Page 6 of Sweet Deception
Five years of failed therapy, of confusion, of wondering why I couldn’t stand even when doctors said I could.
He did that to me?
He did that to me.
Gleb didn’t look victorious. Or angry. He just watched.
Like this was a lesson. A necessary cruelty.
“You’re lying,” I whispered again, but my voice had no strength.
Then, two deafening shots.
I screamed, too late.
Elisabetta’s body dropped. A single, clean bullet between the eyes. Her mouth still open mid-sob.
Blood splattered across the marble.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
My scream never made it past my throat.
Gleb turned and walked away, his boots trailing blood.
“You promised to spare her,” I whispered, voice trembling. “You said if she confessed...”
“She did,” he said. “Too late.”
I couldn’t stop staring.
Not at her face, that was gone, ruined. but at her hands. The ones that used to braid my hair. The ones that once trembled when they tucked me into bed after my first seizure. The ones that held me every night after Maria ran away.
Now they were still.
Motionless. Lifeless.
And it was my fault.
I stabbed him. I made him angry. I...
No.
He pulled the trigger. Not me.
He murdered her.
I slammed my fist into the armrest. My throat was raw from screaming, though I couldn’t remember when I’d stopped.
Gleb reentered like he hadn’t just shattered my world. His sleeves were rolled up now. Calm. Controlled. Blood dried at the edge of his cuff.
He poured himself a glass of something dark. Sat in the chair across from me, legs spread like a king who’d just claimed a new province.
“This is war, Anna,” he said. “War doesn’t wait for your comfort.”
My laugh came out broken. “You call this war?”
“I call it cleansing.”
