3. Mikhail

I'm still drenched in sweat when I drop down behind my desk and pour myself a drink. It doesn't stop there.

When Anatoly takes Dante upstairs and puts him to bed, I drink.

When Raoul peeks through the door to check on me, I ignore him and drink.

As the rest of the house goes dark one room at a time and silence fills every corner, I drink and drink and drink.

It's hours of sitting in the dark, looking for answers I'm never going to find at the bottom of a bottle that ends way too fucking soon.

When it does, I shatter it against the wall, grab my keys, and stumble my way to the garage.

Last week, I would have done the responsible thing and asked Pyotr to drive. Except now, I know that having Pyotr in the house at all wasn't responsible.

Pyotr was a spy and now, he's dead. Viviana is a murderer and now, she's gone. And I don't have the control I thought I did over any of it.

It started raining at some point in the last few hours. The road is soaked and the tires barely manage to cling onto the asphalt as I tear down the driveway and squeal onto the main road. Thankfully, it's late and no one else is out.

I haven't been to the cemetery where Alyona and Anzhelina are buried since the day of their joint funeral, but I drive the winding road to the gates like I've done it a million times before. In some ways, I have. All roads seem to lead back here.

I park under a tree that is piss-poor protection from the rain and squelch my way across the overgrown grass.

When Anatoly and I were last here, the director was going on about when the headstone would be finished and when I could come see them. The sun was shining and I was standing in front of the fresh dirt of my wife and daughter's graves and all I could think was, What the fuck does it matter? An overpriced rock wouldn't change the fact that they were gone. It wasn't going to bring them back.

But as I make my way up the muddy incline, a wide tombstone reflects the little moonlight coming through the storm clouds. The white marble glows like a beacon in the darkness.

Their names are etched in black.

Alyona Novikov.

Anzhelina Novikov.

My father hated that I wanted to marry Alyona. She came from nothing and didn't have anything to offer the family, as far as he was concerned. It's why he gave us the smaller property on the other side of the city. The less she associated with the family, the better. It had been a guesthouse for years, but Alyona and I got married and hid away there. It was the closest thing I'd ever had to the romanticized idea of a home.

Alyona felt separate from the Bratva in that way. Going home was some world removed—a peek into the life I could have had if I'd been born into another family.

But I wasn't born into another family.

And Alyona wasn't in a world removed.

Seeing the Novikov name etched forever after her name drives that point home in a way that even her death didn't. They were mine… and I lost them.

I sink to my knees in the mud. The grass is long around the base of the stone and I pull it out by the fistful. Big gobs of grass and mud come out of the earth. I use the rain to wash away the leftover mud caked along the base of the marble. I run my fingers along the black letters of each of their names, cleaning away the muck and mold.

Then I drive the heels of my hands into my eyes and scream wordlessly into the storm. The rain swallows the sound of my voice. When I look behind me, I can't even see the shape of the car along the road. If I was still driving, I'd probably have crashed into a building by now.

But I'm not driving. I'm here.

And I have no fucking idea why.

"That's not true," I mumble, continuing the thought out loud. "I know why I'm here. It's because I'm fucking it all up again."

I'm talking to a rock, but it's still hard to drudge up the words. I can feel Alyona's eyes on me. Almost like she's been here, waiting for me to finally show up.

"I should have brought flowers." I tap the empty vase built into the bottom of the headstone. "You probably expected some, after… everything. But I couldn't—" I take a deep breath. "You never asked me to choose between you and the Bratva. You knew that when it came down to it, I couldn't. But I think I did. I did choose. And I made the wrong choice."

The alcohol warmed me from the inside out, but it's fading fast. My soaked clothes hang heavily, dragging me down. The chill is starting to seep in.

"Part of me thinks I deserve to rot here, too. For what I did to you both." My hair is plastered to my forehead. Rivulets of rainwater pour down my face and drip from my nose. "I knew things were dangerous, but I convinced myself that you and Anzhelina were different. You weren't part of the Bratva. Why would anyone come for you? I fucking knew better, but I didn't want to admit it. And you died because of it. You're dead because I failed you."

I see Dante's shattered face as he swirled around the punching bag… the rage burning in his little body because of me.

"Now, I'm doing it again."

The buzzing under my skin is back. I drive my fist into the dirt like it's a punching bag. I slam my knuckles into the ground again and again. A rock buried in the earth splits my skin open and blood drips between my fingers and over my wrist, but the feeling inside of me that something is wrong doesn't go away.

"I didn't try to move on. I didn't want to. Didn't deserve to. But Viviana was…" I drag my bloody hand down my face. I'm sure I look insane. Maybe that's okay. I feel insane. "For the first time in my life, I didn't have a choice. I wanted her, and I hated myself for it. Which makes everything that has happened even worse. I should have known better. I did know better, but I couldn't stay away. Then she lied to me and now my son is in danger.

"When you and Anzhelina were in danger, my choice was between you and the Bratva. If I could go back, I know exactly what I'd choose. It's easy. I would protect the two of you with my life. I would…" I bite the inside of my cheeks until I taste blood. "This is different. I'm choosing between my son and my—his mother. I can't choose them both. I can't save them both."

The rain lets up for the first time in an hour. It's a persistent drizzle now. A few stars even peek out between the clouds. Whatever bubble I was in bursts. The world comes back into focus and I stand up.

My pants are soaked, hanging low on my hips. Blood drips down my finger into the mud.

"I don't know why I came here," I say, talking only to myself now. "I don't know anything anymore."