I can picture it perfectly. My mother in her silk robe, lost in a book. She loved reading, but my father always said it was a waste of time. I think that’s why my reading nook was in my closet. She never said as much, but looking back, I understand so much more.
“She told me once that she needed those hours,” Anton continues. “That they were the only time she felt like herself instead of Mikhail Baranov’s wife.”
Tears prick my eyes. I blink them back.
“Did she know?” I ask. “About what my father really did?”
“Yes.” His answer is immediate. “She knew. But she loved you more than she hated what he was. She stayed for you.”
The tears come now. I can’t stop them.
“I miss her,” I whisper. “I miss her so much. I need my mother. I need someone in my corner.”
And then it hits me. Sheishere for me. Even dying, even at the very end with nothing left, my mother found a way to keep me safe. She found him. She made him promise. My mother's last thought was me.
I don't know if that makes the grief better or worse. Maybe both.
Anton gets up, moving slowly, and sits beside me on the couch. He puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his side like he did when I was young and had nightmares.
“I know,malyshka,” he murmurs. “I know.”
I let myself cry. Not the controlled tears I shed in Sergei’s arms or the angry tears when I’m alone. These are the sobs of a girl who lost her mother too young and never got to grieve properly.
Anton doesn’t try to stop me. He just holds me and lets me fall apart.
When the tears finally slow, I pull back and wipe my face with my hands.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Don’t apologize for grief.” He reaches over to the end table and hands me a tissue. “Your mother wouldn’t want you to carry this alone.”
I take a shaky breath. “Should I walk away?” I ask. “Let Yuri have it all. What am I fighting for, anyway? I’m married to a very wealthy man. I have my own money.”
“I won’t tell you to stay, but I won’t be the one to convince you to walk away.”
“Not helpful.”
“The bratva is yours,” he says. “If you don’t want it, walk away. But I know you. You don’t know how to quit. And honestly, that weasel does not deserve the chance to sit at the head of the table.”
“He wants me dead, Anton. Dead.”
“Yes, I know." He gestures at the cast on his leg. “And I want him dead. I will not work for him.”
“How many will support my claim?”
Another shrug. “Fewer than I would like.”
Not exactly encouraging.
“But you have Sokolov. You’ll rebuild with people loyal to you.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“I’ll be with you until the end. But you know it won’t be easy.”
“I wouldn’t know what to do with easy.”
“What are you doing about the warehouse?”