Page 54 of Bratva's Mercy
The sight itself was horrible.
But it paled in comparison to the sound his body made when it hit the ground. I’d had to listen to my husband’s bones breaking under the cruelty of his fall.
Brad had made mistakes. I knew that after watching the video. He shouldn’t have threatened Wren’s life, which had set Morozov off, but he’d made that choice in desperation and fear. All he’d wanted to do was warn Wren about what Morozov had done to both their fathers.
He’d been terrified up on that roof.
Maxim had been too unforgiving. He didn’t have to kill Brad, and not in such a terrible way. By the time the footageended, my resolve was hardened. Maxim Morozov was a monster and deserved to go down.
The rest of my time on the island had passed in a strange, suspended rhythm of acceptance of what I had to do when I returned home. I walked along the beach and watched the sun dip into the horizon, wishing it were something I could hold on to. It was so beautiful in this ugly world.
One night, I joined a beach party next door and met a stranger I tried to lose myself in. I’d thought maybe I could outrun the memory of Sergei if I replaced it with someone else. It should be easy enough, given I was no stranger to sleeping with other men.
But I couldn’t.
His kiss hadn’t felt right. His waist was too soft. His chest wasn’t defined enough. There was no shortage of men in Florida who could fill every minor complaint I found in him, but they would all still have been lacking.
And the worst fucking part? The dissatisfaction should have been that he wasn’t the man I’d been married to for fifteen years. Instead, it was because he wasn’t a mint-eyed murderer who stalked me at every turn, who wore danger like a second skin and still managed to unravel beneath my hands, submitting in a way that felt beautiful.
I’d never met a man like that before Sergei, and I would have gladly kept it that way.
After the one attempt at a hookup turned into verbal abuse and accusations of me being a fucking tease, I didn’t bother trying again.
As I wheeled my suitcase out of the airport, I felt the difference in my steps. They were lighter, but not because anything had been lifted from my shoulders. If anything, I was carrying more, but now, I had purpose.
My Uber was late, which would have annoyed me any otherday. I was a stickler for being on time. Instead, I watched the steady flow of people moving in and out of the terminal. Families reuniting. Business travelers glued to their phones. A couple arguing softly like they were the only ones in their world.
I started building stories in my head about them. Where they were coming from. Why they left. What they were going back to. It was easier than thinking about my own return. Easier than thinking about the house waiting for me.
About what I might find—or what I might not.
Maybe Sergei had forgotten about me. My stomach knotted, leaving my mouth with a sour taste. For a second, I couldn’t figure out if I was disappointed I might not be able to exploit him after all, or if…
A car pulled up to the curb, hazard lights blinking. I checked the license plate, which matched the one in the Uber app, so I moved forward.
“Leo?” he asked.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
The driver popped the trunk, and I lifted my suitcase in before sliding into the back seat. The door shut with a soft click, sealing me into a space that felt too small. Or maybe my emotions were just too big.
“Where to?” he asked, merging into traffic.
I knew it was only a courtesy since he could see that information in the Uber app displayed on his phone. I opened my mouth, but “Home,” got stuck in my throat.
“Actually…” I leaned forward slightly, my voice quietly apologetic. “Can you make a stop first?”
The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Depends where.”
“I’ll pay you extra, of course,” I said quickly. “Cash.”
“Where to?”
I gave him the address, and he plugged it into his GPS.
“You know that’s a cemetery?”
“Yes. My partner was buried there a month ago. I’ll need just a few minutes. Please.”
