The Life (24 page)

Sasha cut him off with a roll of her eyes and an indignant huff. “Who else were you going to call, huh? And that’s just as much my grandchild as it is your son, so I’m not going to ever say no. It’s just when you call me like that, frantic and freaking out … you remind me of them. I don’t want to do that again, Anton. I lived it once, it was enough. I don’t think your wife needs a front row seat to it, either, speaking from my own experiences here.”

“I don’t.”

“Hmm?”

Anton crossed the kitchen, grabbing his own cup out of a cupboard and finding the coffee in another. If he was going to have this conversation with Sasha, he needed a little more caffeine to do it. Liquor wasn’t exactly an option, but he wished it was.

“I don’t give her a front row seat. She’s never brought into it like you’re thinking she must be. I’ve never let her see anything since we’ve been married. She wouldn’t have been there tonight had she not picked up Sergei’s fucking call. You said I didn’t remember what you told me, but I do.”

“And then I see her like that.”

“I didn’t want it to happen,” Anton said, readying his coffee but forgoing sugar and milk. “It shouldn’t have, but I trusted the wrong person and didn’t know until it was too late. She was supposed to be safe tonight, at home waiting for me like she always is, not in the middle of … that.”

“She could have died, Anton. Your son—”

“Is fine,” he said shortly. “I handled it.”

“Will you every time?”

“Didn’t Dad?” Anton asked back.

Sasha flinched. Guilt flooded Anton like a crushing wave. “You’re just like him, you know.”

“I don’t know, I think he had a calmer head in situations like these.”

Her scoff was playful, but it didn’t ring quite so true. “So you thought. But you are, like him, I mean. You love and you hate, that’s just what you do and there isn’t any in-between. Unfortunately there’s a very thin line amongst the two and when you’re doing one or the other, your behavior is the same. Intense actions, full-throttle emotions, and anything in the way is nothing more than fodder to the plan. Love and hate, do you even know the difference?”

“Yes, now,” he replied immediately. “But I don’t have regrets or make excuses for this, Mom. I am who I am and I’m okay with it. I just want you to be, too.”

“I want you
alive
!”

There it is
, Anton thought. The crux of the matter his mother always considered but never quite spoke much about. The thing she feared when he was six and she pulled him out of his bed in the middle of the night to hide him in the closet when an unhappy man of Daniil’s came into their home. The same thing she worried about when Nicoli died and he stepped up to bat.

Now, there were just two more people for her to think about and relate that fear to.

“Don’t you know why I wanted to clean Vine up, Mom?” Anton asked, frustration coloring his tone.

“Because clearly you didn’t trust me—”

“
No
,” Anton said angrily. “Because you’ve done it enough. Because I still remember the way you cried when you did it for Dad, or me. Because I know you hated it, but you’re right, who the fuck else was I going to call? Yeah, I could have taken her into some hospital and took the risk of it being on record, but I wanted you and so did she. So yeah, I’m sorry I dredged up your old memories and disappointed you tonight, but the bottom line is pretty damned simple. She’s upstairs, breathing. My son still has a heartbeat and his first day on earth coming up soon. So be pissed off at me, hate the lifestyle I live if you want, I don’t care.

“I don’t have regrets or make excuses,” he repeated, picking up his coffee and turning on his mother. “Not a one. But I apologize, and that’s more than Dad ever did. That’s what you told me to do. I fucking remember. I’ll give her one every single time, and I’ll mean it, too.”

Sasha’s gaze traveled past Anton to the wall behind him. He thought maybe she’d argue with him, but instead she surprised him with something completely off topic. “How’s Ivan?”

Anton swallowed his sadness, wishing he hadn’t told his mother about his lawyer’s plight. It was just one more person for her to fret about. “It’s going to be touch and go for a couple of days. He lost a lot of blood. Boris was there, though, so they had a compatible blood type on hand.”

“Lucky him. Eva must be out of her mind.”

“Yeah.”
But that was about all he knew.

Sasha waved at the clock on the wall. “I need to go wake Rory up. You should check on Vine, and get some sleep. It won’t be very long before you can’t sleep at all.”

“I don’t get enough as it is,” Anton said, joking half-heartedly.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Enough of that. I don’t want to fight with you again, Ma.”

Sasha’s lips quirked up into the hint of a smile. As she walked past, her hand came up to pat his bare shoulder, directly over his star tattoo. Anton knew his mother was aware of what wearing those stars meant and the importance the marking was to his status as a high ranking
Vor. She’d rarely ever acknowledged it before, and in fact, he couldn’t remember a time she had touched them or looked at them since he had the ink done.

“No fighting,” she said softly. “But you were right.”

Shocked, Anton asked, “About what?”

“She’s not like me. I’d have made your father sleep on the couch for a week after something like this.”

Anton smirked. “She likes me close.”

“You must be doing something right, then. Goodnight, Anton.”

“Night, Ma.”

*

Viviana fumbled for the gun, her hands shaking and heart pounding. The bloody taste in her mouth was thick. She could see Joe outside the SUV, cursing her, trying to get in through the broken window to grab her. She was terrified and the gun wasn’t where it should be.

Where was the gun?

The air around her felt light and heavy at the same time while Viviana only felt sluggish.

What was wrong with her?

Again, she frantically searched for the gun.

Something cool, heavy, and metal met her fingers on the floor of the SUV. She was quick to pluck up the missing weapon, pull back the hammer, and aim it out the window. There was no waiting, no worrying, and no thinking.

Just aim and fire.

Boom.

But the face in the window wasn’t a man she would ever shoot.

It was already too late.

“Vine?”

A gasp sucked into Viviana’s lungs as her eyes flew open. Sweaty, sore, and tired, her body seemed to weigh a hundred pounds more than what it actually did. The blurriness in her vision wouldn’t disappear no matter how many times she tried to blink it away. Her pulse raced in the darkness.

“Wake up, baby. It was just a dream, that’s all.”

At Anton’s voice, Viviana’s tears began to fall. The soft shushing he started to hum as his arms enveloped her from behind did little to settle the panic raging a war through her insides. She couldn’t breathe, and he held her tighter. Painful sobs burst from Viviana’s lips like popping bubbles.

“Viviana, hey, it’s okay … come on, look at me, everything’s fine,” Anton whispered.

Turned in the bed under his hands, Viviana could finally see his face. The hard
lines of Anton’s profile was softened from the small lamp behind him. Concern wrote heavy lines in his furrowed brow. Those striking blue eyes of his scanned her face as his thumb rolled over her cheekbone gently.

Seeing Anton reminded her that it had been just a dream, but it still didn’t help what Viviana could remember. It didn’t help to take away the realization of what she had done.
Move forward
, Viviana told herself. That’s what she wanted to do. So why couldn’t she do it?

“We’re home,” he said quietly, but firmly.
“In our bed. Feel the sheets, huh?” Viviana nodded, but it felt bleak and unsure. Under the soft sheets, their legs tangled together, rooting her to the spot. Anton continued speaking when she didn’t. “The room smells like your perfume, me, and us.”

Viviana’s fingers found purchase against Anton’s bare chest before balling into shaking fists. Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed away the image of Joe falling back. She didn’t want to hear the sound of his pain as the bullet hit him.

Where had she shot him?

Had it been quick?

No, Viviana didn’t think so. She could still hear him struggling for air, the morbid gurgles of his suffocation as he died just feet away. It hadn’t been quick at all, or easy.

“Hey, hey, hey.”
Anton all but chanted the words into Viviana’s ears. “Open your eyes, Vine. We’re home. We finally finished the baby’s room the way you wanted it. You’re going to visit Daniil tomorrow. You’re five days off from your due date. Sasha is still downstairs. Rory is fine, too. Home,” he repeated tenderly. “Stop holding your breath, you need to breathe.”

Hadn’t she been?

Anxiety clashed with memories, shoving Viviana’s fears straight to the surface all over again. Nausea washed over her like a tidal wave. Bile threatened to rise in her throat. She was still trembling something fierce.

Oh God, what had she done?

Viviana’s hands itched and twitched. They felt sticky and gummed up with something she couldn’t see.

“Open your eyes!”

Viviana’s eyes flew open at the command, meeting Anton’s. Immediately he had her rolled to her back, fitted between her thighs as his hands clasped her face and kept her head tilted up enough to meet his stare head on.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Home,” she said.

Anton nodded.
“And?”

“In b-bed.
Just a dream. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no.” Anton shook his head, rolling his thumbs over her cheekbones with the lightest flutters. Warmth and love skimmed the places on her skin that he touched. “It’s okay. It happens.”

Despite Anton not putting any pressure down on her body, Viviana’s chest felt like a massive weight was resting on it. She couldn’t get enough air, or clear her mind enough to think. She’d never had an anxiety attack quite so bad before.

Viviana swallowed down the sick feeling and focused on her husband.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” God, even her voice sounded feeble.

Anton didn’t seem to be very pleased with that. “You’ll go back to sleep and it’ll happen again, I know it.”

“I don’t want to think about …
that
.”

“Killing somebody,” Anton said, acting as if he didn’t notice her flinch. “You’d rather just dream it over and over, then?”

“Do you?”

“Sometimes, but they’re not nightmares anymore.”

“But they were.”

“When I was younger, sure.”
Anton didn’t seem to like admitting that fact, as the frown he sported deepened. “The first time was the worst. I didn’t sleep well for months, but I got over it. The second time was easier and the dreams didn’t last as long. The panic attacks lessened over time. Then, they went away, too.”

“How?”

Anton shifted his gaze away. “I’m not you, baby. It’s not the same.”

“Indulge me, please.”

“Okay.” Discomfort was thinning Anton’s mouth into a hard line as he said, “So I thought about it a lot. Let myself replay what happened. I stopped trying to justify why it happened, why I had to do it, and why it shouldn’t have occurred at all. Excuses and regrets stopped playing a part, I just accepted what I did. Sometimes I talked it out with Daniil, or Nicoli, depending on my mood or the severity. I didn’t want them seeing me struggle over something I assumed they thought would come easy to me.”

“They didn’t think that?”

Anton offered one of his usual smiles, but it didn’t feel as true as it usually would. “No, but they let me be to work it out the way I needed and wanted to. Because I’m not them, either.”

Viviana didn’t know what to say, so instead she relaxed into Anton’s hand rubbing comfortingly along her side and the warmth of his body pressing into hers. The clean, masculine scent of her husband helped to calm her a bit more in the darkened bedroom.

“My hands feel so dirty.” At the confession, Viviana felt the need to hide her hands down at her sides, but she kept her grip on Anton. He was her solid ground—the stability she needed. “Like I need to wash myself again.”

Anton grunted his disapproval. “But what’d you do wrong, huh?
Nothing. Killed somebody who was going to kill you. No one was there to save you but yourself.”

“You’re justifying it.”

“You’re not me. This isn’t even remotely the same.” When Viviana went to argue, Anton’s severe expression stopped her. “He’d have killed you and not even cared. Do you think he was considering Demyan when he aimed that gun through the window? No. Not to be nasty and make you feel worse, but this wouldn’t even stick in court as a homicide and that’s what matters, anyway.”

“That’s not all that matters!”