Page 48 of Merciless Union
I’ve never hugged another man in my life, not even Alexei. But I nod and let George give me a quick hug. It’s awkward, but I can tell he appreciates it by how he smiles.
I clear my throat. “So, send me any information you want me to include in the funeral. I hope … I hope you have some weight lifted off your shoulders.”
“Yes, very much so.”
“Well, I need to get back home.”
“Thank you again … Maxim.” He stumbles over my name. It must be strange for a man like George to call me by my first name rather than my last. Despite how close he and my father were, I know my father expected everyone around him to refer to him with respect. But maybe showing kindness to my men will deepen their loyalty for me. I think about Vladimir’s dead body. Maybe some things need to change.
I give him a nod, then walk out the door.
On my drive home, an idea pops into my mind. I stop at the nearest paint store I can find.
I buy multiple canvases, ,paints and brushes, replacing all the ones I either broke or threw away.
Arina has a talent. And instead of squashing it, I should encourage it. The ache in my gut subsides slightly.
I carry the supplies to my penthouse, feeling a mix of excited and nervous to show Arina.
“Uh, Mr. Petrov,” the guard on duty says, clearing his throat. “You have a visitor.”
I pause. “Visitor?” I look toward the front door. “And you just let this person walk into my home?”
“Uh, he pointed a gun at me and forced me to let him in.”
I quickly open my door, depositing the paint supplies on the floor and rushing into the living room.
Arina is sitting on the couch.
And across from her is Stepan fucking Pasternak.
CHAPTER12
Arina
After Maxim leaves for work for the day, I finally crawl out of bed. It takes all my energy to do it, but I manage, even though every part of me wants to curl back up in a ball and forget that my mom is gone.
Tears prick at my eyes.
No.I can’t keep crying forever. My mom wouldn’t have wanted that.
Poking my head into the hallway, I listen to make sure Maxim is truly gone. The penthouse is so silent it’s almost deafening.
Taking a deep breath, I step into the hallway. The floor beneath me is cold, reminding me how sterile this house feels. It’s not a home. It’s a prison.
Since I’m stuck here forever, I should try to make it cozier. But that would imply leaving and going shopping. And I still have my mother’s funeral to plan.
I haven’t even spoken to my father in the past week. I’m afraid that just hearing his voice will bring back the pain. It’s time, though.
I settle into the living room and call him, my hands shaking as I do so.
“Arina?” he asks after just one ring.
“Hi, Dad.” A lump at the back of my throat forms. “Sorry I haven’t called.”
“Sweetheart, I understand.”
“I feel so terrible for leaving you at home, knowing that’s where Mom died.”
