Page 114 of Shadows of the Past
I’m not surprised. I knew he wouldn’t wait for someone else to track them down, not after knowing that she held that gun pointed at me. He could’ve killed Aleksandr right then, but those few seconds with me must have felt more vital to him than revenge. That’s how he says “I love you, not with sweet words or flowers, but by letting the last snake go free because I was dying.
Maksim, years ago, would have lived for vengeance and nothing else. Now, he’s learned to put it off for someone else’s sake. It’s been a long road.
I’m not saying everyone involved didn’t deserve what came to them, but somewhere along the way, their poison seeped into him too. You can’t spend over twenty years surrounded by darkness and expect to walk away clean. I see it in him, feel it when he falls into that black hole of doubt, still convinced no one could truly love him, that no one would ever choose him.
“He won’t hurt Lupe,” I say, my voice steady.
I’ll have to talk to him because I know he probably used an army to find them, and putting her in danger isn’t something I can just ignore. But how could I blame him? If our roles were reversed, I don’t know if I’d have had the self-control not to tear someone apart.
Just then, the door opens and a pair of gray eyes lock onto mine, but they’re notmy gray eyes. Roman steps in, dressed like he’s about to walk into a boardroom, beige suit immaculate, an Omega Speedmaster 1957 on his wrist. He probably doesn’t realize he looks like he could buy the entire hospital before he’s finished his morning coffee.
“Can you give us a few minutes?” he asks Amalia, though it sounds more like an order than a request. My sister just nods and slips out quietly.
For a moment, we just stare at each other in silence. His gaze is sharp, like he’s dissecting every flicker of emotion on my face.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he says, and I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to clarify.
He shakes his head, that icy look settling back over his features. “I couldn’t protect him for thirty-two years, Julia, but I swear, if I ever see my brother break down like that again, you and I are going to have a problem.”
There’s no malice in his voice, just a clear warning, and I can’t help but smile.
“You, of all people, understand what it means to be the older sibling. If I’d made a wrong move and she’d gotten hurt, I’d never forgive myself. I won’t pretend it was my best decision,” I admit, shifting upright, but a sharp pain in my abdomen stops me.
“That’s why, for now, it’s just a warning. He’s suffered enough, Julia. Don’t give him a reason to hurt even more.” With that, he leaves, and I’m left swimming in my own thoughts.
I knew I was hurting him in that moment. I knew exactly what it meant for him to see someone he loves bleeding out on the floor again. A groan escapes me, and I press the heels of my palms to my eyes. I don’t know how long I stay like that, but eventually, I feel him in the room.
I don’t hear him, don’t see him, but I know he’s there, his presence settling over me like a shadow.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, still not looking up.
“You’re not looking at me,” he says, his voice close now.
I lower my hands, and those storm-gray eyes, somewhere between thunderclouds and the promise of summer rain, steal every thought from my head.
His pinky finds mine, and a single tear slips down my cheek. His fingertip traces the path it left before brushing softly against my lips.
“Next time, you wait for me. Next time,” he says, pressing my hand over his heart, “you understand that if anything happens to you, this will stop beating, Julia.”
“Te lo juro, amor.”
It’ll take time for him to trust me again, and I know it’ll be a long road to chase away all those shadows whispering that he’s not enough, that he doesn’t deserve love, that everyone will eventually leave.
But if I have to spend the rest of my life surrounded by his shadows, I’ll do it—with my hand in his, just like I always have.
Chapter 43
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Julia
Recovery is moving at a crawl, so much slower than I’d hoped. Every step feels like a rebellion, my body aches, protests, refuses to cooperate.
By the time a week passes, I’m ready to launch myself out the window if I have to stay in this room any longer. Maksim, of course, argued, but he could see I’d already made up my mind. We’re going home.
I’m not sure when that house outside Chicago started feeling like home, but that’s what it is now. My coffee maker on the counter, the little kitchenette, the loft with its wall of windows—all of it is our sanctuary.
But right now, home also means facing the last piece of our past: Aleksandr and Lupe. It’s a sore subject. Max keeps assuring me they’re kept apart, that Lupe has food, water, whatever she needs. Still, I can’t shake the anxiety. She’s still too close to that monster, probably terrified out of her mind.
