Midnight Lies (Tasarov Bratva 2)

EMERY

All hospital rooms are sterile and inhumane, but this one seems especially awful. White lights illuminate the white walls and the white tiles. The sheets are white, the bedframe is white, the TV is a crackling snowscape of staticky white. Even Vadim Tasarov is white where he lies on the gurney, his face pale and sallow and puffy like waterlogged paper.

All white—except for Adrik.

He’s a black hole in the midst of it all. Jarring and violent, dressed in black from head to toe. Eyes black, hair black, soul black.

I’m tempted to offer condolences or encouragement, but I’m fairly sure it’s the last thing he wants. We’d left the house in a hurry. He hasn’t said much of anything since, except to threaten the employees in the childcare center downstairs that if anything happened to Isabella, they wouldn’t live long enough to make it to a hospital bed upstairs.

I swallow and look at him. He seems like he’s vibrating with rage and a sadness he’d never admit to feeling. Like death coming for his father is a personal affront.

I step forward timidly. “Are you okay?” I murmur.

“Better than him.”

He tips his head to the side, studying his dad, and I realize how much they resemble each other. Not in this exact moment, per se. But before Vadim was sunken-in and withering, they had the same strong jawline, the same perpetually creased brow.

I swallow and try a different tactic. “Were you close to him?”

“I’m his heir.”

If that is supposed to be an answer, it doesn’t tell me much. But I don’t want to pry.

“I think it’s nice you can be here,” I tell him. The mechanical beeping of the machines Vadim is connected to fill each silence. His sluggish heartbeat is a metronome for the conversation. Boom-boom. Boom-boom. Boom-boom.

“He isn’t awake to know the difference,” Adrik says.

I lay a hand on his shoulder. “I think he knows.”

He scoffs. “I doubt it. He’s dying. It’s what happens.”

I stiffen, but Adrik doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah,” I say, “you’re right… Humans die every day. But your dad only dies once.”

Adrik goes still. His eyes darken further, somehow. Then he turns to me. “What are you trying to do?”

“Nothing,” I say, holding up my hands in surrender. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m perfectly fucking fine. I knew this day was coming. It’s why we’re married. This isn’t a shock.”

I’m not sure if Adrik meant his words to cut so deeply, but they do. In one sentence, he undercuts our entire marriage. Everything that I thought had started to feel real—bizarrely real, impossibly real, but really real—goes up in smoke.

I stifle an angry sob and look away. Adrik may be the one saying goodbye to his dying father, but I’m the one crying.

I feel him take a step toward me, but before he can say anything, the door behind us opens. I don’t look. I don’t want the nurse to see me upset. But then Adrik quickly shoves me behind him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growls.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

I freeze. That’s no nurse.

I peek around Adrik to see Yasha standing in the doorway. He is in jeans and a t-shirt, his hands casually shoved in his pockets. He pulls them out and wiggles his fingers, revealing he doesn’t have any weapons.

“You gave up your right to be here,” Adrik snarls.

“Am I banished?” Yasha snorts. “I didn’t realize you had that power.”

“Give it an hour, and I will.”

“You don’t sound too broken up about Pops. I guess you’re eager to claim the crown.”

“‘Heavy is the head,’” Adrik recites. “You never understood that. It’s why he never considered you to lead.”

Yasha is still smiling, but his eyes narrow. “I’m not here to argue with you, Adrik.”

“You shouldn’t be here at all.”

“He’s my father, too.”

Adrik exhales sharply, and I lay a hand on his shoulder. He turns his head ever so slightly, still keeping his eyes on Yasha.

“He’s right,” I say softly.

“Even your wife agrees with me?” Yasha chuckles. “Maybe we can be one big happy family, after all. Storybook ending.”

I glare at him. “I’m not doing this for you, asshole.” I lean in closer to Adrik, lowering my voice even more. “I’m doing it for you. This is your family. Your dad and brother. Whatever is happening with you all, whatever will happen… I don’t want you to regret not having him here.”

“My only regret is that he isn’t dead, too,” Adrik growls.

I smooth a hand down his bicep. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to my father. I hated him—I still do—but that doesn’t change how I feel. And when this is all over, I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

Adrik takes a deep breath and then grabs my hand from his arm. Slowly, he lifts it to his mouth and presses a kiss to my fingers. It's a tender kiss. It gives me hope. “So be it. But I don’t want you in here.”

I hear the echo of what he said before Yasha arrived in his words. I knew this day was coming. It’s why we’re married.

I’m fully aware of how and why this whole thing started. I guess I’d just started to hope it had become something more since the beginning. Maybe that was naive.

My heart aches as I nod and slip quietly out of the room, giving Yasha a wide berth.

I go down to the childcare center on the first floor. The center affixed a band to Isabella’s ankle and my wrist. It’s designed to alert me if she leaves the property, and I haven’t felt any buzzing to signal that, but I still sigh with relief when I see her sitting in the rainbow-colored playroom.

She seems content, and I'm not in the mood to entertain her. There’s a line of chairs in the hallway. I drop down into one like I’ve been on my feet for weeks.

I didn’t sleep nearly well enough last night to handle everything the day is throwing at me. And now, Yasha is here…

I shiver just knowing we’re in the same building. Defending his right to be with his father in his last hours made me feel dirty, but I know it was the right decision. Hopefully, Adrik will see it that way, too.

The thought of my husband hurts. Last night and this morning felt like a second honeymoon—or a first honeymoon, really, since ours was rudely interrupted. Knowing Adrik was alive and well had me feeling giddy. Maybe that’s why his tone today feels so harsh. Because I tricked myself into thinking it could always be the way it was last night. Easy and playful and pure.

I can hear Adrik’s voice in my head. You’re living in a fairy tale.

But what’s so wrong with fairy tales? Wouldn’t everyone live in one if they could?

Laughter from the playroom catches my attention, I stand up and peek through the window again.

Isabella is in her chair at a small table. A little blonde girl is sitting next to her. The girl is coloring, her mouth moving a mile a minute, though I can’t hear a word. Isabella says something and both girls crack up with giggles.

“At least someone is having a good time,” I mutter.

“She looks like me.”

I jolt and spin around. Yasha is standing behind me, looking through the glass.

Instinctively, I step between them. “Get away from her.”

He barely moves. “She doesn’t even know I’m here. Relax.”

“Around you? Never,” I snap. “You’ll have to drug me again if you want that to happen."

He arches a brow. “That can be arranged.”

A chill runs through me, but I stand my ground. Nothing would make me give up my position between him and my daughter. My daughter. Not his. Never his.

“Where is Adrik?” I try my best not to sound as scared as I feel.

“Standing watch over his boss,” he says. “I suspect he wants to witness the moment the Bratva officially passes to him. That’s the only thing he has ever cared about, anyway.”

There’s an astounding amount of bitterness in Yasha’s voice. More than I would have thought a monster like him capable of. And for some reason, I feel… bad for him. What the hell is wrong with me?

“That’s not true.”