The entire sequence of events feels like a fucking nightmare, from the moment I left Sasha to now.
I love you, Sasha. I need you to believe that this is for you. To keep you safe. That this is what I have to do, not what I want…
I’m sorry.
That’s the last fucking thing I said to her. A goodbye and an apology, as I’d walked out of the door to ask another woman to marry me. Sasha had looked broken, and how could I blame her? How could I ask her to believe, really believe, that this was the best choice?
I had. And yet–it’s all gone sideways again.
Every step I take further away from Sasha is meant to keep her safe, and yet it only seems to make everything worse.
The worst of it all is that Adriana, so far as I know, didn’t deserve any of this either. She wasn’t the woman I would have chosen, not a woman I could have loved, but she’d been pleasant enough. She’d been a product of her upbringing, the perfect mafia daughter. Elegant, sophisticated, beautiful, and willing to do as her father demanded. She’d been thrilled that I was the one he’d chosen for her, and I couldn’t blame her for that. She’d been given the gift of a young, handsome husband who would be kind to her, and in this world, that’s like winning the fucking lottery for a mafia daughter.
I’d seen the light in her eyes when I’d gone down on one knee, holding out the black velvet box, when I’d uttered the wordswill you marry me?I’d thought long and hard about what to say, knowing that I should include some nonsense about her making me the happiest man in the world, about what an honor it would be, but I’d run out of the stomach for more lies. I’d gone with a simple question, and the look on Adriana’s face as she’d reached out her hand for the ring had told me clearly that it hadn’t mattered what I said.
She’d been thrilled to say yes.
And then, as her hand had touched mine, the gunshot had ripped through the air.
I hadn’t seen where it came from, at first. I’d only seen the way she sucked in a breath, the way her eyes had gone wide, doubling over as she’d reached for her chest. I’d seen the spreading stain over her skin and dress, nearly the same color as the shimmering fabric, the way she’d crumpled to the floor as the ring rolled out of her hand, blood-stained along with the rest of her.
The shooter had been dressed in black, his face covered with a mask. He’d shot again, twice more, as he’d fled the room, crashing through the glass doors at the back of the ballroom. For a moment, I hadn’t been able to fully comprehend what was happening. It had felt like a fucking nightmare–Adriana coughing up the last of her life on the floor, a crumpled heap at my feet…and then Sasha, in the doorway to the ballroom.
I’d almost called out her name, shouted for her to run, but I’d held myself back at the last moment. I didn’t want anyone who hadn’t seen her to know that she was there, to make a target out of her. I’d felt a pang of crushing guilt at how quickly I’d forgotten about Adriana with Sasha standing there. I’d gone down to my knees to see if she was still breathing and if there was anything else that could be done.
That was when Edo had yanked me back to my feet.
It’s hard, even now, to begrudge him in his anger. His daughter, hisonlydaughter, his onlychild, was lying dead or dying on the floor–at a party hosted by me, at my estate, for my engagement to that same daughter.
From his point of view, I can see how I was the one to be blamed.
The gunshot felt somewhat excessive, though.
I hadn’t even realized that he’d drawn on me until the muzzle was already pressed against my belly. I hadn’t had time to register the pressure of it before he pulled the trigger. It felt as if it took a second before I even registered the pain, as if everything were moving in slow motion, a nightmare that was impossible to escape from.
It had felt like the worst kind of cosmic joke, to have gone this far to try to keep Sasha safe, to protect her, only for it to end like this. I’d fallen to the floor next to Adriana, and I’d discovered that it’s true, what they say about life flashing in front of a dying man’s eyes.
I’d seen all of it again, the good and the bad.
Flickers of my childhood, the scent of sun-warmed vines and the taste of bursting grapes, the sound of my mother’s voice soft against my ear, the strident voice of my father. My brothers and I, pushing and shoving, my older brother taking responsibility, Art making up excuses for why we’d gotten him in trouble.
The morning we woke up to find Art gone, his room half-cleared out, a note left for our parents.
The night I’d turned down the opportunity to sleep with a girl before leaving for seminary, my hands closing over hers as she’d touched my chest, pushing her back gently, the scent of vanilla perfume and wintergreen gum and warm pavement filling my nose. The ache of desire, of arousal, and how it had felt to push it back, to tell myself firmly that it was not for me.
They’d come in a rush then–the day I’d left for seminary, the hard wood of a pew for hours at a time, the scent of old library books, the taste of communion wine. The pain that had lanced through me when I’d heard my brother was dead.
The feeling of grave dirt in my hands, my father’s, my mother’s, my brother’s. The knowledge that with Art beyond reaching, I was all that was left.
The glow of neon in my eyes, the hard metal of a gun in my hand, the spattering of rain over my brow. The power that had filled me in an instant, the choice between the life and death of another, and how I’d felt when I’d chosen death for him. His blood turned pink in the rain, his face frozen in an expression of terror, illuminated in a neon-lit alleyway.
The first time I’d seen Sasha, her blue eyes, her strawberry hair, the sweetness in her face despite everything she’d been through. I’d remembered it all in a flash, the feel of her lips and her body and the pleasure of being as close to her as another person can be, the scent of her filling my nose, as strongly as if she were there–
–and then she was.
I’d tried to tell her to leave, to run, not to let anyone know what she meant to me, not to put herself in danger, but I couldn’t speak past the pain. It was as if a lump of burning coal had lodged itself in my belly, tendrils of fire spreading through my body, stealing my breath and my blood as Sasha had taken my face in her hands and begged me to stay.
No. No, Max! Do you hear me? You can’t die next to her. You’re supposed to die next to me, fifty years from now, when we’re both old and gray. Do you understand me? That’s how this is supposed to go. I don’t care what you said earlier, that’s how it’s meant to be. That’s howwe’remeant to be.