“…gunshot wound to the chest…no exit…vitals had been steady…internal bleeding…coded on the operating table.”
Before I have a chance to open my mouth, the double door swings open and Kristi walks into the center of the waiting room, her face as white as her dress. She stops, a glazed look in her eyes, falling to her knees on the cold, hard tile. She leans forward, her face in her hands as she lets out a choked cry.
“No!”
A couple of nurses rush up to her, helping her to her feet and settling her into a chair as her wails reverberate between the stark walls.
Savio walks over to me, his arms folded over his chest. “Anton brought this on himself. He’s to blame for that attack, and he’s the reason why his daughters and the Leota Commission are now at risk. You want to know why you’re here?” he hisses, nodding at Kristina. “It’s because you’re the only one who can help me fix everything that Anton broke. So you will keep your identity a secret and you will gain Kristina’s trust since she now holds the key to the Ivankov kingdom.” He pauses, an evil smile lifting his lips. “And you won’t say a goddamn thing about my orders because, like it or not, I own you.”
Chapter Seven
KRISTINA
“I saw everything, Dad! How can you be that person?” I shake my head, my heart clenching as angry tears roll down my cheeks. “It’s like I don’t even know you…like I never knew you at all.”
I squeeze my fists against my eyes but they do nothing to block the tears from falling now. My shoulders quake from the silent sobs. They rumble through my insides, making every inch of me shudder with grief over the loss I’ll never recover from.
Choices.
We all make choices in our lives.
Mine was to cut off the man whom I’d idolized for my entire childhood.
I sacrificed my whole family because of it.
But coming home today made me realize what I’d been missing, and some flicker of remorse sparked the need to fix our relationship after all this time.
The gaping wound deep in my heart has festered like an infection for far too long and today, when I looked into my father’s eyes, I knew it was time to make amends.
Except I never got the chance.
Now I have to live with my choice for the rest of my life.
And I pray for his soul, that he doesn’t suffer for his choices.
One, two, three…
I take in a few deep breaths, dabbing at my red-rimmed eyes with a tissue, the fluorescent lights in the small hospital bathroom exacerbating my ghoulish appearance. My tear-streaked skin is sallow, and dark circles stain the undersides of my eyes. My hair is stringy and matted from being tugged and finger-combed over the past hour.
I take a deep breath, expelling it slowly as I grip the porcelain sink.
Four, five…
I need to pull myself together. I have two sisters to think about and they’re suffering too.
As the oldest, it’s up to me to—
Fuck.
Reality steamrolls me, crushing me with the force of responsibility and expectation.
It’s up to me.
All of it.
Six, seven, eight…
Come on, Kristi, deep breaths. Just get to thirteen.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve used numbers to help me come to terms with things that feel ‘uncomfortable’ to me. And lately, I’ve been counting a lot—like a lot, a lot—with no benefit to my sanity.
Still…
I get a glimpse of calm once I hit thirteen. I don’t always make it to that point because sometimes the situations are just too intense and overwhelming, like the one plaguing me now.
Thirteen is good luck to Italians, and I’ve got the genes to prove that I’ve got olive oil coursing through my veins along with vodka, courtesy of my partial Russian heritage.
But the pounding in my chest won’t allow my mind to grasp on to any sliver of calm right now.
I push open the bathroom door, desperately needing some fresh air. I stagger out of the tiny room, my nose still stinging from antiseptic cleaner. Sofia and Maria are in the chapel right now. I sent them there so I could say goodbye to Mom by myself.
I’d stood at the foot of the bed in the silent room once they left, the only sound coming from the lingering memory of my mother’s heart giving out while under the knife, the blaring flatline that I’d heard while standing outside the operating room doors forever branded into my mind. I stared down at her still form, only seeing her lithe body running, launching into the air, and rocketing across the mat with an unparalleled grace and strength that won her Olympic gold.
How could she be gone when she was so full of life and exuberance?
How could that light possibly be extinguished?
And why, goddamn it? Why?
I’d finally left the room after kissing her on the forehead, a knot of tears gurgling in the back of my throat as I choked back a loud sob.
I never got to tell her about my lab partner Nick and how he’s even more OCD than I am.
I never got to tell her how I was just recommended for a very sought-after fellowship, one that can literally make my medical career and pave the way for so many exciting opportunities.
I never got to tell her how much of an inspiration she is, and always was, to me.
But what hurts the most is that I never got to tell her how much I love her, one last time, before I lost her.
I never got to hug my dad one last time and to tell him I love him, too.
An ache in my heart reminds me that I didn’t get to hear what he needed to tell me, either.
I walk toward the chapel now, my shoulders slumped forward like the weight of the Ivankov underworld has me by the throat.
Which, as a matter of fact, it does.
I pull open the door when I arrive, the scent of incense thick in the air. My sisters cling to one another in a nearby pew and I slide in next to them, their quiet sobs tearing my heart in two.
“I c-can’t believe they’re really g-gone,” Maria whimpers, laying her head against me. “How are we going to do this on our own?”
A gaggle of tears catches in my throat. “You know I’m always going to be here for you. You will never be alone.”
“Our family is broken,” Sofia whispers. “And there are killers out there. Are we even safe?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper back, stroking the back of Maria’s head. “But we have Uncle Frank. And each other. We aren’t alone.”
“But how are we supposed to live without them?” Maria asks, sniffling. “How do we just go on after this? How do I go to another gymnastics meet knowing Mom won’t be there to cheer for me? How do we celebrate birthdays and graduations and holidays without Mom and Dad?” Her blue eyes well with fresh tears, a sob threatening to steal her breath. “How is life for us not over?”
“Sweetie,” I say, holding her tight. “You still have me and Sofia. We’re your family, too. And we love you. We’re broken but not over. I promise we will figure out how to move forward. Together.”
“I want to find the people who did this to us,” Sofia whispers, balling her fists. “The people who stole away our parents. I want them to suffer.” Tears roll down her cheeks despite her harsh words.