Part of me understands that pain, the hefty weight of it. Her grief is like mine, even with the odds against us. It’s not fair.
“But I just need to tell you somehow. You’re going to be a father.”
I drop the phone.
Zoya continues speaking, her voice small and insignificant on the mattress. I’m trying to process what I’ve heard when the screen blinks. The voice mail ends.
I need to know what else she says.
Another click sends me through the rest of her emotional spiel: “I’m running. My father thinks I should…get rid of…our child, but I can’t. I have to go. I need to go.” She coughs and then gags. “I’m so nauseous. It’s so stupid. I can’t believe this happened.”
I close my eyes.
“Anyway, I’m going to protect him…her…our baby,” she whispers. “This is the only thing I have of you, and no one can take that away from me.”
Click.
An emotionless digital voice states, “End of new messages.”
The phone beeps and disconnects.
I stare at the screen for a long time while replaying the voice mail in my head. Over and over, all I can hear is the shaky anxiety and fierce determination coming from Zoya. If I had to run from my enemies, I would sound just the same.
She’s carrying Jonas’s child.
What would I want someone to do if I were her?
The funny thing is, I know exactly what I would want someone to do. And so, biting my lower lip, I clear the call history and delete the voice mail. It’s for the best.
I just hope she doesn’t call again.
Chapter Two
Pavel
A heaviness hangs in the air in the basement.
It’s not unusual to stand by and watch Stepan work with Kostya. Fingers get clipped and fall to the ground. A few cheap tattoos get scorched and then sliced off. Teeth get yanked out. Toes get slashed.
It’s not unusual.
But something feels off about it.
Fury billows in my gut as I watch Kostya collect the fingers from the ground. I grimace while raising a handkerchief to my nose, inhaling the sharp scent of eucalyptus to get rid of the stench of organs and burnt flesh.
My limbs slacken a bit. I drop my hand, nostrils flaring as I stare at the remains of Jonas. Stupid, reckless, selfish Jonas. The price of the crown is too high for some, too heavy a burden for others.
For him, it was both.
I turn toward the metal bars separating us from the rest of the basement. The other brigadiers work diligently to clean up the mess of fluids that dripped from Jonas while he was transferred into this room. My men are good to me: smart and efficient.
So why the fuck do I feel so upset?
Because Liya was hurt.
Anger renews itself in my body when I look at Jonas. His legs are chopped at the joints, piled neatly at the end of the metal table.
I clench my fist around the handkerchief.