49. April

49

APRIL

I've already put May to bed when I hear him knocking.

I know it's him. Of course it is. No kidnapper in their right mind would even think of knocking, and it's way too late for any of the other usual suspects: Grisha, Yuri, Petra. Only one person remains.

Only him.

I make my way to the door with trudging steps. I'm exhausted. These past few days have been harrowing in more ways than one. Right now, I just want to sink into a dreamless sleep.

"April? Are you still up?"

I place my palm on the door. "It's late, Matvey. If you're here for May?—"

"I'm here for you."

My heart skips a beat. My stupid, stupid heart, still holding onto every crumb it can find: affection, love, hope. A future in paling grays. "I'm tired. Can we do this another time?"

"No."

I sigh. "Matvey?—"

"You don't have to let me in," he adds. "I'll talk from here. You just have to listen."

Listen. It's what I begged of him all those months ago. How can I deny him now? How can I deny him anything?

"Fine. But I don't want to fight."

"Neither do I."

With a slow exhale, I turn my back to the door and let myself lean against it. My palm finds a spot to rest on, fingers slightly curled, as if looking for a hand on the other side.

I wonder if there is one. If, right now, Matvey's doing the same thing I am: putting all the weight of the past few days on this impersonal slab of wood, the only physical thing separating us. The door he used to come through every night for dinner. The door I used to open for him, after a knock just like tonight's.

The door I might never open again.

I've already made up my mind. He doesn't know, but I have. This is the last chance I'm going to give him. If he keeps missing the point—if he keeps trying to shove me in a penthouse-shaped box for him to come and go as he likes, in the dark, while he steps out into the light with Petra on his arm—then I'll pack my things and leave. I'll go back to my old apartment with June. I'll go back to my old life, the life I would have led if that fateful kidnapping had never happened. If I'd never had to seek out the stranger I met that day at the tailor shop.

If I never got to know him in the first place.

And if he wants to see May, of course I'll let him. Of course I'll open another door for him, treat him like the father of my daughter, treat him as a friend. Maybe we could get there, in time.

And maybe, in time, I could forget him.

It's the hardest decision I've ever had to make. Even thinking about it is enough to bring tears to my eyes, tightness to my throat, and how lucky is it that I don't have to talk tonight? That I can hide behind this wall we've built?

All I have to do is listen. For two words that will never, ever come.

Because this is Matvey Groza we're talking about. He's already apologized for a lifetime; he's not going to do it again.

He's just not .

He's—

"I'm sorry."

I blink through the tears. "Huh?"

He doesn't hear me. It was such a small sound, so of course he doesn't hear me. But he does one thing: he keeps talking. "I'm sorry," he repeats, like a mantra he hasn't quite mastered yet. "For everything."

I find my voice again. Weak, and small, but there. "What's ‘everything'?"

"My choices," he replies. "From the start, I've been making the wrong ones. When you came to me at the wedding, I should've called it off. I didn't know what you'd become to me, but I should have. I should have known. Maybe part of me always knew, deep down."

"Matvey…?"

"And everything after that, too," he continues, oblivious to the way I'm shaking. The way he's making me shake, one word at a time. "The coldness. The silence. I was so cruel to you. I literally pushed you to the edge."

"That wasn't you." I shake my head in the dark. "That was a lot of things. That was me. "

"But it was me, too. And I should've seen it coming." He takes a deep, ragged breath, like he's in pain. Like the words are splinters and he's prying them out one by one. "I promised I'd listen after that, but I didn't. Not really."

"You did," I protest.

"No, I didn't. I missed the most important part. The part you weren't saying out loud."

I laugh, dark and bitter. "How is that your fault?"

"Because it was obvious. Because all I had to do was listen to everything else. The way your family treated you, the way you expected to be treated—that's the way I treated you, too. I didn't mean to, but I did. I treated you as a second choice. And for that, there is no excuse."

I feel like I'm dreaming. Like I'm passed out somewhere and hallucinating, letting my subconscious pour every word I've ever wanted to hear out of Matvey's mouth into my sleeping ears.

If so, then it's the cruelest dream I've ever had.

"You mean that?"

"I do," he rasps. "Do you remember the letter you left me? When you went away?"

"How could I forget?"

"You said our baby deserved better than me. Better than a divided heart."

"And I was wrong!"

"Yes, you were. But not the way you think."

I clutch the door with all I have. I sink my nails into the wood, hoping something, anything will come from the other side. A single trace of warmth will do. A hint of his cologne. Proof that he's real. That this is all real.

"How, then?"

"Because you deserved that, too. You also deserved better than a divided heart, April, not just our daughter. And you deserve it still."

A divided heart. For so long, those words have haunted me, reminding me of my worst mistake. Our worst misunderstanding.

And yet, deep down, I felt them to be true. I didn't know how, or why, but I felt them. Deep down, I wasn't ready to let them go.

Now, I finally know why. "What are you saying?"

"That you'll always be first for me, April. You'll always be first in my heart."

My head spins. I'm forced to brace against the door, brace with all I have. My other hand rises to cover my mouth, to keep my sobs at bay for just a little longer.

Because no one has ever said that to me. All my life, no one has ever called me "first."

No one.

"I can't change what I've done," Matvey says. "I can't change the way I made you feel. And I can't… I can't break things off with Petra. Not yet."

The whiplash almost knocks me to my knees. "But you said…"

"I know, and I mean it. But I have responsibilities, too. To my Bratva… and to myself. So I can't divorce Petra right now."

I knew it. Here I am, getting all my hopes up like some schoolgirl, and now… Now, we're back where we started.

"I can't accept that, Matvey." I harden myself. "Either I'm first or I'm not. There's no middle ground for?—"

"One month."

I blink. "What?"

"One month," he growls. "Give me one month to go through with the D.C. plan. That way, I can attack Carmine with the full force of my army."

"And if you lose?"

"Then I'm done."

It feels like my ears are playing tricks on me. "Done…?"

"Done with this life. Done with all of it."

I can't believe it. Is he really saying…? "You'd give up on your revenge? For me?"

"I'd give up everything for you."

"Don't say that," I warn. "Don't say it if you don't mean it."

"Win or lose, I will stop living a lie. I want to stop living a lie. Because you're the only truth that matters."

"Matvey…"

"I will get down on one knee and I will put the biggest, gaudiest rock I can find on your finger," he says, and I'm a mess of tears now, because how else can I react to that? How else does anyone react when being told that… that…

That they're the most important thing in the world?

"You're serious?"

"I'm serious," he insists. "All this time, I've been chasing after the shadows of my past—but you're my future, April. And I want it all with you."

"I… I… I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. You just have to let me in."

I look back at the dark penthouse. At the things I was ready to pack, the life I was ready to leave.

Then I turn and unlock the door.