the fear I’d never wake up.
“Proshchay . . .”
The last thing I heard before the anesthesia took me under was, “Fuck your proshchay, Mila.”
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The steady beeps that drew me from a hazy sleep alerted me to the fact I didn’t die. Or Satan just had a sick sense of humor.
My body was in a tranquil, painless state, but I hesitated to open my eyes as my imagination went wild. Maybe the surgeons had to amputate a limb. Maybe I was paralyzed. Maybe I was waking from a thirty-year coma. Unfortunately, what I saw was worse than what my imagination could cook up.
Alexei Mikhailov and D’yavol sat in the same room.
Papa occupied the chair beside the door, wearing a charcoal suit and a black eye. He was staring at his hands, radiating a sense of remorse. I felt nothing when I looked at him. Not nostalgia. Not respect. Not affection.
Everything he’d done tainted my view of him. In truth, I didn’t think he’d ever planned to sacrifice himself for me. The phone call was just another lie and manipulation to make Ronan believe he’d conceded. My papa chose to put me in the middle of his war, unconcerned with the fact something could have happened to me. And it had.
Whether he lived or died, my mourning him was over.
My gaze slid to Ronan, who sat beside my bed wearing Tom Ford and tired eyes. Silently, he watched me. I somehow knew he’d stayed by my side for as long as I was unconscious. This man I once hated had become the man I loved.
Ronan was wrong.
I couldn’t bear the thought of living without him.
It terrified me, this love that threatened dependence. The devotion was a bright glow that warmed my soul, though it also left me feeling vulnerable, as if my chest would simply tear open if I loved him anymore.
I didn’t regret taking that bullet for Ronan, but the fact I’d almost died forced me to look at life from a different perspective. The truth was, I hadn’t truly lived yet. I’d experienced nothing besides the view of closed golden gates, the inside of a Russian mansion, and falling in love.
If I didn’t find myself, love would be all I’d be.
I knew what I had to do, though just the thought wrenched my heart. The fact I was about to hit one of Ronan’s weaknesses made me want to throw up. He was the strongest man I’d ever met, and still, I couldn’t stand the idea of hurting him.
“I guess Khaos doesn’t have to go to the pound,” I finally said, my raspy tone hiding the heartache inside.
My papa’s head shot up at my voice, relief filling his eyes.
Ronan’s stoic expression didn’t falter. My stomach clenched when I realized he knew what I’d come to terms with at the same time I had.
“How long was I out?” I asked.
“Three days,” Ronan said emotionlessly.
My papa got to his feet, came to my bedside, and grabbed my hand attached to an IV. “I am so sorry, angel. I am so—” His voice cracked. “I will never forgive myself for this.”
I stared at his hand holding mine, unable to remember the last time he’d touched me intentionally. And all it took was being shot by his own gun to gain his affection.
Numb, I pulled my hand away. “I forgive you, Papa.”
His pained eyes found mine. “I always wondered how I made a girl as compassionate as you.”
“I’m compassionate, Papa, but not forgetful. I don’t hate you—not for what you did to my mother, not for lying, being absent, or for putting me here.” My voice was unnaturally calm. “But I will not forget.”
He soaked in my words silently.
“You will always be my father . . . but I think it’s best if we go our separate ways.” It surprised me I could say those words without any emotion. Though I wasn’t the same girl who’d boarded a plane to Moscow with hope in her eyes.
He looked a little stricken, but then sullenly nodded. “If that is what you wish.”
“It is.”
Without another word, my father walked to the door.
“Why did you do it?” I blurted.
He paused, his body tensing. He knew I wanted to know why he killed my mother. His hesitation created a heavy silence in the room, like he wasn’t sure if he should tell me the truth. In the end, I knew he did.
“She was pregnant with another man’s child.”
Then he walked out of the room and out of my life,