Page 21 of Sapphire Tears

“I’m not telling you to,” she assures me. “I’m just asking you to prioritize. You’re letting this consume you. There are other problems that require your attention.”

“None of them are as important as this.”

“You’re confusing your personal life with your professional one.”

I’m about to argue when her words hit home. Isn’t this the exact fucking reason I’d always considered a marriage, a family, to be liabilities? Because once you have those things, everything else ceases to be important. Everything else has to play second fiddle.

But despite the realization, I can’t let it go.

I feel like I did the first time I watched our father beat Adrian.

I was probably six, maybe even younger. Adrian had been crying about something or the other, as per usual, and as per usual, Otets considered it weak. So he reacted the same way he did with any man of his that didn’t meet his impossible standards.

He inflicted punishment.

In this case, he pulled out his belt and ordered Adrian to kneel at his feet. As for me, he offered the same barked instruction I would learn to become intimately familiar with over the years to come:Stand at attention and don’t move a fucking muscle.

I knew the price of stepping in. I knew that my survival depended on listening to my father.

And despite all that, I stepped in anyway. I got between him and Adrian. I took the beating that was meant for my brother.

I was a child myself. It hurt like hell.

But I stifled my tears until I was alone in my room.

I cried half the night and woke up with welts on my back that took weeks to fade. Every time Otets punished Adrian, it was the same thing: the need for self-preservation conflicting head-on with the need to protect him.

I knew I had to let Otets hand down his punishment, and at the same time, I couldn’t let him.

In so many ways, standing still felt worse than taking action. My body ached, but at least my conscience rested easy at night.

Now, though, it’s different. Everything hurts—body, conscience, heart, mind, soul.

I should have never let her out of my sight.

Milana starts to speak. “Kolya, listen—”

More knocking interrupts. I glance up at the door. “Enter.”

The door swings open to reveal Knox standing at attention. “Sir, there’s a man at the front gate asking for you.”

“Who?”

Knox shakes his head. “I’ve never seen the guy before. Short, stocky, middle-aged. He came armed, but he turned over his weapons when I went out to see him. Says he’s got something important to tell you.”

“Does he have a lead on June?”

“He didn’t say, sir,” Knox replies. “But—he does have a gunshot wound. Two, actually. To the leg and the chest. Both pretty sloppily bandaged. He must’ve come straight here.”

“Did he give you a name?”

“Called himself ‘a friend.’ Wouldn’t elaborate. Want me to beat it out of him?”

I can sense Milana licking her chops. “I can coax it out,” she says, tapping her fingernails on the armrest of the chair.

“No need,” I tell them both. “I’ll do it myself. Knox, bring him up here.”

Knox nods and retreats down the hall as the adrenaline starts to crackle up and down my veins.

---