Page 22 of Cashmere Ruin

“Petra’s baby. It was… never mine.”

That’s the last thing he says to me.

Then he blacks out.

8

MATVEY

I wake up with a pounding headache and a throbbing shoulder.

It takes me a moment to remember that this isn’t just another hangover. That I didn’t empty the liquor cabinet again—though I sure as fuck smell like it. But no, it wasn’t the drinking that did me in this time. It was…

I spring up and a voice calls out, “Easy. You’ll pull your stitches.”

April.

After all this searching, it doesn’t feel real. I wonder if it’s a fever dream—God knows I’ve had enough of thoseover the past few weeks. I blink in the dim light, feeling for April by my side, terrified I’ll find nothing.

But then I feel her hand around mine. “How long was I out?” I rasp.

“Around five hours.”

Five hours.That’s the longest sleep I’ve had in a month. “The baby?”

“Out like a light.”

She points to an open drawer behind her. I can’t see much from here, only that it looks like every blanket I’ve ever owned has been put inside it as padding.

Makeshift crib. Smart.I shake that thought off. I shouldn’t praise this woman, not even in my mind. Not for anything.

She took away my daughter. She took away my blood. And she put her in danger, too.

Carmine.I knew he’d make a move, but I wasn’t expecting another so soon. Not after the D.C. deal mysteriously blew up.

Because, clearly, he had a hand in that, too.

And not just that. The kidnappers, the assassins—from the start, it was all him. I had my suspicions, but last night was proof.

All this time, my father was behind it all.

I prop myself up against the headboard. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I realize it must be near dawn. There’s a pale ray of light filtering through the blinds, but it’s weak. Faint.

Like April looks right now.

I take in her sunken face, the bags under her eyes. A month on the run isn’t kind on the best of us, but I can’t imagine it’d be anything less than harrowing for a new mother. When she left that hospital bed, her stitches weren’t even dry.

And whose fault was that?

I want to say “hers,” but something stops me.

“I’m going crazy here, Matvey. I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“Here,” April interrupts my thoughts. “Drink.”

Cool glass touches my lips. I want to refuse her coddling, but I’m parched. That’s the only reason I accept it, I tell myself. The only reason I let April take care of me.

Silencing my thoughts, I open my mouth and drink.

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