Split

Chapter 30

30

ROMAN

“ M y mother?” Eliza chokes, her lower lip wobbling as tears spring to her eyes.

She’s not in her right mind. Her emotions are changing on a dime, and I can see the warning signs of her impending descent into panic.

This was all too much, too fast. I told Knox we should wait. He didn’t witness the way she fell apart in the study, when I saw the patterns of the past repeating themselves with startling symmetry. Alina succumbed to the same madness that Eliza was able to claw her way out of, but she’s now on a swift descent back in. Her chest is heaving, her delicate body trembling. We need to walk her back from the edge.

“Of course,” I murmur, dipping my chin as I steadily hold her gaze. “You did mention that your father took her photographs down over a decade ago, and she is quite young there. But yes, Eliza. That’s your mother, Anastasia Sorokin.”

She shudders a broken sob, pulling the picture into her chest and staring down at it in awe, a single tear tracking a wet path down her cheek. “Where did you… how did you…?”

My chest tightens uncomfortably as I watch the faltering words fall from her lips. I’ve never experienced this strange, unpleasant twist of sympathy before for another human being. My emotions have always been an empty void, holding no place for compassion or concern. It’s why I was built for the Bratva. But with her …

Knox wasn’t wrong when he said she’s different.

That she fits with us.

Both of us.

“When you mentioned the car accident, something you said didn’t add up,” I say, deliberately keeping my voice at a low, soothing decibel so as not to trigger her stress response. “How the car burst into flames before you hit the pole. You were quite insistent on it.”

“So?” she sniffles, jerking her gaze back up to mine.

“So, that would insinuate that it wasn’t a tragic accident,” Knox cuts in. “Tragic, yes, but accident, certainly not.”

I exchange a glance with my brother, a silent understanding passing between us. We’ve kept her in the dark for far too long. It’s finally time to bring her in on every sordid detail of what we’ve uncovered, and while it won’t be pleasant to hear, she deserves the truth.

My wife has proved her strength time and time again. She can handle this.

Eliza wipes her nose off on a wrist, her lower lip still quivering as her eyes flicker between the two of us. “What are you saying, that someone had my mother killed?”

“Yes,” Knox replies bluntly.

“Who?”

“Your father,” I say.

Her brows pinch inward as her plump lips purse in disbelief. “Why would he do that? He loved my mother, he…”

“Love has no place in this world, Eliza,” I remind her, that disturbing feeling of sympathy tightening my chest again. “Your father cared much more for your mother’s lineage than for her as a person.”

Eliza’s long lashes flutter as she blinks at me in confusion. “Her lineage?”

“The rank he currently holds in the Bratva, the one he inherited from her family line,” Knox explicates.

She shakes her head, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t understand.”

Of course this is confusing for her. It would be for anyone, to learn that everything they thought they knew has been a lie. Beating around the bush won’t make the truth any less difficult to swallow.

“I thought it strange that your father reached out to mine so soon after my ex-wife’s passing,” I murmur, swiping a hand over the rough stubble on my chin. I need a shave. “We’d heard that he already brokered a marriage deal with Ilya Belov, and speculation had been circulating about the circumstances of Alina’s death. I had to ask myself, why would a man who sheltered his daughter, who cherished her so much that he kept her protected her whole life, suddenly be willing to throw her to the wolves? To marry her off to a man he believed had murdered his previous wife? It didn’t make sense. The only explanation was that he wanted to rid himself of you, but I needed to know why .”

Eliza slowly lowers the gun down to her side as she listens intently, hanging on my every word. My pretty little wife is nothing if not inquisitive.

“I’ve had my suspicions about Victor for a long time now, which is why I avoided doing business with him,” I continue. “But when he seemed so desperate to secure our union, I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to exploit his weakness. So, I directed my father to accept the proposal on my behalf. I figured my brother could have his fun with you while I waited to see whether you’d betray any of your family’s secrets. When we found out you weren’t a virgin, it was apparent why the deal fell through with Belov, but it still didn’t explain why Victor would want you dead. Then you mentioned the car catching fire.”

“Once I started pulling at the first thread, Victor’s entire web of lies began to unravel. Back when your mother died, he refused to entertain the idea of foul play, insisting it was an accident. When I discovered it wasn’t, that pointed to him being responsible, but what would motivate a man to murder his wife? I followed the trail backwards, to the string of tragedies that struck your family within a short period of time. First your uncle, who had the misfortune of catching a stray bullet. Then your grandfather’s sudden passing a year after his son, leaving Victor as the male heir to his titles through marriage.”

“But my grandfather had a heart attack,” Eliza blurts, eyes popping wide like she’s shocked to have poked a hole in my theory.

“That’s what his death certificate stated,” I confirm. “But strangely enough, his autopsy report was missing from the file, and the coroner who prepared it also up and disappeared shortly after.” I glance over at my brother. “Knox has an affinity for tracking people down who don’t want to be found. He was able to get his hands on your grandfather’s toxicology screen, which confirmed the heart attack he suffered was the result of poisoning.” I swing my gaze back on Eliza. “After Knox put a little pressure on the coroner, he confessed to accepting a bribe from your father to forge the report and disappear.”

I can practically see the wheels turning in her pretty little head as she rolls her lower lip between her teeth, brow furrowing. “And my mother?” she asks tentatively.

“I’m guessing that your mother must’ve been curious like you,” I muse. “And when she uncovered the truth of Victor’s treachery, he was forced to rid himself of her or risk being exposed. After you survived that accident, I’m sure he was nervous about what you remembered, but it was too risky for him to pull off yet another and hope to get away with it. So, he kept you close. Decided you’d have value in brokering an alliance through marriage someday.”

“Then why would he suddenly try to kill me now by sending Wesley?” Eliza questions, the pieces evidently still not quite adding up. “How would that benefit your alliance?”

“Because the last time we spoke, I told your father how well our marriage was going,” I admit, another foreign emotion taking root within me. Guilt, for putting her at risk . “I told him you’d been sharing stories about your childhood and remembering things about your mother’s accident. Him sending an assassin in response only further implicates his role in all of this. When he realized we weren’t going to do his dirty work for him and kill you off, he took matters into his own hands.”

Eliza just stands there for a moment, pale and shellshocked as my words slowly settle over her. Learning that her entire life has been a lie can’t be easy to process. F. Scott Fitzgerald once wrote, “ The loneliest moment in someone's life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.” If the current state of my wife isn’t the personification of that quote, then I don’t know what is.

“So, he sent me here to die,” she finally murmurs, her voice strained.

I nod solemnly in confirmation.

Her throat bobs with a harsh swallow, wild eyes darting back and forth. “Well, I’ll finish the job for him, then,” she decides, swinging her arm up and pressing the barrel of the handgun to her temple.

“Eliza, no …” Knox breathes, his knees hitting the hardwood, fingers sinking into his hair.

I’ve never heard such raw desperation in my brother’s voice; never seen him fall to his knees for anyone before. She’s different. He said it himself, and it’s never been more apparent than in this very moment. Like me, Knox has always thought himself incapable of compassion. And like me, this woman has managed to work her way so deep into his system that she’s somehow rewired it. She’s irrevocably altered us both.

“Why not?” she cries out, fresh tears tracking down her face as her trembling index finger moves to rest on the curve of the trigger. “Isn’t this how it ends for us?”

“ No ,” I say sternly, jaw straining under the effort it takes to retain my composure . “You’re ours , Eliza. We protect what’s ours.” Holding her eye contact, I begin to move slowly and purposefully across the room in her direction, calmly reaching for the gun. “We won’t let anyone take you from us, not even yourself.”

A shuddered sob racks her body as she allows me to confiscate the weapon, arms falling limply to her sides as I flick on the safety and tuck it into the waistband of my slacks. Eliza crumples to the floor in a heap of sullied chiffon, pulling her knees to her chest and choking on her tears.

Before I can make any move to comfort her, Knox abruptly shoulders past me, stooping down to scoop Eliza’s trembling body up into his arms. It’s a move so unlike him that all I can do is watch in a suspended state of disbelief as he holds her tight to his chest and pushes up to his full height, starting across the room.

Whispering words of reassurance meant for only her ears, Knox carries her over to the bed, lays her down upon it, and presses a kiss to the very temple she just had a gun pressed against. Then, with more care than I’ve ever seen him exhibit, he situates her beneath the comforter before kicking off his shoes and slipping into bed behind her.

I blow out a slow breath, allowing some of the tension to drain from my muscles now that the threat has passed. Eliza is safe, and I plan to keep her that way. Right now, she needs rest, and it looks like my brother has this well in hand.

I dart one last glance in their direction before striding to the door and slipping out of the room. Closing it quietly behind me, I release a long exhale as I press my back against the polished wood, sliding down to the floor and burying my face in my hands.

That was too close.

Alina was an insufferable narcissist, but neither of us wanted her to die. What happened to her took a toll, and I had no interest in taking another wife for fear that it’d happen again. My cold, dead heart started beating again when she put that gun to her head. It hasn’t stopped since, and it now feels like it’s going to burst from my chest.

If this is what it’s like to truly care for someone, I don’t want any part of it. If only I could banish these foreign emotions by sheer will.

I used to think caring for someone meant making their life comfortable, and as much as I abhorred the idea of marrying again, I did that for Eliza. I purchased the finest clothes and beauty products, paid attention to which foods she preferred so we could stock the kitchen with them. I instructed Clara to make sure her morning coffee was to temperature each day so she wouldn’t burn the roof of her mouth; one of my biggest pet peeves. I didn’t deny her a single thing.

There’s nothing I despise more than feeling out of control. Every aspect of my life is regimented, every detail carefully calibrated. I can no longer control the way I feel for my wife, and as I comb over my memories of our time together, I’m struggling to pinpoint exactly when she became more to me than a business arrangement.

I’m trapped in that endless loop of thoughts when the pressure against my back suddenly slackens, the door slowly opening from inside. I curl forward, glancing up to see my brother standing above me, the exhaustionof the evening etcheddeeply in his features. He can’t resist passing judgment on the position he’s found me in, though, raising a dark brow as a smirk touches his lips.

Pushing to my feet, I blow out a measured breath and swivel to face Knox as he pulls the door closed behind him.

“She cried herself to sleep,” he mumbles quietly.

I jerk a nod, tipping my head in the direction of the foyer. “Drink?”

Knox snorts a wry laugh, clapping a hand down on my shoulder and leaning in. “Make it a double, brother.”