54. Bianca

I"m carefully cleaning my gun when my phone rings. I spare a glance and see that it"s a message from Vlad.

I"ve told him that I don"t want to know what"s happening in New York, but he"s continued to send me links to different articles relating to the ongoing mafia war. It"s not surprising that with tensions rising high, the situation has gotten out of control, and hysteria has hit the streets. For all my reluctance to keep up with the times, I always cave in and check the articles.

It"s my damn curiosity.

At least Vlad has kept to himself any news of Adrian.

I can"t say it"s been easy so far. I think about him at least once every hour. But day by day, the pain of being separated from him has become more bearable.

The moment I"d landed in Moscow, I"d gone to the apartment Vlad had helped set up for me. I"d then spent a couple of days just walking around, familiarizing myself with the new city.

Vlad had put me in contact with the Andropov family, one of Russia"s most prominent crime families, and had recommended me for my skills. I"d gone for a meeting with their Pakhan, and we"d found ourselves establishing a comfortable partnership.

Of course, as any suspicious Russian leader, he"d tested me first, and it hadn"t been entirely pleasant.

He"d sent me on an endurance mission to assassinate a renowned political figure. It had taken me two weeks to complete the task, but he"d been more than impressed with my results. He"d offered me an exclusivity contract on the spot. He"d initially wanted five years. I"d talked him down to one. I don"t want to just settle. The world is my oyster at this point, right?

Whenever my thoughts stray to Adrian, I just try to find something else to take my mind off him. One of the things I"ve started obsessing over have been tattoos.

Andropov has a few talented artists, and one of them has managed to turn to life my disjointed ideas into a wonderful tale. I"ve gotten an entire sleeve on my left hand, spreading further onto my back. The tattooist has warned me against getting too many at once, but I"ve needed the pain to keep going. He"s eventually relented after a few threats.

Starting from my hand, a bow spreads across my knuckles, with an arrow sticking out and extending towards my middle finger. Upwards on my arm are different scenes that depict the myth of Hero and Leander. I"d thought it entirely too appropriate since I could see my story with Adrian in them.

Both had been on opposite sides, never to be together naturally. But their love had tricked fate, and they"d enjoyed beautiful moments together as Hero swam towards Leander, guided by her torch. But like all love stories, it ended tragically when the light went out, and Hero was swept away by the waves. And so, I"d failed to protect Adrian, and he"d been swept away from me by his memory loss.

In the original tale, Leander joins Hero in death. The finale of the rendition on my back is still a work in progress… yet I already know how it"ll turn out.

I sigh and open the message. Another article. Great. Wonder who died now… Shaking my head, I put the phone down. I try to go back and continue cleaning my guns, but the curiosity is killing me. I eventually relent and open it. When I see the article"s title, my eyes go wide, and I drop the phone.

NYPD Chief Commissioner Theodore Hastings was found dead, aged 34.

I blink once. Twice. I take the phone again and read, dread accumulating in the pit of my stomach.

NYPD Chief Commissioner Theodore Hastings was found dead, sources say. The hero who put an end to Jimenez"s reign of terror had been suffering from a head injury that led to complications. NYPD and the mayor"s office have refused to comment on the issue.

The more I read, the more I feel like I"m losing my mind. It can"t be right.

I try dialing Vlad, but he"s not answering.

It can"t be right.

I google Theodore Hastings, and few other news sources come up with the same information.

Dead.

Head injury complications.

It is true.

I can"t process this…

For what feels like forever, I sit on my apartment floor, staring at the walls. Flashes of Adrian inundate my mind. It"s slow at first, like a fissure in a dam. But slowly, I"m flooded to the brim, and I can"t help it, but my non-existent emotions spill over.

"No!" I yell, throwing my phone at the wall. I grab whatever"s closest to me and throw it as well, smashing it to pieces. I repeat the action with everything in my path until my apartment is a pile of broken things, just like me.

Unable to stand there one more minute, I grab my coat and head to Andropov"s club.

I can"t deal with this. It"s too much… feeling.

* * *

The moment I get to the club, I make a beeline for the bar and order an entire bottle of vodka. The bartender doesn"t even bat an eye as he slides it in front of me, together with a shot glass.

I pour the first shot and down it. And then a second. And then a third. At some point, I lose count.

One of the Pakhan"s brothers Nikolai spots me and makes his way towards me.

"Artemis." His eyes go to the Vodka bottle, and he frowns. "Rough night?"

"You could say," I slur my words.

"Come dance." He tugs on my hands and brings me to the dance floor. I don"t know what I"m doing, my limbs just moving about. I thought that alcohol would help dull the pain. It doesn"t.

"Make it stop!" I yell, my hands going to my ears. "Please, make everything stop."

Nikolai tilts his head and studies me, slowly withdrawing his wallet and fishing something out of it. It looks like a small tablet.

"Want this?" I try to squint my eyes to see what he"s showing me, but it"s kind of blurry at this point.

"What is it?"

"LSD."

"Will it numb the pain?"

"It may." He doesn"t need to say anything else. I snatch it from his hand and put it in my mouth.

We keep dancing for a little longer, and I start feeling off. I can"t even feel my limbs anymore.

I need to go home.

I don"t know how I leave the club, how I walk home, or how I even know where home is. I have very few moments of awareness.

I just know that at some point, I"m back home. I fall on my bed, my eyes open. I see this blue lace covering the walls. I"m so intrigued by it that I trace the intricate design from one end of the wall to the other. My finger draws the form in the air, and I smile at the silliness of it. If only Adrian were alive.

As I trace a lace thread, I suddenly stop when I feel something soft on my fingertip. I frown. I push once. So soft. I push again. And again. Until something grabs my finger.

"B?" The hallucinations have started as I raise my eyes to look into Adrian"s face. His beautiful, angelic face. He must be with the angels now, no? Maybe I"m communicating with him in heaven. My mouth drops open in awe at the realization.

Adrian… is an angel.

"You"re an angel," I tell him, my hands going to his face, trying to feel him for the last time, even if it"s under psychedelic influence.

"You have wings." I point to the white, almost immaterial contour on his back.

"B? What"s wrong with you?" His voice is worried as he furrows his brows.

"I"m talking with an angel," I keep on saying.

I jump on him and hug him to my chest, mumbling, "My angel."

That"s the last thing I remember.

* * *

Istretch a little and groan aloud. What is this hangover? I swear I"ve never felt so ill from alcohol in my life. But then I suddenly remember Nikolai"s tablet.

Shit… And then more memories come flooding. And with them come the tears.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

My hands clench around the sheets on the bed, and I try to take a deep breath. When I do, I scrunch my nose, smelling food. Food? I don"t have any food in my apartment.

My eyes snap open, and I jump out of bed. What if someone had come inside while I was out of it? I take the gun I always have hidden under my pillow and go towards the kitchen. Inside, I spot something that makes me simply drop my weapon.

Am I still hallucinating?

Adrian is in my kitchen, wearing an apron and making pancakes.

"There you are." He turns and gives me a smile.Mally circles his legs, elegantly licking her paws and purring against him.

I"m in motion before I can even think about it, jumping on him and hugging him.

"You"re not dead?" I ask, peppering kisses on his face.

"No," he says, amused. "Theodore Hastings is dead. Adrian Barnett is very much alive." It takes me a solid minute to process what he"s saying. But when understanding dawns on me, I push him off, and grabbing the fluffy pancakes off the table, I throw them at him.

"You made me believe you were dead, asshole?" I demand, and he crosses his arms.

"And you made me believe you were just a friend from work." He arches an eyebrow at me.

Okay, yeah, I did do that.

"When did you remember?"

"Not too long after you left," he admits, and I get even angrier.

"And you waited until now to show up?"

"See here, Miss, you were the one who left me," he says indignantly.

"Only because I thought you might never remember, and I wanted you to never remember certain things." I try to defend myself. I also have to add, "I do the only not selfish thing in my life, and you throw it in my face?"

Adrian chuckles. "Well, I think I like you better when you"re selfish."

"Asshole," I mutter under my breath, but I can"t help a little smile.

We sit, and he manages to salvage some pancakes.

"How did you remember?"

"A few hours after you left, I started getting flashes of memories. I needed some time to come to terms with what had happened."

"Especially with Jimenez and Marcel… I thought you were also trying to give me space. But when you failed to show up, day after day, I looked for you. Vlad was very forthcoming, for once."

"That traitor."

"I would have come sooner, but I needed some time to set up everything for Theodore Hastings" death. I was supposed to get here before you saw the news, but my flight had severe delays," he recounts.

"So now, you"re just Adrian Barnett?"

"Yep, and all yours." He flutters his eyelashes at me the same way I used to do to him. "I"m unemployed now, though, so you"ll have to support both of us. Think you can manage with a househusband?"

"For you, I"ll make an exception," I tease. "Besides, we need to stay here for a year until my contract ends."

"And then?"

"Wherever life takes us."