“And I haven’t forgiven her for that,” April retorts. “But haven’t we suffered enough?” Her eyes fill with tears. “Hasn’t our baby suffered enough?”
That’s when I hear it: sirens, again. An ambulance.
The pakhan in me is screaming with bloodthirst, clamoring for revenge with every breath. But I can’t be another reason April gets hurt today.
I pull her close, then turn to Petra. “The Groza Bratva is done with you. I’m done with you. And if I ever see you again near me and mine, I will kill you. So don’t even f*****g try.”
I can’t read Petra’s face at all. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s holding back tears. Real tears, of pain and regret.
But this is Petra Solovyova we’re talking about. If she ever had a heart, it’s been frozen over long ago.
She straightens herself up. Even now
