Page 183 of Silenced

I shake my head. “He’s my abuser, but I’m not his. I don’t need to fall to his level to erase him from my life.”

His frown darkens but slowly, he nods.

Which is when I understand how far we’ve come as an odd couple—he doesn’t force the issue. Simply accepts that I know what’s best for me.

To the stranger, he asks, “Did you bring Cassiopeia’s belongings, Boris?”

“Da, Pakhan.”

“Take them to our suite.”

Boris nods. “And Rundel?”

“Take him to the alligators.”

“You don’t want to oversee—”

Before Boris can finish, and seeing Nikolai start to get up from the bed, I grab his good hand and perch on his bedside so he can’t get past me without having to lean on his bad arm.

“Nikolai’s fine here. He doesn’t need to oversee the trash being disposed of.”

Nikolai growls, “Cassiopeia!”

I scowl at him.

What I want to scream is, ‘You threw yourself out of a truck tonight, Nikolai. You were tossed into the air because of a gas explosion! The least you can do is stay in bed while the doctor continues to monitor you.’

But Grigoriy just walked in.

Semion guards us in one corner while Sergei hovers in another.

So, instead, I say, “You need to be here. For Dmitri. Harvey is a part of our past.”

“Next you’ll be saying we should let him go so he can live his life to the fullest,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t try to get up again.

“I’m not that generous,” I snipe.

Misha shoots me a measured glance, but I ignore him until he murmurs, “The night that you contacted Savannah, she was terrified for you. Enough that she got her husband to call in a favor with the Russian Bratva to save you.

“Closure comes in many guises,” he finishes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand, nonplussed by the philosophical tone when he’s only been suspicious and catty around me thus far.

“Leave her alone, Misha,” Nikolai snaps. “Or I’ll shut your mouth for you.”

“If I don’t want to see my ex being eaten alive by Vasily then that’s my prerogative,” I agree.

“You’re being given an opportunity that few in your position ever have,” Misha chides.

“To witness a brutal murder?”

“To have the man who made you plead for your life plead for his.”

I don’t want those words to resonate but they do.

The truth washes through me with a cleansing force that shakes my earlier resolve and pounds it to dust.

I turn to face Nikolai, who seems to sense the shift in my stance because he assures me, “Whatever you want to do, we can do, Cassiopeia.”

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