Mikhail
Chapter thirty-seven
Irina’s dead.
The night of the wedding she drank too much, took too many pills, and was found cold in the morning.
Dr. Morozov confirmed the time of death as sometime the night before. There was no note, but the unspoken consensus is that she couldn’t stand that her daughter ended up like her. That she wasn’t able to save her from the same fate she suffered all those years ago.
Irina may have been a complicated woman, but it’s obvious that all the wealth and privilege she had access to weren’t enough to keep her topside.
We haven’t heard anything more from Tati since the wedding night.
I’ve been working at the barn as much as I can to keep my mind busy. When I’m not working, I’m working out.
She’s okay. She has to be okay. We would have heard if something had happened to her.
But she’s not answering her phone. And that worries me.
However, someone must have told her about Irina, because when the Vitales pull up to the funeral, a man in a black suit helps Tatiana from the back of his car.
A growl claws its way up my throat at the sight of someone else touching her.
She’s wearing oversized sunglasses and a black dress.
She looks thinner than before, if that’s even possible.
Her cheeks are hollowed in, and I realize her depression is riding her hard.
She doesn’t have anyone to read to her, or hold her, or convince her it’s going to be okay.
Lev, Roman and I know we need to brainstorm ways to get to her, but I think we’re all coping in our own way.
Lev’s still nursing a black eye and broken nose from the last bareknuckle boxing fight he went to, drunker than he should have been. He was looking for the pain. Roman’s been on his phone religiously, trying to find some sort of in with the Vitales, but hasn’t been successful.
Tatiana and Giovanni, flanked by a dozen of his men, approach the casket.
Niko sees her and approaches her, arms opening wide for a hug.
She takes a step back and holds her hand up to him, stopping him.
Good. Satisfaction settles in my bones. She may be depressed and not eating, but a part of her is standing up for herself, and I’m proud of her for that.
I go to slide around the crowd to try to approach her, but the movement catches her eye, and she signs Stop with her hands low and hidden from her husband.
So, I stand with Ro and Lev at the edge of the crowd.
As the priest begins his service, tears flow down her cheeks from beneath her dark glasses, but she does nothing to hide them.
I can’t be sure she’s watching me, but I slowly sign to her to avoid catching anyone else’s attention.
I have Juliet. She’s safe.
I can tell the moment it registers, though, because she pulls in a sharp intake of air, her spine straightening.
Giovanni takes a swig from a flask, and I hate that he’s the one sitting next to her during this, pretending to be the doting husband that no one believes he actually is.
She nods imperceptibly. If you didn’t know her the way I do from having studied her for years, you wouldn’t have caught it.
How can we help? I sign again as the priest drones on about leaving the sins of the flesh behind.
She shakes her head ‘no,’ and I frown. This can’t be it for her. This can’t be it for all of us. Are we really going to spend the rest of our lives apart?
But as the ceremony finishes, I have to watch her walk away from us again, my heart breaking all over again in my chest.
Because I don’t know if that will be the last time I see her.