If they don’t, they can join him in the afterlife.
A lone star winks in the sky above, lighting my path home. The phone continues to ring, and I feel apprehension rising in my throat. Finally, the line clicks open, and Liya’s voice tickles my ear. “Hi! You’ve reached Liya. Sorry I can’t answer the phone right now, but if you leave a message—”
I growl. I set my phone in my lap to focus on the road.
She might be sleeping. She might be in the bathroom. She might be watching television or shoving her nose into one of those geography books from the office. Lately, she’s been obsessed with the Amalfi Coast. When I asked if she wanted to go there, she slammed the book shut and tossed it aside.
I shake my head.Without Felix around, anything can happen.
Anythingcan happen.
Those words liberate me and encourage me to call again. And again. And again.
Each time, the line rings to voice mail. Liya’s voice greets my ear, cheerful and sweet.
The tone I miss hearing from her.
Something doesn’t feel right. Liya might be cold and indifferent, but she would never ignore a call from me this late in the evening. She usually sits up and waits for me on the stairs. Sometimes she likes to pretend that she’s just passing through the foyer the moment I walk through the door. But I know what she’s doing. She’s checking to see if I’m okay.
I grip the wheel tighter.Maybe she’s asleep.
I switch tactics and call Stepan. He answers in the middle of the second ring.
I don’t let him speak. “Stepan, I need you to check on Liya.”
“On it.”
Within a few seconds, I hear shuffling and then footsteps. A door creaks open. Stepan makes a displeased noise. More shuffling and footsteps erupt. Soft murmurs drift over the line. A few more doors open and shut.
“Blyat!I can’t find her, Pavel Sergeyevich. But I found her phone in the safe. She’s wiped it clean.”
Numbness covers my body. I can’t even respond. I can either drive the car or talk to Stepan. I can’t do both. Not now.
So, I hang up without another word.
I rest my phone in my lap. I tuck my chin into my hand and plant my elbow into the bottom of the steering wheel. Headlights flash in the rear-view mirror. Muscle memory takes me home while my brain is screaming at me to get a search party together.
But what’s the use?
She left her phone. Wiped it clean.
That means she left for good.
Fury boils me from the inside out. I grip the steering wheel with both hands and scream with impotent rage as I approach Coney Island. Victory turns to ashes in my mouth. The star lighting my way home no longer seems so bright. The darkness that once shielded me now threatens to suffocate me. My jaw tenses as I try to swallow the bitter reality that’s taken up residence in my throat. My whole body is on fire with an awful realization.
One that I don’t think I can ever recover from.
I won the war, but I lost Liya.
The numb shell cracks ever so slightly. It’s hard to imagine the house without Liya. Her scent will linger. Her soap might still be in the bathroom. She might even have abandoned some of her clothes, too.
But she’s gone, and nothing—not even an ocean of blood—can fill the hole she’s left behind.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Liya
Conifer, Oregon, is far from impressive. Instead of the familiar skyscrapers of New York, a few modest buildings are scattered between tree nurseries. The sky is wide and stretches over a great blue basin that leaves me feeling remarkably small by comparison. Willow pulls up in front of a creamy tan townhouse with forest-green shutters.