Lies of My Monster: A Dark Mafia Romance(9)

It’s been five hours since I heard the news, and only now has the doctor come back to check on him.

I wait on pins and needles, but when he returns, there’s no change in his expression.

“He’s still unconscious, but that’s not out of the ordinary,” he says before I can ask anything.

“Can I see him?”

“Not unless you’re a family member.”

“I’m…” I can’t even lie and say I’m his girlfriend since I look like a damn man. “His cousin.”

He eyes me suspiciously probably because Kirill and I look nothing alike. However, the doctor nods and points down the hall. “Take a left, and the nurse will direct you.”

“Thank you.”

I’m about to head there, but the doctor blocks my path. “As I mentioned earlier, we have to report gunshot wounds to the authorities. The police will be here shortly and will have questions for you.”

I nod, not really thinking about the police right now. I’ll manage to mislead them when it’s time.

Before I’m allowed to see Kirill, I clean up and change into fresh clothes from my backpack. After I’m done, I follow the nurse with heavy steps.

She leaves once we reach the window, through which I can see him. A large ball clings to the back of my throat, and I suppress a sob at the view in front of me.

Everything is white—the lights, the bed, the bandages covering his naked chest. Even his skin is pasty, making the dark tattoos contrast harshly against it.

His face is too colorless, too lifeless, as if he’s given up and is already crossing to the other side.

My hands touch the glass slowly, carefully, as if I’m actually stroking his cheek. “I’m sorry, Kirill. I’m so sorry…if I’d known…I wouldn’t have come, I would’ve listened to you and stayed, I would’ve…”

I curl my fingers on the glass, knowing full well that any excuse I offer or what-ifs I think of are futile. It all happened, and Kirill is fighting for his life because of me. That’s the truth that I can’t change no matter what I do.

That knowledge doesn’t erase my sense of culpability and frustration, though.

I taste salt, and I realize I’m crying again. What’s wrong with me today? Since when did I become a crybaby?

My body is just not able to contain all the emotional turmoil inside me. The regrets, the adrenaline, and especially the feeling of being torn between my family and my strong sense of loyalty to Kirill.

I don’t know if this type of loyalty started in the army or after he saved my life or even after I went to New York and became close to him on more than one level, but the loyalty is there.

Which is ironic since I brought him to this state.

“Please come back, Kirill. I beg you.”

I don’t want to think of the possibility of him being gone. That’s simply not allowed. I’ve known him for about a year, and while that might not seem like a long time, it feels like forever.

I just can’t imagine my life without him in it.

Worse, I’m starting to forget how I lived before he came along.

And if he’s gone, I have no idea how I will be able to cope or survive.

“You have all these plans to rise to the top, right?” I murmur as if he can hear me. “You’ll go so high, people will break their necks looking up at you. You’ll build and smash as many houses of cards as possible, just because you can. You have too many plans and things to do, so you can’t just give up on them now… Also, Karina will lose whatever progress she’s made if something happens to you. She really loves you but doesn’t have the confidence to express it, because she’s scared you might leave again. I think Konstantin loves you, too, but he’s just badly misguided by your mother… And Viktor…what will happen to your shadow if you’re gone? He can’t be anyone else’s shadow after he’s invested so many years in you. And Anna…she’ll be devastated. Yuri, Maksim, and the rest of the men, too. They respect you because they see you as a role model. Not because they’re scared of you… All these people depend on you, so you can’t leave…”

I’m blabbering and bawling again until I can only see him through blurred vision.

“Sir…”

As I raise my head at the nurse’s voice, I use the sleeve of my jacket to wipe my eyes. I imagine they’re probably bloodshot and red since she double-checks me before continuing, “You have visitors outside.”

Probably the police.

After taking one last look at Kirill, I stroke the glass as if I’m caressing his face, then leave the ICU area.

The moment I step outside, my cheek flies to the side due to a ruthless slap. I freeze in place as none other than Babushka comes into view, accompanied by my uncle, who’s changed into a casual shirt, pants, and a heavy coat.

My grandmother is a short woman with a square face and gray hair that’s gathered in a stiff bun. Her wrinkles form a map of the decades she’s lived on this earth. She’s dressed in a conservative gray knee-length dress with a thick golden brooch on her chest. A matching necklace, bracelet, and the family ring complete the look. Oh, and the cane that she’s tapping on the floor.

I always knew my grandmother didn’t prefer me over my cousins or brother, but this is the first time she’s looked at me with pure contempt.