Chapter Seven
Anya
I shove everything I can find into the open suitcase on the bed—clothes, makeup, and the necklace Katya gave me for graduation. My hands shake so badly I can barely zip the bag.
One minute, I was frozen in the hallway outside Alexei’s office, and the next, I was in our room, yanking open drawers and shoving things into a suitcase.
I don’t even remember getting here. I can still hear the sound of his voice in my head talking about how Yuri killed my parents.
And Alexei…he knew. He knew, and he didn’t tell me.
A sharp sob claws its way up my throat, but I swallow it down. I can’t fall apart. Not yet.
I grab my purse from the nightstand, my fingers brushing the framed photo beside it—me and Alexei, taken in London less than a week ago. He’s smiling faintly, one arm around me, his thumb tracing my shoulder as if he couldn’t help himself.
I slam the frame face down on the table. The crack of glass splinters through the quiet.
God, how could I have been so stupid?
I used to tell myself that Yuri wasn’t that bad. Cold, yes. Distant, yes. But not cruel. Not violent. At least not with me.
And now I know the truth. He murdered my father—my gentle, patient father who used to hum lullabies while I fell asleep.
And my mother…
I press a hand to my mouth, trying not to choke on the wave of nausea. She’d always said she married Yuri because he made her feel safe.
Safe. Isn't that laughable?
She’d married the man who destroyed her first love, the man who broke her heart in ways she never recovered from. No wonder she’d faded so quickly after that. No wonder the light in her eyes had died.
I can barely breathe around the ache in my chest.
I drag my suitcase off the bed and onto the floor. Every sound feels too loud—the rasp of the zipper, the thud of the handle hitting the wood. I half expect Alexei to burst through the door any second to try to explain or tell me it’s not what it sounds like.
But he doesn’t.
The silence presses heavier with every passing second. A small, cruel part of me expected him to come after me. Another part—one I hate even more—is disappointed that he hasn’t.
Maybe he’s relieved I’m leaving. Maybe it’s easier for him this way.
The thought makes my throat sting. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, furious at myself for crying.
Enough. No more tears.
I call for a car, shove my coat on, and head downstairs. As I walk down the long stairs, through the large living room, I can almost feel the walls closing in on me…
In this very house, my mama was murdered.
Soon enough, I'm settling into the back seat of the taxi, and it finally feels like I can breathe a little.
“Where to, ma’am?” the driver asks.
“JFK. Please.”
As the car begins to move, I lean back in the seat and close my eyes with a shaky sigh. The only person I can think of at this moment is Katya. My sister will know how to make it better—make this pain that's eating at me go away…
I need her. And she also needs to know the truth.
Soon, I'm standing at the kiosk in the airport, waiting for the plane ticket to LA to be printed. For a second, I almost laugh at how easy it is to disappear.
One credit card. One suitcase. One broken heart. That's all it takes.
By the time I board, my eyes burn from unshed tears and exhaustion, but sleep won’t come. Neither will the tears. I pull out my phone as the flight attendant makes the final boarding call, my fingers hovering over the screen for a second before I start typing.
I’m coming to you. I’ll explain everything when I get there.
I stare at the message for a moment, my thumb trembling over “send,” then hit it. Katya replies almost instantly:
What happened? Are you okay?
I can’t bring myself to answer. Not yet.
The truth is too big, too sharp.
I switch my phone to airplane mode just as the plane begins to taxi and sink back into the seat.
The engines roar beneath me, the cabin trembles, and I stare out the small oval window as New York disappears beneath a wash of city lights and clouds. My chest tightens.
How did everything unravel so fast?
The past few days had felt…almost perfect. Alexei had been different, gentler, deliberate in the way he looked at me, touched me, listened to me. For the first time in years, I felt safe. Wanted. Like we could actually move past the last four years.
I didn’t even realize when it happened, when the careful distance I’d built around myself began to crumble.
When I started to trust him.
When I started to love him.
The word hits me like a punch to the gut, and I press a hand to my mouth to stifle a sound that’s half laugh, half sob. I loved him. No. God help me, I love him.
And maybe that’s what hurts most…because love shouldn’t feel like betrayal. It shouldn’t make you question every tender thing, every word that feels true.
A tear slips down my cheek, then another, until I give up trying to stop them. I turn my face toward the window, letting the hum of the engines drown out the sound of my quiet crying.
I can't stop thinking about his hands, his mouth worshiping my body. The staggering intensity of his eyes as he makes love to me. The way his eyes soften when he looks at me.
Was any of it real?
Or was I just the one person he couldn’t bring himself to tell the truth to?
My chest aches with every breath. The rhythm of the plane lulls me, the steady vibration seeping into my bones until the exhaustion finally wins.
As I drift off to sleep, I think about the sound of his deep velvety voice calling me zayka.
And even now, I don’t know whether I want to forget him…or hope he never finds me.
***
The first person I see as I step off the plane is Alexei, standing just beyond the security line dressed in a dark tailored suit, arms behind his back, with an unreadable expression.
He looks every inch the bratva boss he is.
Beside him is Katya, glaring daggers at his profile. She never cared much for any of the Balshov brothers, and she never hides it.
My chest tightens, and for a moment, my feet don’t move. Then Katya looks up, and her expression brightens, a welcoming smile tugging at her lips.
“Anya!”
She hurries toward me and wraps her arms around me in a familiar, warm embrace. I hug her back, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply. She smells like coffee and home. Comforting.
“Are you okay?” she whispers against my hair. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” I murmur, shaking my head against her shoulder. “No, Katya.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes darting over my face like she’s searching for bruises. Then, without lowering her voice, she throws a look over my shoulder.
“You can go to hell, you know that?”
I feel Alexei’s presence before I see his reaction. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just watches us with that same silent intensity that always makes my pulse jump. But now, it hurts to meet his gaze.
Still holding Katya’s hand, I finally turn to face him.
“We need to talk,” I say, my voice is steadier than I feel. “All three of us. It’s time you told us the full truth.”
Something flickers in his eyes—guilt, maybe relief—but he only nods once. “Let’s go.”
Katya snorts. “You’re lucky she’s the one asking. I’d rather feed myself to piranhas than get in a car with you.”
“Katya,” I whisper, giving her hand a squeeze. “Please.”
After a tense beat, she sighs and lets me lead her toward the exit.
The car waiting outside is sleek, black, and far too quiet inside. Alexei sits up front beside Sergei, his shoulders rigid, every movement restrained. Katya and I sit in the back, the air thick with things unsaid.
As soon as the doors shut behind us, Katya reaches forward and raises the privacy screen, separating us from Alexei and Sergei.
“What’s going on, Anya?” she asks under her breath. “Why are we even here with him?”
I stare out the window, my hands twisting in my lap. “I overheard him talking to Dmitri.”
“About what?”
“Mama and Papa,” I whisper. “Katya…Yuri killed them.”
The words still burn my throat, even now.
Katya goes still beside me. “What?”
“He killed Papa first. Then Mama. Alexei knew about it.”
Her jaw drops. “Why would he…” She cuts herself off, swallowing hard. “Why would Yuri kill them? And why marry Mama if he killed her husband?”
“I don’t know,” I admit softly. “But we’re going to find out soon.”
The car soon slows down in front of a tall apartment building that gleams in the late afternoon light. Alexei steps out first and opens our door.
“This is Mikhail’s building,” he says quietly. “He’s letting us use his apartment while he’s in New York.”
In that moment, something occurs to me, like a light bulb coming on in my head.
“How did you get to LA before me?” I ask, blinking at Alexei in confusion.
“I've got eyes on you,” he answers, his tone annoyingly nonchalant.
My stomach twists. “You had me followed?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “I never stopped. I had to know you were safe. When you left for the airport, I got the alert. My jet was ready.”
Katya makes a sound of disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Maybe,” he says quietly. “But she’s here safe, isn’t she?”
I don’t answer. I just follow him into the elevator, my pulse racing in my ears.
Mikhail’s apartment is breathtaking, open, and filled with light. A faint scent of cedar and cologne lingers in the air. It’s beautiful…but sterile. Everything about it screams bachelor perfection.
Katya mutters something about it being spotless, but I barely hear her. My chest feels tight as Alexei gestures for us to sit.
He takes the armchair opposite the couch where Katya and I sit, our shoulders pressed together.
“Talk,” Katya says sharply. “Now.”
Alexei exhales slowly, bracing his forearms on his knees. “Yuri killed your father.”
The words land like a sledgehammer, even though I already knew. Hearing them again makes it even more real.
He goes on, his voice low. “He wanted your mother. He knew your parents loved each other too much to ever separate. So he made sure Petr was out of the way.”