64. Matvey

64

MATVEY

It's fucking torture.

All week, I can't bring myself to look at her. I can't bring myself to speak . And for what? What would I even say? What could I say, after all this mess?

The truth , a new, unfamiliar part of me suggests. Tell her the truth. Tell her everything that happened—Petra's baby, Yuri, all of it.

It's tempting. So, so fucking tempting.

But if I could trust April with the truth, then we wouldn't be here to begin with.

"I saw April again today," Grisha informs me on the drive to the office. "Her eyes were red."

"Then buy her some eye drops."

"She hasn't been sleeping. I could hear her sobbing from the hallway."

I turn my head to the window and ignore him.

"It's every night, Matvey. This has to stop."

"Then buy yourself some earplugs, too," I snap.

"Are you really going to be so dense?" Grisha snaps right back. "This isn't about me, man. This is about her. This isn't good for her."

"We all do things that aren't good for us."

"How about this, then? It's not good for the baby, either. Assuming you still care about that?"

I pound my fist against the car door. "Pull over."

"Can't. We're in the middle of traffic."

"I said pull the fuck over. "

With an irritated huff, Grisha obeys.

A chorus of horns explodes behind us, but I don't care. I step out of the car and wait for my driver to do the same.

When he does, I slam him hard against the closest wall.

"Let's get one thing straight here," I growl. "You don't make the decisions around here—I do. So stay in your goddamn lane."

"And what decision have you made, exactly?" Grisha pushes back, utterly unconcerned about my hands around his throat. "Because from where I'm standing, it doesn't look like this was your call."

"Shut up."

"In fact, if I had to guess, I'd say it was your bro?—"

"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

For an instant, Grisha does.

All around me, people start whispering. Shit. They're staring . I'm still a public figure—someone might recognize me. As Vlad so kindly pointed out, I need to take better care with my cover.

"I am your man to the death," Grisha spells out quietly. "You are my pakhan. But I didn't sign up to trot along to anybody else's orders."

"Then it's a good thing these orders come from me."

"You were happy with April," he insists. "For the first time since I met you, you were actually fucking happy."

I don't deny it. After so many lies, I don't have the strength. "Things change."

"Then tell me why they changed."

"I don't owe you an explanation," I snarl.

"Is that the issue?" Grisha asks. "Or are you keeping me in the dark for the same reason you're keeping April in the dark—because this is a family matter?"

Fucking Grisha. Always too sharp for his own good.

"I've been by your side for a long time, Matvey," he insists. "I've seen you grow into the pakhan you are. Even then, I know you'll never think of me as family because I'm not your blood. And I can live with that."

"Then stop fucking?—"

"But April can't."

I release my grip.

Grisha briskly puts himself back together. "Shall we go before the boys in blue show up?"

I'm tempted to let them. Right now, all I want is a good fight.

But people are still staring.

"Let's go," I command.

For the rest of the way, all I can think of is April's red-rimmed eyes. The sound of her sobs through a closed door. Forks scraping over empty plates.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Every night, I come back for dinner.

That's my own brand of torture for myself: I can't be honest with her, but I can't stay away from her, either.

So I pull rank and make her sit with me.

It's the worst thing in the world. I feel like the goddamn Beast. Like I plunged April into a fairytale gone wrong.

But then again, ours was never that kind of story. We never promised each other anything. I never promised her anything. Only?—

I love you.

"Do you love her?"

Her voice overlaps with the memory of mine. It takes me a moment to untangle my words from hers—to figure out what she's actually saying.

When I do, I want to fucking scream .

Love her? Petra? I'd sooner chew on glass. What my brother sees in her, I'll never understand. She's moody, unpredictable, always trying to claw her way to the top, incapable of giving a shit about anybody else who might find themselves in the way.

She's—

Too much like me , my mind whispers.

And April…

April is everything I'm not.

Warm. Kind. Always walking on her tiptoes, afraid to break the eggshells under her feet. Her whole life, she's been taught that that was the only way to survive.

But I wanted to show her more.

I wanted to show her that family doesn't have to mean misery. That it can be happiness, too. Me, her, our child—we could make a home. We could be a home.

And now, she's asking me if I love Petra ?

No , I want to scream. I don't fucking love Petra: I love you , April Flowers. It's always been you.

But then she'd have questions.

And I could never give her an answer.

Why?! A part of me goddamn howls. Why can't you give her answers? Why can't you come clean? Why can't you trust her?

"It's none of your business."

It's like a sick game of back-and-forth. Every time I come close to telling her—to spilling my guts and then begging her for forgiveness—that other, older part of me whispers back, She's not family.

She's the mother of your child , the newer me argues. She's your partner.

And again, that voice: She's not family.

She's not blood .

But Yuri is.

"No one. Promise me, Motya."

And I'll be damned if I turn into a fucking blood traitor, too.

I won't turn on my family.

I won't be my father.

So I rise from my chair and I tear April to pieces.

It feels like the worst thing I've ever done: pushing her away. Ripping her love for me out of her chest with my bare hands. Being cruel.

But if it'll help make her fall out of love with me, then so be it.

"I owe you nothing. And you don't owe me anything, either."

Her life will continue after me. It has to continue after me.

So let me be the monster of her story.

"If you want June to move back in, I won't stand in your way. And if you…"

Say it. Say it, you coward.

Set her fucking free .

"And if I want somebody else to move in, you won't stand in my way, either?"

As soon as I hear her say those words, I fucking lose it. "No."

"‘No?'"

"You can't have someone else," I growl, too far gone to realize the way her eyes shine with hope. Hope that I'll take her back; that I'll finally claim her. "Not now, not ever. You are mine."

But I can't.

I can't claim her. I can't have her.

And if I can't…

"If I can't have you, no one can."

Watching her shatter is like taking a knife to the heart.

"No one?" she asks me with a broken voice, all restraint gone. "You want me to be alone?"

I want you to be with me. I want to own you so completely you'll never think about another man again. Never .

It's so fucking selfish. I wanted to set her free, didn't I? I was tearing her apart to push her away from me, wasn't I?

So why did it end up like this ?

"You don't want me, but you want me to be alone—forever?"

Because I can't give her up, that's why.

I can never give up April Flowers.

I can never give up on us.

So why don't you tell her?

I feel like my head is going to explode. I barely hear the words she says to me after, or the words I say to her. Everything's wrapped up in a fog.

Anger. Fear. Jealousy. Need.

All I register is her face as she cries.

I shut the door behind my back and bite my knuckles bloody. "Tomorrow," I rasp.

If she's still like this tomorrow…

"I'll tell her. Trust or no trust."

Blood or no blood.