“It’s not fair!”
“It’s not.”
“I don’t want you, Valerian. I want him!” She shoved me again.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “You’ll always have him, Violet, always.”
And I will always be second best.
Or in this case—last.
I let that revelation sink in while I twisted her hair in my hands and kissed the tears on her cheeks.
Twenty minutes later, she fell asleep in my arms. Suddenly I felt very much like the king from the fairy tale as I turned off the lights and finally took the mask away and set it on the dresser.
Only visiting her in the blanket of darkness when it was safe.
I was cursed, just like him.
Did she see the similarity?
I left her then and went into the bathroom to take a shower. If she saw me if she saw it all—I would welcome the final nail in my coffin, because the crown was full of secrets, and secrets were heavier than the truth, they outweighed, outmatched, outsmarted.
And I wanted to be done with them.
All of them.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror: green eyes, light blond hair with threads of gold intertwined like an actual crown on my head. And when I took off my shirt. All I seemed to be able to focus on was the hidden sickle tattoo on my chest.
And the name Petrov etched beneath it.
I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself against the counter, muscles flexing as I finally turned around and stripped off my pants.
The scars on my thighs were light, hardly noticeable unless you were touching my marred skin, and easily hidden by the necessary tattoo on my right thigh where the scarring was the worst.
People only saw what they wanted to see.
Even people you loved.
With clenched teeth, I went into the shower and let the searing water run over my back, and then I slumped to the tiled floor and sat. Tears of frustration filled my eyes as the water soon turned cold.
“The only way…” he said. “Breaker Campisi must die.”
“Why? Why kill him?” I demanded.
“Because…” He sighed. “Valerian Petrov must live, and as long as Breaker’s alive, you’re in danger—you made your choice then, you must make your choice now.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’ll do it. I’ll kill him.”
He sighed like he was relieved when I felt like puking all over his Armani shoes. “Good choice.”
Couldn’t he see that I was shaking? Couldn’t he see that I’d already done the unthinkable in order to save her? Her eyes had begged me to just get it over with.
I’d thought to prevent the horror.
Instead, I was the one who had delivered it.
And because of that one choice, I’d damned us both without realizing it. I wondered if he had, though. I wondered if it was truly convenient that I was there that night, or if it was something else entirely. And one day, I would ask. One day, I would find out if this was a setup from the very beginning by the very men who had demanded this of me.
The greatest betrayal of all.
I slammed my hands against the shower floor and then rose to my full height, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around me.
I looked haunted. My cheeks were gaunt and sunken, dark circles were visible under my eyes.
“Breaker Campisi,” I whispered. “May he rest in peace. Blood in. No out.”
Chapter Sixteen
Her tears were like acid on my tongue, burning my body, seizing my lungs, and still, I held her despite the pain; in fact, I welcomed the feeling as if it were rain. —Valerian Petrov
Violet
I hated him.
I hated Valerian.
I didn’t want him touching me.
I didn’t want him consoling me.
I didn’t want him trying to cheer me up or even trying to pretend to understand how deep my grief went.
But there was no escaping him.
Or my brother, who wouldn’t stop calling or texting. I got it. He was worried, but I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t let the words out. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop crying again.
So I clung to the anger.
Even that next morning as I lay in bed, stayed there and just stared at the wall, I could smell Valerian, I could feel his presence in that house like I was being haunted by his ghost when he was at the office doing whatever Russian mob bosses did during the day.
I hated him for making me feel bat shit crazy.
Because I did.
Not only was it hard to breathe in and out—but he twisted my hair like Breaker did, his eyes were a more brilliant green than Breaker’s, but I’d only ever seen him under the shadow of night.
Our wedding.
And both checker games, he donned a mask that covered most of his face. But his mouth, it was familiar to me.
That mouth was mine.
And I hated him for looking like Breaker even a little bit.