“I worried about my reputation before I worried about you,” I admit. “I was wrong. Plain and simple.”
She swallows hard, her features hardening to stone. That’s even worse than the haunted expression. The emptiness in her eyes is not something I can bring her back from. That’s something that will eat her alive. I know because I’ve been there.
“Liya,” I start. “Are you all right?”
Her eyes flicker north. She’s looking at me, but she’s not quite seeing me. “Yes, thank you.” She swallows again. “Thank you for apologizing.”
Her tone is flat, almost lifeless. What’s going on in that brilliant mind of hers? Is she worrying herself sick again? Or is there something else?
Her gaze drops. Everything else about her expression flatlines. She drifts back from my hand and leaves me standing like a cold statue next to her. She sets her phone on the desk. She unlocks the screen.
She’s not even here right now. She’s somewhere else entirely. I bend to kiss her cheek. She jerks away from me, shutting me out. Her shoulder pivots. Her back turns to me. She bows over the desk and returns her attention to her phone. It’s the coldest she’s ever been without even saying a word.
Dread grips me.It’s like she’s already left me.
My feet carry me to the door. What am I supposed to do now? I’m reaching for Liya, and she’s shoving me away like I have an infectious disease. She’s rejecting me. Again and again.
I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.
The little things aren’t doing it anymore. Making her comfortable, pleasuring her, apologizing to her—we’re past that point. She needs something bigger. She needs a gesture that will not only ensure her safety but that of our child.
She needs to be able to trust me, to count on me.
I glance over my shoulder, watching my emotionless wife doom-scroll through her phone. She deserves to live a life without worrying about the pastorthe future. We both do.
The only way to secure that is to walk away from the Bratva.
But can I really do that?
Chapter Nineteen
Liya
My phone screen lights up. I don’t want to ignore the texts on the screen. But I don’t want to acknowledge them either. Anxiety rattles my bones as I struggle to turn away from the screen.
Cardona or Berkowitz? Pain or hope?
I close my eyes.
I don’t want to look. Please don’t make me look.
To my right is the window overlooking the beach. Isn’t it more appealing to stare at the glorious white sand and the beautiful blue sea than to see what the next message holds? I’d rather be in the sun right now, not locked away in my bedroom, thinking about everything that could go wrong.
The darkness behind my lids hosts a collage of Zoya. A shudder rips through my body as I grip the desk. If my eyes stay closed for too long, then those pictures will remain. There’s no escaping the impressions they’ve made.
But if I open my eyes, new pictures might be waiting for me on my phone.
I shrug as I focus on the window again.That’s not true. It could be Berkowitz with updates.
I abandon the desk and step toward my sunny view of the ocean. The cool water contrasts the bright heat of the sand. I can already feel the grains cushioning the balls of my feet. I’m mindlessly combing my hair and debating a walk when my phone buzzes again.
I sigh.Maybe it’s Pavel asking me to come downstairs.
It’s been a few days since we had sex. As much as I loathe to admit it, I miss our connection. I miss the way we melt together. Without him next to me, I feel like I’m losing control. Of everything. Of everyone.
Did I ever have control? Or was it only the delusion of control he gave me before he took it away?
After shrugging away some of the stress, I feel brave enough to approach my phone. A few texts reveal a sample of what’s to come.