Page 121 of Merciless Queen

I don’t know how long I stay like that, pathetically on my hands and knees crying into the dirt, but eventually my headclears enough I’m able to flip over, taking a seat, back against the warehouse’s exterior.

With a hand caked in blood and skin fragments beneath my nails, I pull out my phone. It takes me three swipes to unlock it. When I should be calling a clean-up crew, it’s a different name I click on.

A name, belonging to a person who despite everything, gave me back a part of myself.

I’m lyingin bed doing absolutely nothing but staring at the ceiling and going over the conversation I had with Madre earlier when my phone vibrates, the blanket muffling its chimes.

Vanessa’s name flashes on the screen.

Twice in one day. It’s been hours since she called me. By now, I can only assume the job’s finished. A man is dead. There’s one less fucker inhabiting the planet.

“Mrs. Mancini.”

It’s not a snarky greeting I receive, or even a polite one. It’s not a verbal response at all, but rather, a vocal one.

A sob.

Heart pounding a bit quicker than what makes sense, I shoot up in bed, putting the call on speaker to keep my hands free in case I need to do something. “Vanessa, what happened?”

A deep breath comes through the speakers, and then another, this one slower and staggered like she’s putting effort into the natural act. It takes a lot of restraint to remain still and wait for her to start talking, the sudden urge to go find her, hold her, being oddly overpowering.

“H-he’s gone. It’s…over. All fucking over.” Then another sob, which I feel compelled to point out, not quite sure what else to say.

“You’re crying.”

She makes a noise that sounds like the combination of a snort, a huff, and a chuckle. “I know. Fucked, right? After all this, peace should be the only thing I feel.”

“I imagine if I was the one who took out your father, I’d feel the same.”

It would have marked an end to the man who destroyed my mother’s safety. I’ve always pictured ending the Volkov line and healing from that alone. If me and not Rossi murdered the elder Volkov, I’d likely have a similar reaction to years of revenge ending in the course of a day. Being left with no goal, no task, to drive me.

Then there’s the emotional side. The doctors who tended to Madre frequently threw out the termtrauma. That the situation left scars on her well-being, and there were different healing methods. Madre never wanted revenge the way I did; the way Vanessa did for her own villain. Being a natural warrior, her instinct was to destroy what caused her pain, and now that she’s done that…

She huffs again. “Yes, I imagine you would.”

“You’re allowed to process the fact it’s over.”

“And what’s next?”

With her responses steady, her breathing back to normal, and no more sobs, I allow myself to relax again, dropping against my pillows with the phone resting on my bare chest. “Easy. You continue as Pakhan.”

“Obviously. I just mean, years of energy were spent on Boris. Feels empty now. Like running the organization won’t be enough.”

That’s an intriguing statement, and one I tuck away. “It’s far from empty. Without the past hovering over you, you’re free to enjoy the future. And if you still think it’s not enough, ask yourself what’ll it take to be.”

She doesn’t reply right away, and after a few seconds, I begin counting. I reach ten before her soft murmur comes through. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Make that your new task, if you’re determined to have something. Figure it out.”

More silence, but this one shorter. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“You’re my wife.”

She scoffs. “That doesn’t answer the question. If anything, it raises another one.”

“Which is?”

“Why are you forcing this? Divorce is only possible if I hand over the Bratva’s businesses. At least you write up a damn good contract.”

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