Page 24

The drive back to my place is quiet. When we get to my car, Vadka opens the door for me like always. I slide into the seat as he mindlessly reaches across to buckle me in. He checks it, pulls on it as if to make sure it’s secure, and then stands with a satisfied nod.

He’s always been like this—a caretaker. Not hard like Rafail, cold like Semyon, or a little unhinged like Matvei. No. Vadka’s a protector.

And maybe… just maybe, I need to let someone take care of me. Something warm and unfamiliar unfurls in my chest.

“Heading into the office?” I ask, my voice strangely husky.

He nods, eyes flicking away. “Yeah. Eventually. I’ve got a few things to deal with. Need to talk to Rafail. Matvei intercepted communication. We’ve got to review it.”

I nod and shrug. “Sounds good.”

I shove my hands deep into my coat pockets—one of those futile gestures that hides too much, even from myself.

“Drive safe,” he says, voice quiet again. “You coming by tonight?”

He catches himself. “No, wait—you’re working.” His eyes flicker with something like disappointment. Hope? I can’t tell.

“Maybe after work,” I say, but it comes out more like a question than an answer.

He leans in, bracing his arm on the car door, his warm brown eyes searching mine. “You’d be safer with me.”

Would I? Physically, yes. Emotionally, I’m not so sure.

“I’ll think about it,” I murmur.

“Ruthie, if you?—”

“Vadka,” I cut him off gently. “Please. I know you want me safe. But this… this is new. I’ve never gone home to a man in my life. Not like this.”

Especially one who was married to my sister. God.

“It’s not about that,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “God, I don’t mean it like that.”

I look away, startled at the sharp sting of rejection.

“Ruthie,” he says, softer this time. “Listen. The closer we stay, the easier it is for me to protect you.”

“You’ve got guards at the bar, yes?” I ask.

He sighs through clenched teeth. “Yes.”

“I’ve got location sharing on. You can track me.”

“I know, Ruthie, but?—”

“I’m not one of the Kopolovs, Vadka,” I tell him gently. I’m not one of their wives, a Bratva princess, or even someone who works for them.

“Well aware, Ruth Marie.” My heart does a little flip in my chest even as I narrow my eyes. “Oh, so we’re pulling out middle names now? Getting all big brotherly now?”

We both know there’s nothing big brotherly about it.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he growls.

I flash him a grin. “And you love it.”

“Listen,” he says, exhaling hard. “You can sleep in the guest room. Or I will. Whatever you want. This isn’t about sex, Ruthie. ”

Did he just say that out loud? He did, right there in the open, for anyone to hear. For me to hear.

My cheeks flame. All it takes is that one sentence and my body betrays me.

I remember what it felt like being in his bed. I want it again—now, later, always.

“Shame,” I mutter before I can stop myself. “That’s a damn shame.”

He doesn’t answer. Just looks at me like he wants to say everything and nothing at once.

“Alright,” I say, voice breaking just a little. Why is this whole exchange so emotionally charged? What the hell?

“I need to go. Please, Vadka. Let me go.”

He breathes out like he’s been holding it in for too long. But he lets me go. Finally. Reluctantly.

And I love that. He doesn’t want me to go.

I find myself driving—aimless for a while until instinct takes the wheel. It leads me to the old church, but that’s not where I’m going either.

I veer off the road and follow the gravel path to the ancient cemetery that clings to the edge of the forest. It’s old, weather-worn. Familiar. My heart aches.

Buried here are pieces of the past. The Kopolov family’s parents. My mother’s parents. A friend from school who died too young, my favorite teacher. The old woman who sat outside the bakery feeding bread crumbs to the birds.

Mariah .

But I’m not thinking about her yet as I catalog everyone else.

The sky is heavy with dark clouds. I look over my shoulder more than once, convinced someone’s following me. I’m not important enough for a guard this close, right? I mean, they’ll go to my work, but…

Vadka might have a few things to say about that, and I’m not sure how that makes me feel.

I kill the engine and stare at my reflection in the rearview mirror. My hair’s a mess, there are dark shadows under my eyes, and I need a good brow job. But somehow, I look… radiant. Flushed. Glowing like a woman in love.

I drop my head back against the seat, overwhelmed.

I am .

I am a woman in love, whether I want to be or not.

Maybe I’ve always loved him. I think I have. It was easier when it was quiet love—muted, safe. Platonic. But now it’s changed. It's grown teeth.

And I don’t know how to make sense of it.

I’d give anything to talk to Mariah. But even if Vadka were another man and Mariah were right here in front of me, I don’t know if I could confess this.

But he isn’t another man, and she isn’t here.

I’m in love with your husband.

“Oh, Mariah,” I whisper to the sky. With a sigh, I open the door and step into the wind .

I walk the worn path toward her grave. I know she’s not here—not really. Just her body and bones, a decaying shell that once held life. But maybe… maybe there’s something else. A presence. A spirit. A whisper of what she was.

I’m not religious. I can’t bring myself to believe in heaven. But the idea that we go from bright, vivid people to nothing… to worm food… it feels wrong. There has to be something more.

Maybe she’s reincarnated. Maybe she’s part of the earth. Maybe she’s finally at peace.

God, I hope she’s at peace.

I walk amongst graves that are cracked, crooked, and forgotten. There are wooden crosses, black iron railings, and Orthodox icons bolted into stone. Rosaries, candles in glass, names in Cyrillic etched into crumbling marble.

Russian graveyards are different from others—more like sanctuaries than places of mourning. You find portraits carved into the headstones, domes on family mausoleums, and candles left behind that still flicker against the chill. They're private places for grief and memory and reverence.

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. It does nothing to stop the tears threatening. My chest aches. My heart’s a drumbeat of pain, and my head feels too full.

Mariah’s grave is perched on a small hill, surrounded by white lilies—her favorite. The grass is a vivid green despite the clouds overhead. Forget-me-nots bloom in clusters nearby.

I haven’t been here in two weeks, and guilt tears through me. Is this how it goes? Weeks bleed into months, and then years?

But it’s hard to come here. It’s always hard.

I cry when I’m here.

I don’t want to cry anymore.

But I need to talk to my sister.

I walk quickly, aware of my limited time and need to get to work.

It isn’t until I round the corner that I see it—the gleaming, familiar chrome wheels.

I freeze, and my heart turns over in my chest as my brain catches up.

Oh my god. No. No, it can’t be.

I’m not the only one who came to visit her grave. Was his visit prompted by guilt too?

I thought I could handle this, thought I was just barely holding myself together before I came, but seeing him here? God, no.

He’s kneeling in front of her headstone, leather jacket clinging to his broad shoulders like a second skin.

His head is bowed, hands limp in his lap, and I swear he looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world.

He misses her; of course he does. Even though I’m not religious, the old and the two shall become one somehow rings true.

Vadka needs to talk to her, just like I do .

"I'm sorry," he whispers, the words sharp and raw in the air. His back’s to me, unaware of my presence. I feel like I’m snooping, but it’s too late now to turn back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again. “I shouldn’t— I know I shouldn’t— I never even looked at her that way before.

But I miss you. God, I miss you. And she loved you.

" His voice cracks—splinters, really, like a snapped bone.

"She misses you so much. And I… I love her.

I'm sorry." He shakes his head, and I can see the desperation in the way his shoulders tremble. "I’m so fucking sorry. But this—this is the right choice. It makes sense. She loves Luka, Mariah. No one loves him the way I do. Except Ruthie. And you know she’s safer with me than with anyone else on earth. You know that."

I shouldn’t be hearing this. I know I shouldn’t.

I’m the last person who should be here, the absolute last. Guilt is already eating away at me like acid, but I can’t move.

I won’t move. He’s baring his soul to his dead wife, and all I can do is listen, frozen in place, while my heart shatters in my chest.

If I slip away now, will he even notice? Does he know I’m here? God, I hate this—I feel like I’m spying, like I’m trespassing on something sacred, something private. But I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know. I just came here to see her.

I try to back away quietly, carefully. But when I turn to go, my toe catches on a damn tree root, and I stumble, yelping as I go down hard on both knees.

My hands slam against the earth in front of me to catch my fall, dirt grinding into my palms. Damp dirt presses into my skin.

For a heartbeat, all I can hear is my own harsh breathing and stifled groan.

“ Shit. ”

"Ruthie?" His voice cuts through the air, startled. Too close.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, trying to push myself up. Sorry for what? Goddamn everything . For being here. For falling. For the sheer gravity of all of this.

I feel him before I see him, the familiar pull in my chest like the impending roll of thunder before a storm. The air shifts. Heavier. Charged.

The moment I try to shift my weight, pain slices up through my leg, bright and vicious. I stifle a cry. Fuck.

“Shit! What happened, Ruthie?”