Page 102 of Sapphire Tears

Say it. Say it, you miserable bastard.

But the alcohol has made my head heavy. And it’s weighing down my good intentions.

So we sit there in the silence as the rift between us spasms out of my control.

And one more good thing in my life crumbles into ash.

44

KOLYA

As we approach the gates to my compound, I notice two figures standing at the side gate. Both are dressed in dark colors and their faces are hidden by the glare of our headlights.

Milana slows down. Her breathing grows more and more still. “Shit,” she whispers, breaking the silence. In this case, it’s not a good thing.

“Adrian?”

“Looks like it,” Milana says, her expression hardening. “And he’s brought a friend.”

I roll down my window as Milana comes to a stop next to them. “Brother,” I snarl. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“And to think I was expecting a warm welcome,” he sighs. “You wanted to speak to me, yes? Well, here I am. Let’s speak.”

“I’m not talking to you,” I say as my eyes veer towards Geneva at his side. She looks miserable.

“I-I came to see my sister,” she explains. “When she left my apartment, she was upset.”

I’m silent for a while, weighing my options. Then I jerk my chin toward the iron gates up the drive. “Walk to the front.”

The man on security looks bewildered as he opens the gates for us. Milana drives through, but she’s got her lips pursed together tightly.

“You don’t think I should let him in,” I infer.

She doesn’t so much as glance at me. “I wouldn’t dream of giving you my opinion or advice,” she says coldly. “I’m just a whore who works for you.”

“Milana—”

She hits the brakes hard, throws the car in park, and leaps out. She’s halfway to the front door before I can even begin to formulate a coherent sentence.

Not that I blame her. I deserve that and worse.

I pry myself out of the car and wait for Adrian and Geneva to walk up. Milana doesn’t go inside. She stands in a pocket of shadow by the threshold of the main entrance, her hands folded across her chest and one toe tapping again and again.

A pair of silhouettes emerge from the darkness. Geneva looks skittish, but Adrian has a bloodthirsty look in his eyes. I’ve known him long enough to know what that expression means.

He wants war.

Good. It’s about fucking time.

No wonder that fight back at the bar didn’t satisfy me the way it should have. This is the fight I’ve been spoiling for.

“Come on,” I growl, leading the way into the house.

Unconsciously, I move into the blue room. The one that opens out into the garden. The one that holds our mother’s grand piano.

Adrian’s eyes land on it immediately. Out of the darkness of night, I can see him properly for the first time. He has changed a lot.

He’s got more muscle now. His beard is tight and ragged on his cheeks. It might suit him if he’d taken the trouble to groom himself. As it stands, he’s a few track marks shy of looking like a lifelong heroin addict. The baby brother of my childhood is mostly gone, swallowed up by hard eyes and scabbed-over knuckles and a baggy green army jacket with stains in every crease.

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