom. “We’ll be monitoring you closely, Annabelle. But the fact that you came through the surgery this well tells me you’re stronger than this disease. Now, let’s take a look at you.”

She starts to poke and prod at Mom’s withered body. I sit by, hands folded in my lap, and try not to intervene.

After Dr. Nass finishes her examination, I follow her into the hallway. The moment we’re out of earshot, her enthusiasm dims.

“Listen, Vesper.” She glances back toward Mom’s room. “Sixteen patients enrolled in this trial. Seven survived the surgery, including your mother. That alone is a victory.”

My mouth goes dry. “And the other nine?”

“Didn’t make it off the table.”

Jesus Christ. I knew the risks were high, but hearing it stated so bluntly makes me dizzy. “What about the seven survivors? What are their outcomes looking like?”

Dr. Nass hesitates. “I really shouldn’t be discussing other patients?—”

“Please.” I grab her arm. “I need to know what we’re looking at here.”

She sighs, glancing around to make sure we’re alone. “Two of the seven showed significant reduction in tumor size. The others… the cancer remained unchanged. Their prognosis is six to twelve months, same as before.”

Two out of seven. Twenty-eight percent chance of real improvement.

“Those aren’t great odds,” I mumble.

“No, but they’re better than what she had before.” Dr. Nass touches my shoulder. “You gave her a fighting chance, Vesper. That’s all any of us can do.”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Of course.” She starts to walk away, then pauses. “Have you told her yet? About the pregnancy?”

I glance through the window at Mom, who’s resumed her ceiling-staring vigil. “Not yet.”

“Might want to consider it. Wanting to meet her grandchild could be powerful motivation.”

If only it were that simple. If only I could walk in there and say, “Surprise, Mom! You’re going to be a grandmother!” But the truth is, I can barely wrap my head around this pregnancy myself.

Because it might as well be an immaculate conception. I mean, this baby doesn’t have a father. Not truly. It only has a sperm donor who decided I wasn’t worth fighting for. A man who threw away what we had the moment things got complicated.

What does it have? This baby has me . A woman who’s spent the last month living in hospital waiting rooms, subsisting on vending machine coffee and an endless supply of denial.

“Get some rest,” Dr. Nass says. “You look like hell.”

Probably because I feel like hell. But I paste on a smile and head back into Mom’s room.

“Did you hear that?” I settle into the chair beside her bed, trying to inject enthusiasm into my voice. “The surgery was a success. You have a real shot at beating this thing.”

She turns her face away from me and says nothing.

“Mom?” I scoot forward. “I know you didn’t want the surgery, but?—”

“I wanted to die with dignity.” She closes her eyes. “I didn’t want to spend my last weeks being carved up like a science experiment.”

“You’re not a science experiment. You’re my mother, and I wasn’t going to sit back and watch you give up.”

“I feel worse than before.”

“That’s normal. Major surgery takes time to recover from. Trust me; in a few days?—”

“No.” She finally looks at me, and the pain in her eyes nearly breaks me. “I still have cancer, Vesper. I’m still dying. Now, I just get to suffer more before I go.”

I grab her hand, squeezing tight. “I’ll talk to Dr. Nass about increasing your pain medication. You just need to fight a little longer?—”

“I love you, sweetheart. I know these last few months have been hard on you. But saving me won’t bring your father back.”

My hands go slack around hers. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

“You’ve been carrying so much guilt about not being able to save him. But he was ready to go, honey. Just like I was ready.”

I pull away from her, tears burning my eyes. “That’s not what this is about. I’m not trying to make up for Dad by saving you.”

“I didn’t mean to imply…” She closes her eyes, looking exhausted. “I’m sorry. It’s just—I miss him so much. I thought I’d be with him soon.”

The tremor in her voice makes my chest tighten. “He was the love of your life.”

“He is the love of my life. Present tense.”

I hesitate, then ask a question that’s been on my mind for the last month. “Do you think you really knew him? I mean, completely?”

Mom studies my face. “I don’t think any of us can know another person completely. But if anyone knew your father, it was me. He wasn’t perfect, Vesper. But he was my husband. My heart. When you love someone that deeply, you don’t just stop.”

I know exactly what she means. I felt that way about someone once. Someone who turned out to be everything I should have avoided.

But then again, Dad had his secrets, too. Dark ones. And Mom stood by him anyway.

More questions—harder questions—are burning in my throat. Did she know about the organ trafficking? Did she choose to look the other way, or did she try to stop him? How do you love someone when you discover they’re capable of terrible things?

I have so many questions. I just don’t have the courage to ask them.

Instead, I take her hand again and pray that I haven’t sacrificed everything for nothing.