Page 97 of The Russian Retribution

Relief pours through me like liquid gold.

But why does Faina look so unhappy?

“There’s a but coming, isn’t there?”

Faina nods. “She’s shut down. Not just her. Everything. She’s convinced that she’s living on borrowed time because so many people were injured or killed. Ivan nearly died. Rocky nearly died, and the Italians are pissed. She’s completely closed herself off and I’m worried about her. I can’t reach her. She’s protective over her baby, but that’s it. I’m really worried I’m going to lose her.”

“Shit.” There’s a lot to unpack. More than I can process at the moment, but it’s clear that staying here until the end of the week is not an option. “I need to see her.”

“She might not even let you in.”

“She will. Can you drive me?”

Faina looks me over with an arched brow, then sighs. “Fine. But if you stress her out, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know what I’m doing.”

Faina fills me in on every detail on the drive back to the estate, but her words become more impactful when she lets me into the estate and a deadly silence greets me. There really is no one here. The entire place looks abandoned from the outside, and it’s painful to think that Anastasia is just wandering around this big, empty house by herself.

Given what she’s been through, I don’t blame her.

Six weeks.

I can’t believe it’s been that long.

Taking the steps two at a time, I track Anastasia down to her bedroom where warm air drifts out from the ajar bathroom door. Steam pours through the gap. I breathe in, and despite the rooftop feeling only days ago, the scent of her perfume and vanilla soap creates an ache in my chest like I haven’t seen her in years.

As I step forward, the bathroom door opens and Anastasia walks out, wrapping a large, fluffy towel around her damp body. She stumbles to a stop when she sees me, and her mouth falls wide open.

“Hey,” I say softly, torn between looking into her wide, gorgeous eyes and the huge bump swelling from her stomach.

Anastasia makes a soft, pained noise and then immediately bursts into tears.

“Hey!” Darting forward, I throw my arms around her and pull her close with one arm, then cup her damp cheek with the other. “Anastasia, what’s wrong?”

“You’re… you’re not real,” she sobs, shoving her fists into my chest. “You can’t be real!”

“I’m real,” I say firmly. “I’m really here. I’m okay.”

“No. No, no, no! You’re in the hospital. Oh, my God, you were in a coma!”

“I was. I was. But I woke up yesterday. Faina told me you refused to see her so she couldn’t tell you. So she came to get me. I’m here. I’m here.”

A deep, painful wail rises past her lips and she sags into my hold, sobbing in deep, powerful waves. “I-I never… never thought I’d see you again!”

“I’m sorry,” I gasp, and her heartbreak brings tears to my own eyes. “I’m so sorry. I never should have left you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“You died,” she gasps, weeping against my shoulder and continuing to push me away with her fists, then drag me back with desperate hands. “I saw you fall and I saw your body lying there and I thought?—”

“I know.” I hush her softly. “I know. I know. But I’m here. I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“You bastard, you left me!”

“I know, I know.”

Each rough sob that tears from her cuts through me like a blade, but there’s something amazing about hearing those noises. Having her in my arms, hearing her voice, and feeling the emotion pour from her makes me feel alive for the first time since I opened my eyes.

“Are you okay?” She lifts her head and gazes up at me with tear-filled eyes, then she glances down at my body. “You’re not hurt anymore?”

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