Maria
A tear streams down my face as I stare at Anton's coffin, surrounded by white fragrant lilies at the front of the church. He was treasured, and his passing will be remembered by neither anonymous burial nor a quick disposal of his body.
The old priest gives the eulogy in an ancient church tucked away on a side street in Manhattan. The attendees are few. People like Zhanna will not come to a funeral for a guard, no matter his loyalty and devotion.
But Anton meant the world to me and everyone here in attendance.
The pain is raw and leaves a wound that will be hard to heal. My heart aches with the hole of his absence, our friendship stolen by my father's insane vendetta. I choke back a sob, forcing myself to breathe and focus on what will happen next. For Anton, for the Bratva, and
