31. Matvey
31
MATVEY
I almost lost her.
That’s the thought that keeps pounding in my head. Not “my Bratva’s in shambles,” or “Ivan is dead.” Because the truth is, none of that matters.
Not if I don’t have her .
It was one hell of a wake-up call. I wish I hadn’t needed it. I wish I’d been awake from the start, not so fucking blind. My flaws, my mistakes—they almost cost me everything.
They almost cost me April.
When that doctor told me to get out, I wanted to rip into her. After that night, I’d told myself nothing and no one could ever pry me away from my woman again.
And then April said, Trust me.
So I did.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Even now, it takes everything out of me and then some.
Trust . It means having no control, and I hate that. All this power, and what’s it good for? What’s the use if it can’t protect the ones closest to me? If it leaves me so fucking exposed ?
Every day, it takes everything out of me.
But I do it anyway.
Because she asked me to.
“And this is her favorite toy, so if she starts crying?—”
“April,” Elias’s booming voice laughs, “relax. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“Sorry,” April sighs. “I’m just nervous. I’ve never really left her with anyone. Even with June or Petra, I was always in the next room, so…”
Elias pats her on the shoulder. If anybody else dared get so familiar, I’d be snapping the offending limb in half. That said, it’s a little hard even for me to be jealous of an octogenarian. And besides, Elias isn’t just her boss; he’s her family.
“Go get your dress,” he says in that thick New Orleans accent of his. “I’ll keep the young lady occupied.”
With an apprehensive nod, April disappears into the bedroom, leaving us alone.
Awkward silence reigns. For the first time, I find myself wishing May would throw a tantrum just to give me something to do. But whatever advice that therapist has been giving April, it’s been working: the baby is significantly less nervous now.
Elias starts humming a tune under his breath. May giggles at the unexpected music. Even the cat seems somewhat relaxed around the old man.
I clear my throat. “You said this isn’t your first rodeo. I assume that means you’ve had experience?”
“Mhmm. Three nephews and seven nieces.”
“You have siblings, then?”
“Five. I was the eldest. Helped rear the whole bunch of ‘em.”
Five siblings. I can’t even picture that. “April never mentioned it.”
“Oh, don’t hold it against her. They’re all away now. I barely mention them myself. Canada, Sweden—all those cold places with much warmer policies.”
“So you’re alone.” I cringe at myself. That didn’t come out like I wanted.
But Elias doesn’t seem offended. His eyes crinkle at the corners, the faint hint of a smile on his thin, cracked lips. “I have a very good apprentice.”
It makes me uncomfortable—the warmth he says it with. Like he considers April a part of his family, too, just as she considers him a part of hers.
“That’s why you suggested the contest?” I say, if only to change the subject.
“Well, yes. And because I believe she’s made for bigger things than a quaint little tailor’s shop.”
“I don’t get it.” I blurt the words out without even thinking.
The old man’s face doesn’t change. “You don’t think she can win?”
“I know she can win. What I don’t understand is why she needs to.”
“My boy! Surely you know the Mallard isn’t cheap?”
“I’m not cheap, either. If she’d asked, I would’ve taken care of it.”
“Ah, but it’s not that simple, is it?” he tuts.
I frown. “Of course it is.”
“For you, perhaps. But for April?” He shakes his head, but the smile stays on—fond and proud and just a little bit sad. “She’s had to fight tooth and nail all her life. That’s the only way she knows how to get things.”
“But I’m here now,” I counter.
“Yes, but for how long?”
The blow comes out of nowhere. What’s worse, the old man still isn’t showing a trace of ill intent towards me. Just a hint of a smile on his lips—and the truth. As sweet or bitter as it may be.
Once, I would’ve gotten angry. I would’ve raged and been outraged at the implication.
Now, I read between the lines.
“You think that’s April’s concern? That I won’t stay?”
“I think no one’s ever done that for her,” he replies diplomatically. “And that, when you’re used to everybody leaving, you stop considering the alternative. It’s too painful to start hoping.”
A stab of guilt, straight through my chest. “And if I paid for her tuition in full right now—would that show her? That I won’t leave?”
He laughs. “My boy, what makes you think she wants you to do that? Anything worth having must be earned. And April’s a fighter. So let her fight—and let her win .”
I don’t understand shit about clothes. I don’t get fashion, or fabrics, or the fine details of design. But fighting for your place in the world? Earning it? That’s the one thing I get.
The one thing I’ll always respect, no matter what.
“I understand.”
“You know something, son? I’ve no doubt you do.”
Then April rushes back in. “Okay, I think I got everything. Remember, there’s formula in the cupboard?—”
“I think Elias can figure it out,” I cut in.
She seems surprised by that. As if expecting I’d fight her more over this. “Right. Sorry. Thanks for doing this. I’m just?—”
“Late,” Elias chides. “You’re late. Didn’t you say submissions close at noon? You’d better hurry, or you’ll have to go back tomorrow.”
One glance at her phone and April’s face grows horrified. “Oh my God. We have to go!”
Before following her out, I throw one last look at our daughter in Elias’s arms.
A stranger. An interloper.
Try as I might, I can’t bring myself to feel like that anymore.
We get there right before the gates close.
I walk in after April, who’s now taking the stairs three at a time. Then, once we’re finally at the front desk, I watch her deflate like a balloon. “I need, uh… to, uh, turn in…”
“Her piece for the contest,” I fill in. “Here’s the paperwork.”
The woman at the desk blinks. If she finds the scene strange, however, she wisely keeps it to herself. “Sure, Ms.…?”
“Flowers,” April wheezes.
“Flowers-Le Blanc?” the clerk asks.
“No, just—wait, what?”
“Oh!” says the clerk. “Sorry, my mistake. I thought you might be related to?—”
“No mistake,” a girl’s voice giggles from behind us. “She is, though it’s hard to tell.”
At the sound, April freezes.
“Now, now,” another voice drawls, deeper and thicker with poison. “Don’t be rude to your sister, Anne. Sorry— half -sister.”
I don’t even have to turn to know who it is, but I do anyway. I want to look them in the eye: the witches who almost pushed my woman over the edge of reason. Who tried to buy my child .
If looks could kill, there would be nothing of them left to bury.
“Nora,” April greets tightly. “Anne.”
They don’t acknowledge me. Most likely, they think I’m some kind of driver. Last time they met, April used my name to threaten them—there’s no way they’d be this casual if they’d realized who I was.
I don’t let them in on it. Not yet.
“What a wonderful coincidence,” Nora croons. “I trust you’ve been well? You left so abruptly last time.”
“We didn’t even get to say goodbye to little May,” Anne pouts. “Speaking of, where is she?”
Somewhere you’ll never get your dirty paws on her . My fists go tight at my sides, but I force myself to keep them there.
“Home,” April replies flatly, more tactful than I could ever be.
“Alone?!” Anne gasps with the fakest concern I’ve ever heard.
“Of course not,” snaps April. “She’s well-cared for.”
“No need to be so defensive,” Nora purrs. “Dear Anne was simply worried. It’s only fair, given… Well, no need to rehash.” She puts on a plastic smile, the edges just sharp enough to cut. “We’re here on a happy occasion.”
Given what? I want to press. How bad of a mother she has?
See, this is why I fucking hate catfights. In the Bratva, if you’ve got something to say, you come out and say it. Maybe it earns you a punch in the face, maybe it earns you a bullet, but you still speak your mind clearly. You take responsibility.
Here, cowardice and backhanded jabs are the law of the land.
“Oh?” April says, pretending not to catch the insult. “And what’s that?”
“Anne’s entry for the contest, of course!”
I frown. That any of April’s sisters should have followed in her footsteps is news to me.
Apparently, it’s also news to her. “Anne’s… what?”
With a slide of a manicured hand, Nora pushes the entry form across the desk. “Here. Did you get the dress delivery?”
“Of course, ma’am.” The clerk smiles. “Right here.”
And then she pulls it off the rack.
No fucking way.
Ivory lace. Embroidered leaves. A curving shape that turns bark-like halfway through. In all my life, I’ve only seen a dress like that once.
On April’s mannequin.
My gaze turns to April immediately. I watch her face fall, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “That’s… that’s my dress,” she whispers once the clerk disappears in the back.
“What was that, dear?”
“I said that’s my dress!” she snarls, all fury. “How dare you! How…”
“ Your dress?” Nora laughs. “Perhaps you should calm down, April. Envy’s not a good look on you.”
“Is any look good on her?” Anne quips.
Fucking vipers. I force myself to breathe through my nose, count down from ten, though all that Zen shit that never helped anyone who was truly mad.
And by God, I am. Right now, it’s taking all of my willpower to keep my fists where they are, let alone keep silent.
But I have to.
April’s a fighter, Elias said. So let her fight.
“Envy?” she balks. Then, as if a lightbulb just went off, she turns to Anne. “My sketches. Back at the house, you saw my sketches.”
“This should be good.” Anne smirks viciously.
“You took pictures of them, didn’t you?”
“Really? Did I also fake the moon landing, sister?”
“You…!” She grits her teeth. “How can you shamelessly cheat like this?”
“Oh, please. Don’t be such a sore loser,” Nora scolds. “So what if it looks like yours? People have similar ideas all the time.”
Similar , my ass. It’s a carbon fucking copy.
“Besides, it’s the execution that counts, yes?” the wicked stepmother adds. “And I don’t know about you, but I spare no expenses for my daughter. Right, dear?”
“We hired the best tailors,” Anne grins. “A whole équipe . I think they did my design justice, don’t you?”
“ My design,” April retorts. “At least when it’s just us, you could have the guts to be honest. You didn’t sketch out that dress— I did.”
Something shifts on Anne’s face then, soft features turning sharp and cunning. “Maybe. But I still turned it in first.”
The clerk comes back. Nora makes a beeline for her, asking who the fuck knows what, and Anne doesn’t waste any time going back to hiding behind her mother’s skirts.
As soon as they’re out of reach, I whisper to April, “Is that allowed? Making others do the dress for you?”
Reluctantly, she nods. “It’s a design contest, not a tailoring one. Most entries here haven’t been sewn by their designers.”
“I see.”
Then I take a step towards the counter.
“Wait!” April stops me. “Where are you going?”
“To tell the clerk,” I answer. “She stole your piece. She deserves to be disqualified.”
April shakes her head. “As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. She turned it in first.”
“All done.” Anne glides back towards us, Nora in tow. “What’s wrong, April? Aren’t you going to turn in your dress?”
That’s it. I take an aggressive step forward, all good resolutions forgotten. There’s only one urge in my veins now: to make these goddamn snakes pay.
Anne’s demeanor changes instantly. She draws back, an instinctive fear telling her to get the fuck away from me. It’s the first good idea she’s had today.
“You little—” I start.
But April’s hand settles firmly on my back. “No,” she says. “It’s not worth it. Let’s go.”
It takes everything in me to swallow back my rage— everything.
But I do.
Because I trust her.
In the car, a thousand worries crowd my mind. Last time she had to deal with these people, she ended up dangling over a railing. What’s this going to do to her? After all the work she’s put in to get back into a good place—for our daughter, for us…
“April, let me fix this.”
She smiles at me. A warm, genuine smile. “Thanks,” she says. “But this is my fight. Trust me.”
So I do. Even if it’s the hardest thing in the world, I do it for her.
Because I promised.
At the penthouse, I’m fully expecting April to make an emergency call to Dr. Knox. Instead, I watch her hug Elias, offer her thanks, tell him she’ll call.
Then I watch her grab her sketchbook. “What are you doing?”
She looks up then: fierce, fired up, a fighter ‘til the death. “I’m making another fucking dress.”
Beautiful.
“Tell me how I can help,” I say at once.
April’s eyes light up. “Okay. I’m gonna need two things.”
“Name them.”
“One: if you could watch May for?—”
“Done. Two?”
Her lips curve into a grin. “Two: I need to borrow your wife.”