Page 108 of Destined for the Devil
"No." I cleared my throat, eyes fixed ahead. "My mom doesn't have a grave.” It never got easier to admit that. “She passed away at the emergency department. And…my sister and I never claimed her as a relative. I was fifteen. Natasha was ten. We had maybe two grand in our bank account…not enough to bury her. And we didn’t want anyone to know she was gone.”
I gulped hard while Isla sat beside me—frozen, her beautiful eyes wide and her bottom lip trembling. “When she took her last breath…we said our goodbyes, took her purse and ID…and went home."
Isla gasped lightly, but my morbid story wasn’t over. “We didn't tell anyone she died. No one ever suspected anything at school, and we pretended that she was alive. For years.Every official call—bank, school, whatever…my sister faked her voice on the phone.”
Isla's hand slipped into mine, warm and trembling. She threaded herfingers with mine, squeezing them tight and sniffling quietly. "Holy shit, Roman,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. That’s…that’s unbelievably hard.”
Isla had already cried that morning, and her empathy and soft heart made me fall in love with her harder. She was beside me even when I revealed the ugliest parts of my life.
I was surprised to see Sergei already standing at Natasha's grave when Isla and I walked up. It looked like he was in the middle of saying something, but as soon as he caught sight of us, he quickly shut his mouth.
"Hello."
His deep voice with an easily discernible Russian accent greeted us both. Sergei had been in America for as long as I had. We were both kids when we learned English, but Sergei's Russian accent never fully went away. He never put any effort into anything except fucking and killing.
After paying our respects, we arrived at the restaurant and took our seats, the atmosphere somber and charged with anger. Sergei was on edge, ready to start cursing at anyone who got in his way. He’d already had an argument with the valet out front, and the hostess got a dose of his rude remarks as well.
I asked for a bottle of vodka at the table, and as the night wore on, I kept his shot glass full. Across from us, Isla worked patiently at breaking down Lena’s cold and arrogant exterior. It took almost two hours of idle chit-chat and subtle nudging, but finally, she succeeded. Lena started laughing and sharing more details about her life.
Just as planned, the two of them headed to the bar together to get a drink. Lena rose to her feet, her last look at Sergei deadly, like she was sending him a silent warning to ease up on the vodka, but he didn’t fucking care.
Lena had always been a strange woman, but I’d never suspected shecould have been a dangerous one. She popped up out of nowhere, and within months of meeting Sergei, she got pregnant, before he proposed.
It had always been clear to everyone that Sergei didn't respect her. He would often crack jokes at her expense—her social background, her behavior, and even her laugh. And he cheated on her like clockwork—any chance he got, it wasn’t a secret.
Yet, I got the sense that Lena was oblivious to it all. She looked at Sergei as if he were a king and she were his dutiful servant. He was often rude and condescending, careless with his words, but she accepted it, never putting him in his place.
She dideverythingfor him. Ran the house, raised the kids, knew his schedule, and managed it all behind the scenes, and he treated her like a possession or maybe a personal assistant.
I suspected that she was deeply in love with him while he merely tolerated her.
"You know, Roma…you're a lucky man," Sergei slurred beside me while I watched Isla and Lena stand together at the bar. Lena was a head taller than Isla in her sky-high heels, but Isla stood out from everyone, like she descended from heaven.
Was she really an angel sent to me from above?
"Yeah? Why's that?" I wasn't fully paying attention to him, noticing Lena speaking in an animated fashion.
"She loves you.” He dragged his gaze to Lena and Isla for a swift second. “And…what's even more important is…you…are in love. I never thought I'd see the day when you’d love a woman the way you love her."
Sergei blinked slowly and nodded. His cold, ruthless mask was slipping—the vodka had done its job, and now was my chance to delve deeper into what I so wanted to know.
"I am," I said evenly, feigning nonchalance. "That's why I almost killed you for what you said, Seryoga. You don't fucking say that shit to her. Orto anyone, for that matter. What the fuck is wrong with you, brother?"
Brother.That word had long lost its meaning between us.
I turned to him, witnessing another one of his repulsive smirks. He paused for a moment, as if choosing his words. "I'm sorry.” He threw the sentiment out there, but this time it sounded genuine. “I don't know why I said it. I guess I was just jealous…that you felt that way about someone."
"You've been married for, like, five years, man. You have a family and kids. What are you talking about? Lena loves you,” I probed deeper, but he was shaking his head before I could even finish my sentence.
"No.” That one word carried such a heavy weight. “I don't love Lena. I never loved her. My heart always belonged to someone else. Someone who we lost. Someone…who couldn't see how much I wanted her." His voice dropped, the implication of his words sending a shiver down my spine. Tears collected in the corners of his eyes when he added, "She never gave me the time of day."
My stomach fucking dropped. He was talking about Natasha.
All my suspicions blazed like a hot fire inside me. The way he was around her. The way he always asked about her. The way he looked at her…like I look at Isla.
Your sister is great.
Natasha is such a good girl.
