68. Are You with Me? #2
Dressing is easier than showering, but my arm throbs from the slightest movement.
My body has burned through all its adrenaline.
I should have accepted the painkillers Dr. Ricci offered, but I was worried I wouldn’t be able to fight the drowsy effects of medicine the same way I’m battling my natural exhaustion.
I sink down into the chair by the window, staring past the lights that illuminate the courtyard. Pinpricks of light travel along the main road that runs closer to the water, but none turn up the driveway in this direction. I count twenty-two cars passing before there’s a knock at the door.
After the third knock, I ask, “What?”
The door creaks open, Sienna appearing in the doorway. “I put a tray together. You should try to eat something.”
I watch her carry it over, setting it on the vanity. She must realize I’m unlikely to move from this spot because she carries the matching stool over and moves the tray to that.
It’s a thoughtful gesture, but I can’t muster more than a low, “Thanks.”
“Of course. Let me know if you need anything else.”
I nod, expecting her to leave.
She hovers instead. “Do you need a doctor?”
I frown, confused by the question. “Dr. Ricci already treated me.”
“I know. I meant …” She sucks in a deep breath. “I didn’t know about … consequences … after it happened to me. A doctor can treat diseases and help prevent a pregnancy.”
My exhale is shaky as her meaning registers. “They didn’t—I don’t need to worry about any of that. I-I’m so sorry you did. I didn’t know.”
“It is not something I talk about.” Her sad smile gains some strength. “Salvatore took care of them.”
I know nothing about how my father met Sienna. One summer, I came home to a new stepmother, an added member to a family I’d always been excluded from. She was young and beautiful, and it never occurred to me their connection was anything more than lust on his part and money on hers.
“I’ll let you get some rest.”
I thank her again. There’s more weight behind it this time, and I hope Sienna hears it.
Once the door shuts, I pick up a cluster of grapes and resume staring out the window, popping pieces of fruit into my mouth occasionally.
Streaks of pastel are appearing on the horizon by the time a series of headlights turn off the main road and head this way.
I stand abruptly, nearly knocking the stool over in my haste to get to the door.
I dash along the hallway and down the stairs.
There’s plenty of activity, despite the late—or early—hour.
Mostly men I don’t recognize, although Enzo is in the front room my father normally receives guests in, playing cards.
He glances up when I rush past, yanking at the door handle once before fumbling with the lock.
Overlapping voices echo around me, but I’m no longer able to be aware of my surroundings.
I do hear Salvatore say, “They’re back,” before I manage to get the door open.
I run outside, only faintly aware of the pebbles cutting into my bare feet as I watch the convoy of cars approach. I cross my arms across my stomach, hugging my waist, waiting for them to stop and unload.
The men mostly look similar, but I recognize my husband as soon as he steps out of the second SUV.
Lev catches me as I literally fling myself at him, inhaling deeply as my face presses against his chest. I smell sweat and smoke and beneath it … the same familiar scent that clings to sheets and cloys my dreams.
I start sobbing, the salty tears a necessary outlet for the tumultuous emotions trapped inside. Grief and terror and dread and horror and rage and finally … relief.
I’m back where I belong.
Lev kisses my forehead when my head lifts, murmuring a Russian phrase I recognize.
“I helped too,” a familiar voice chimes to my right.
I look over, swiping at my wet cheeks. “Maksim?”
He’s pulled his helmet off, running fingers through his hair and making it more of a mess. It’s unmistakably him.
“I—you—” I glance at Lev, then back at his brother. “What are you doing here?”
“Vacation, obviously. Nothing more relaxing than flying to another country to take out a compound. Know any good clubs in the area?”
My eyes fill with tears again as my arms drop. “You came to help?”
“Told you, Serebryanovo is boring.”
“Spasibo,” I whisper.
“Anytime.” Maksim glances at the row of cars. “Aleksandr came too. Zasranets is updating Igor in the air-conditioning. He isn’t adapting well to the heat.”
“Tell him—tell him spasibo too. I mean, I’ll thank him when I see him, but please let him know sooner.”
Maksim nods. “I will. And when he tells you he came so anyone else second-guesses coming after a Sokolov, feel free to remind him that every man we employ volunteered to come back up Lev and he could have stayed home.”
That second sentence isn’t meant for me, but I nod in acknowledgment of the first.
I step back, allowing Lev to have a moment alone with his brother and other men. I glance back at the villa while they exchange rapid Russian. The front door is open, Enzo and Salvatore standing and watching.
My father smiles at me.
I smile back.