Page 81 of Sinful Union

The entire scene feels so surreal—Piotr’s casket in front of us and a scattering of men from various Bratvas offering stilted condolences.

We stand in the Andreev family cemetery plot, a small garden of stone markers and weeping willows. Camille stands close to Vlad, her hand clutching his.

Ana tugs on my hand, her voice quivering. “Mama can we go now? I don’t like it here.”

I slide my palm over her damp curls. The drizzle has picked up, turning into a light rain.“Soon,petite etoile,” I promise.

The ache in my heart intensifies, guilt gnawing at me. She’s so young to be facing so much loss. She loved her uncle.He was always kind to her, at least on the surface.I exchange a glance with Pavel, silently asking if we can wrap this up. He nods, reading my discomfort. We murmur our last respects near the casket, gather our immediate circle, and step away.

The handful of watchers part to let us pass, bowing their heads. Viktor Novikov pretends to ignore our departure, though I can feel his sharp gaze on our backs.

We climb into the waiting car—a sleek black sedan assigned to us for the day, its windows tinted. Pavel slides into the front passenger seat, giving instructions to the driver. Vlad, with Camille’s help, eases into the back seat. I settle in beside him, and Ana clambers onto my lap, not wanting the slightest space between us. The driver slowly rolls away from the cemetery. The tension in my chest eases a little bit, and I let out a small sigh of relief. I hate funerals, especially when they’re for family under conditions of secrecy and half-truths.

Ana sniffles, pressing her face to my collarbone. “Mama,” she mumbles, “Uncle Piotr’s not coming back, is he?”

My stomach twists. I brush a hand through her curls. “No, baby. He’s gone.”

She nods miserably, a small sob escaping. “I don’t understand,” she whispers. “He said he loved me. Why would he leave—” She can’t even finish the sentence, too confused and hurt.

I exchange a quick, pained look with Pavel, who turns around from the front seat. His eyes soften, but there’s no easy explanation.

I stroke Ana’s back, my heart heavy. “He did love you, in his own way,” I say carefully. “Sometimes, grown-ups make terrible mistakes. But he wouldn’t want you to worry or be sad, I promise.”

I’m not sure if that’s the right answer. My gaze flicks to Vlad, who’s leaning his head against the seat, eyes closed.

The rain intensifies, hammering against the car roof. We drive in an uneasy hush, the city’s silhouette blurred by the downpour.Eventually, we reach the old family estate on Long Island, where we’ll be staying while Pavel’s building is being repaired.

Gunfire and violence tore our home to pieces, and I can’t bear the idea of living there again until it’s completely restored, every inch repaired and updated. We’ve spent the last week in a luxury hotel, but Ana needs something more stable.

We pull through the estate gates, the driver parking near the front steps. A handful of loyal men guard the house. Security has been doubled after everything that happened. Vlad stirs, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter.

Camille helps him out of the car. I linger, letting Ana slip from my lap. She rubs her eyes. “I’m tired,” she says, her voice small.

I get out and take her hand. “Let’s get you inside and tucked in.” She nods gratefully, clinging to my side as we head up the steps. I can’t help but notice the chipped paint, the neglected shrubs.

Piotr never cared for the estate, and his mismanagement has taken its toll.

Inside, it’s warm, though the halls feel hollow. Memories of my parents and my life here as a child come flooding back—a younger me running through these corridors, Piotr shouting after me to slow down. I grit my teeth, swallowing back the swirl of emotions.

We must push forward.

Pavel lingers to talk briefly with the security detail who followed in another car, discussing updated measures. Vlad and Camille vanish to find a place where he can lie down. I take Ana to an upstairs bedroom—my old room—once upon a time.

The wallpaper is faded lilac, and I recall how I used to hate it. Now, however, it feels oddly comforting. Thankfully, the staff already visited, leaving us some fresh linens and tidying up just a bit.

Ana rubs her nose, glancing around. “Is this your room, Mama?”

“Used to be,” I say, pulling down the comforter. “It’s not super cozy right now, but we’ll make it work, okay?”

She nods, exhaustion weighing on her face.

“You won’t leave me, right?” she asks. The tremor in her voice makes my heart crack.

I kiss her forehead. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” I promise. “But I’ll be close by.”

She sniffles. “Okay.” In less than a minute, her eyes flicker shut, the day’s sadness pulling her under. I stroke her hair gently, waiting until her breathing evens out.

My chest tightens with immense love for her, sorrow for the illusions she lost.She doesn’t know the full truth, and for now, that’s best. Pavel and I will decide down the road if it’s something we want to tell her.

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