That she’ll come back.
Dr. Taylor mentioned that the fugue state could last from days to months, and that Lia would eventually remember who she actually is.
It’s been a month already and yet, my wife seems more interested in being a different person altogether.
Yan drags a deep inhale of his smoke, then releases it. “There’s something you need to know, Boss.”
“Talk.”
“That motherfucker Richard put his hands on her.”
My body goes rigid. “What?”
“He harassed her and she kicked him in the balls—among other things—before she left.”
Two emotions rush through me simultaneously. The first is rage. A dark foreboding grips me by the gut at the thought of Richard or any other bastard touching my Lia. I’ll rip every last one of them limb from limb and bathe in their blood so they learn to never fuck with what’s mine.
The second is pride in my Lenochka. She fought because that’s what she is deep down.
A fighter.
The first emotion is stronger and more potent, compelling me to shred Richard’s heart out of his chest and tear him fucking apart.
I tighten my hand into a fist. “Where is Richard?”
“In his office.” Yan taps his cigarette. “Why are you asking?”
“Why do you think?”
“He’s the Bratva’s mayoral candidate, Boss,” Kolya interrupts from the driver’s seat. “Not only would Sergei not like it, but he would also consider it a betrayal.”
“What Sergei doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
I step out of the car and stalk to the back entrance of the shelter. Since I’ve been here countless times either to talk business with Richard or to keep an eye on Lia, I know my way around.
The director of the shelter isn’t aware of who my wife is and he would never suspect that she’s under his roof. When I first had Kolya talk to him about it, he thought she was a prostitute I intended to fuck.
That was his mistake.
At first, I let him believe that because I couldn’t care less what he thought.
But who the fuck is he to believe he could touch her?
That he could put his filthy hands on her?
I twist the doorknob of his office, opening the door and slipping inside. The place is shabby with a faux leather sofa and a desk made of cheap wood.
Richard stands by his chair, dabbing a piece of cotton against his cheek that has fingernail scratches.
My lips twitch as that feeling of pride hits me again.
That’s my Lenochka.
The shelter’s director is a middle-aged man with a flat nose and bushy brows. He dresses in cheap suits that make him look like a wannabe clown.
Upon noticing me, he straightens, ugly greed shining in his bland, mud-colored eyes.
“Oh,” he stumbles over his words. “A-Adrian. I didn’t know we had a meeting today.”
“We didn’t.”
He throws away the blood-soaked cotton and retrieves another one from the top of the desk. “Hold on, let me take care of this. A stupid bitch clawed me and kicked me in the balls…” he trails off when I pull out my gun and the silencer, then take my time attaching it.
Sweat breaks across Richard’s forehead as he watches the weapon with widened eyes. “W-what is that for?”
“Continue.” I stalk toward him. “You were at the part where the stupid bitch clawed you and kicked your minuscule balls.”
He lifts both hands in the air. “H-hey…we can talk about this, yeah? I’m an asset to you.”
“Not when you touch my fucking wife.” I place the muzzle to his forehead, then think better of it and grab my knife.
I’m going to make this fucking personal and stab him until all his blood pours out.
No one touches Lia and lives.
No fucking one.
After I’m done with Richard, I don’t rejoin Kolya and, instead, choose to walk on foot.
To watch Lia.
She’s marching in front of me, oblivious to her surroundings and me. She keeps sipping from a drink that she shoplifted when Yan wasn’t around. Lia was never an alcoholic and she’s not one now either. She just believes she’s Winter—and because Winter was an alcoholic, Lia thinks she is as well.
I make sure Yan dilutes her beer when she’s not looking. I won’t allow her to develop an addiction that she’ll regret.
My wife is wearing a coat and shoes that are a few sizes too big. Yan mentioned that she always complains about the cold and the winter weather. I wish I could take her home, wash her, and tuck her in a warm bed.
After what happened with the shelter’s fucking director, I’m paranoid that the incident will repeat. That she’s