Page 161 of The Lazarov Bratva

Not now. She needed to cry, needed to process and calm down, so I remained in the shadows like a watchful guardian, biding my time. No harm would come to her while I was here, no more than the painful internal turmoil she found herself in.

The sun sank low in the sky and darkness crept through the garden as Alena’s sobs finally tapered off into nothing. Her trembling faded, and the anxious way she picked at her clothes eventually came to a stop.

Only then did I approach.

Slowly at first, not wanting to startle her toward the forest. I won’t ever confess to knowing how to deal with someone when they are triggered, but I badly want Alena to know I’m a safe place.

Although right now, I likely look like the devil.

She lifts her head, and her bloodshot eyes lock onto me. Her face, streaked in drying tears, remains impassive as I approach, but I’ll take it. The alternative is seeing her hate me, and I can’t have that. Not now.

Not after everything.

I stop a foot away from where she’s crouched and give her time to consider what she wants to do. If she chooses to run, then I will follow. If she runs toward the danger of the forest, then I will intervene. If she chooses to flee back to the house, then the only danger there is Andrev and his big mouth.

I blame him, yet deep down, I know this is my own doing.

I’m not keeping my siblings’ death a secret for any other reason than it kills me inside to even think about talking about it. Replaying their deaths in my head is like slamming my heart into crystallized shards of broken glass over and over, and the thought of talking about it feels like pushing those words past razor blades embedded in my throat.

Alena deserves the truth.

I’m just afraid I’ll break when I give it to her.

“Alena.” My voice echoes loudly in the quiet night air.

She blinks owlishly up at me, but there’s no other movement from her. Has she cried herself to exhaustion? Or has everything finally caught up to her?

No matter.

I approach her slowly, and when she doesn’t shy away from my touch, I crouch and scoop her effortlessly into my arms bridal-style.

Alena doesn’t resist.

She’s cold to the touch, and when her head lolls against my shoulder, her cheek is cold and damp against my neck.

I half expect to feel the claws of her nails in my throat or the sharp bark of hatred that flooded her eyes on the stairs, but there’s nothing.

She’s docile and exhausted, so I carry her slowly toward the house.

Guards are kind enough to avert their eyes when I carry her through the house, although that might just be because they’re more scared of me than anything else. I take the back stairs up to our bedroom so she doesn’t have to see the entrance lobby where I killed the doctor.

Andrev hovers outside the bedroom, and his brows pinch sharply at the sight of us. Alena doesn’t react to his presence, and I almost suspect that she’s fallen asleep until I reach the bedroom and set her down gently on the bed.

Her eyes droop, and she gazes down at her lap where her hands curl together. She doesn’t speak and barely reacts.

Words fail me.

There’s nothing I can say right now to make this better, so instead, I settle on showing her.

In the ensuite, I start a fresh bath running with hot water, bath salts, and enough bubbles to help her relax and recover from her post-triggered shock.

Keeping one eye on her as the bath runs, I hover near the door and peek my head out into the hall when Andrev spots me.

“Boss?” He bounces lightly on the balls of his feet, betraying his nerves. He visibly expects me to be angry, but I can’t.

This is my fault, and I can’t blame him beyond being irritated at his callous delivery. Given how he’s barely slept and kept a constant vigil over Alena per my request, I can’t blame him.

“Can you have the kitchen whip something up for us? I don’t care what, maybe something sweet to help with the shock, or one of Alena’s favorite dishes?”

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