Sebastian Volkov's POV
The trip back to the suburban house felt different. The car's engine emitted a constant purr, and the windshield wipers removed the drops of a fine drizzle that threatened to return, but the atmosphere inside the cabin was no longer charged with that suffocating hostility. I glanced at Gianna out of the corner of my eye. She had leaned against the window, looking out over the blurry landscape of Istanbul with an expression that, for the first time in months, did not indicate complete panic or exhaustion. She looked... at peace.
Lowering my head to old man Aslan and the guy from the cafeteria, Malik, had made my stomach turn.
All my life I had been taught that asking for forgiveness was giving ground, that showing remorse to other men was opening a c***k in your a
