Octavia
I look at myself in the mirror.
I’ve just come out of the shower. My rosy hair is still wet, darkened by the water. My face is clean now, free of dirt, though the bruises remain on my skin.
I look as though I’ve been hit by a train.
I keep looking at myself.
My eyes shine back at me, green and startlingly clear.
For the first time since I was thirteen, I am actually seeing myself.
I look older. My lips are fuller, my cheeks softer, my mid length pink hair suits me more than it ever has.
And the most surprising thing is that for the first time in years, standing in front of a mirror doesn’t hurt.
The void doesn’t open, it doesn’t try to swallow me whole.
The voices are silent.
Since that man stopped breathing, something heavy lifted from my chest. A weight I carried for years without realising it was there is simply… gone.
I’m free.
That little girl is finally free.
I don’t feel dirty anymore.
I know I never was, this was always the trauma talking, but knowing something and feeling it are two different things.
And right now, I feel clean, almost like I’m floating.
I was afraid the Pakhan would come after Milo for killing his younger brother. Everyone knows the Pakhan is no better than the rest of them, and I expected retribution.
But Isaak told me he had handled it, and we are finally free.
Viktor is dead.
Yuri too.
When things return to some semblance of normal, I will go back for the rest of Viktor’s associates and finish it.
I shake the thought away and finally pull my eyes from the mirror. My ribs throb and I grow dizzier by the second, I must have been standing here longer than I realised.
I pull on a pair of grey trousers, then reach for a white shirt and slip it over my head. His scent wraps around me instantly, and it calms me even more.
I run the towel through my hair and let it dry by itself before sliding my slippers on and stepping out of the bathroom.
My eyes go straight to him. He’s watching me from the bed, a smile on his face.
“You’re awake.”
I cross the room to him and sit on the edge of the bed beside him. He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips.
“How are you feeling?” I ask. “Do you need me to call the doctor?”
He shakes his head. “I love you doting on me like this. I should get hurt more often.”
I hit his hand lightly. “Don’t joke about that.”
His eyes narrow. “You should be in bed as well,” he says.
We are still in Russia, and I can’t wait to leave this hospital and get out of here. I know Milo feels the same.
He took two bullets to the back. Clean shots, nothing vital was hit, but he lost a great deal of blood.
The surgery lasted eight hours.
Eight hours of me sitting outside, crying until my head pounded and my chest felt scraped raw.
They refused to tell me anything. They kept insisting I go to the room they had prepared for me because, apparently, my own injuries were serious to require admission. I couldn’t do it. I had to know he was all right.
By the time the surgery ended, Isaak was there with Adelaide, and Ido had arrived as well.
The doctors told us he was stable, and I could finally breathe.
I gave in finally and went to the room they had prepared for me.
They hooked me up to a few IVs and ordered me to rest. But when Milo woke from the anaesthesia and found his room empty, he lost it.
He tried to get out of bed, still barely conscious, and the doctors had no choice but to move us into a larger room so we could stay together.
I never needed anyone before. I was fine on my own. But now I know, without question, that I need him.
We’re broken, unhinged, completely fucked up. But we are perfect.
Together.
My eyes fall to the tattoo on my finger, on the promise ring, and a small smile forms on my lips.
His voice draws my attention back. “I knew you’d get used to it,” he says. “Might even start loving it.”
I roll my eyes. “Try something like that again and I’ll stab you.”
“Oh, please, yes,” he replies. “Do that while you’re riding my cock.”
I smack his shoulder.
“We need to talk,” he says suddenly.
The shift in his tone wipes the amusement from my face. We’ve both been keeping things buried for too long.
I know it.
He knows it.
But before either of us can say anything else, the door bursts open.
My sister rushes in first, Arlo close behind her. She’s crying.
Adelaide follows with Isaak, who leans against the wall with his arms crossed. Then Ido steps in with Eleanor, and Piper arrives with Hunter.
Hunter goes straight to Milo and claps him on the shoulder way too hard.
“Don’t fucking hurt him,” I snap.
Hunter smirks at me. “He’ll survive.” He looks down at Milo. “Glad you didn’t die.”
“How very kind of you,” Milo mutters.
Isaak gives Milo a brief nod. He hasn’t really left the hospital, he and Adelaide have been coming and going constantly.
Adelaide meets my eyes and gives me a small smile.
What she did months ago was unforgivable.
But I understand it now in a way I didn’t before. I don’t agree with how she chose to handle it, but I understand.
It’s her story to tell, not mine. And if nothing else, it made me realise that we are all fighting battles no one else fully sees.
I return the smile.
Piper is the next to reach me. Her freckles are more visible on her flushed cheeks. I hold her tightly for a moment.
Eleanor hovers at the back, her eyes distant and unfocused. Ido watches her closely, never taking his eyes off her.
My sister almost throws herself at me.
She hugs me so tightly my ribs protest, but I don’t say a word.
She’s crying properly now.
“Look at you,” she says through tears. “So hurt. I knew something was wrong when you stopped visiting and calling. I could feel it.”
She studies my face. “But I won’t push,” she adds quickly, wiping at her eyes.
My sister doesn’t know about Death, and I hope she never finds out.
Adelaide told me she has been answering her messages while I was kidnapped, and I am grateful beyond words that my sister and my mother were spared the agony of thinking I was dead.
I despise hiding the truth from her, but if it protects her, so be it.
She knows I am meant to take over when father steps down, yet she has never wanted the details of what that truly entails, and I am thankful for that.
I want her to keep seeing me as she always has, her older sister, who loves and adores her. Not the mafia donna.
She sniffles again, and Arlo glares at me as though this is somehow my fault.
I roll my eyes at him.
Fucking idiot.
Surely that’s no way to treat your future sister in law.
My sister hugs me again and steps back.
She looks at me and Milo. “You both look terrible, but alive.”
Milo smirks. “My sister in law already loves me.”
Arlo’s eyes narrow. “She doesn’t fucking love you.”
“Oh, she does,” Milo says.
Arlo shoots him a glare. “The only man my woman loves is me. And don’t tempt fate, you’re already injured. It wouldn’t be hard to finish the job.”
I glare at him. “Don’t threaten my man. You aren’t hard to kill either.”
“Stop threatening to kill each other,” Ophelia snaps.
They stay for a few hours.
Someone brings McDonald’s. I take slow bites, nothing too heavy. After being starved, my body won’t tolerate a burger, I pick at a few fries instead.
Milo watches me, his expression murderous.
I smile at him and squeeze his hand to reassure him.
My sister gasps suddenly, her eyes drop to my hand.
“You’re fucking married?” she shrieks.
I roll my eyes. “Stop. I’m not married. This psycho tattooed his initials on my ring finger without permission.”
She narrows her eyes at Milo. “What if she doesn’t want to marry you?”
“She does,” he says easily.
Isaak nods. “Strategic. Branding for life. Even without a ring, everyone will know she’s taken.”
“Try it,” Adelaide snaps, narrowing her eyes, “and you’ll lose a testicle.”
“That seems anatomically improbable,” he says.
“Shall we test the theory?”
I laugh, and it feels good.
Then my eyes land on Eleanor, and my chest tightens at the emptiness in her expression.
She looks… broken.
As the conversation drifts through the room, I look around.
We’re all here, together.
Maybe, in time, we can find our own version of friendship.