Page 49 of Dark Truths

Resisting the urge to smile at her text is difficult. We’ve been messaging each other since that night in the hospital, catching up as friends would. We're trying to find a moment where we can meet and really talk, but it’s been challenging. With her balancing school and visiting family in the hospital and me stuck taking care of my drunk boss, our schedules just haven’t aligned.

Me: That’s wonderful news. How is he?

Angel: He’s going to have to stay in the hospital for a little while more, but being awake is a big win.

Me: I’m happy to hear that.

Michael has always struck me as a hothead and his actions last week in the hospital proved me right. If Gabriella hadn’t been there to act as a buffer, I’m sure blood would have spilled. It’s clear from that altercation alone that revealing our relationship is a terrible idea, without careful planning first. Just the very thought of us being friends didn’t sit well with her family. It made for a very awkward conversation with the Italian leader when I had to lie about how we knew each other through school and how in the heat of the moment I was the first one she thought of to call. Dante thanked me profusely, but I doubt Michael will do the same.

Angel: I’ll be sure to express your thanks to him. ??

I snort and immediately look up to see if Sergei heard me. He’s taking a huge swing from his bottle and is oblivious.

Angel: I wish I could be there today.

Me: I wouldn’t even be going to the funeral if it wasn’t expected of me.

Angel: My uncle Leo and Dom will be there.

Me: I’m sure Sergei will appreciate it.

Angel: Just as much as Michael will appreciate your gratitude?

Me: Just about.

I watch those annoying three dots appear and disappear several times before I glance up to catch Sergei looking at me now.

He burps loudly and wipes his face with a handkerchief. “Who are you texting?”

“No one important. Just confirming details for Igor’s wake.”

Sergei’s face drops into despair at the mention of his brother. “He was a bastard, but he was family.”

“He will be missed.”

“Don’t lie to me, Volkov.” Sergei throws his mostly empty bottle and it shatters against the window across the seat from me. The glass shards fall everywhere, barely avoiding me. “I know you hated the man.”

There’s no use denying it. “I didn’t say by me.”

Sergei grunts and levels me with what I assume is supposed to be an angry glare. But it's hard to appear threatening when you're as drunk as a sailor. “Maybe you set him up. You weren't there with him that night. Maybe it was on purpose.”

I’ve heard this same accusation at least twice a day for the last week. “You know I was with Alexei at thePlaygroundwhen we got the call about the church fire. We had nothing to do with it.”

Another lie and one I will take with me to my grave. After the hospital, I immediately met up with Alexei back at thePlayground. Being drunk helped loosen his tongue and erased my fears that Alexei knew about Igor's plan. And it was easy to convince my friend that I spent the entire night in my office.

“So you say,” Sergei hiccups.

“So I know.”

Sergei leans over his seat to a built-in cabinet and opens it to reveal several alcohol bottles. He grabs the tallest one and opens it, taking another large swing. At this rate, Sergei will need to be carried out of the car and helped to the gravesite. Hell, maybehe’ll just conveniently fall into the six-foot hole and join his bastard brother down below. But I’m never that lucky.

By the time we leave the graveyard back to the house, Sergei has sobered up a hair, but ordering the men to remove all the alcohol from our car may have had something to do with it.

“Where the hell is the alcohol?” Sergei growls as he searches through the empty cabinets.

I ignore his question and comment, “It was a nice funeral.”

“He deserved better,” Sergei grunts back. “He deserves to be alive.”

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