Page 16 of Tragic Empire
“How does your head feel?” Jade checks, trying not to frown.
I can tell that she’s shaken up, like me. Scared and hurt from hearing what happened to me, even if she wasn’t there for it. And still, she’s keeping a brave face on. She wants to remain strong for me, even if it’s difficult. Friends like Jade Moretti don’t come around often, and I wish I could articulate how much she means to me.
“Sore, but not any worse than before,” I tell her with a shrug.
The physical pain isn’t what’s bothering me. It’s the thick and undeniable ache in my chest, the desire to cry, and the horrible need to escape my body. Maybe if I could step out of my skin, I wouldn’t be able to feel so sick. Like my soul is rotting me from the inside out.
“Do you think it’s like this for everyone?” The words leave my lips without permission, and the emptiness in my question is so clear even I can hear it. “I don’t understand what I’m feeling or how I’m still breathing. How does my brain even continue to work after tonight?”
I’m operating somehow, even though I don’t feel it. There’s an emptiness where my consciousness belongs. I’m here and absent at the same time. An ugly contradiction I don’t know how to escape.
“Death affects everyone differently, I think,” Jade offers quietly. “When Uncle Cesar died, I didn’t understand what I was feeling most of the time either. He was the first person I ever cared about that I lost. And watching it happen… it’s not an easy thing to forget, or even process.”
“What about you?” I ask Ivan, catching a hesitant look in his eye.
“Losing someone you’re close to like this, Ana… it takes a piece of you. Seeing someone you love hurt, fatally or otherwise, you can’t get rid of what that does. It’s permanent, like a scar you’ll carry with you for the rest of your life. It fades, and it heals, but it’s always there.”
Breathing out shakily, I sniff. “That’s not very comforting.”
“It’s not,” he agrees. “But it’s also not a lie.”
“Seems like you know from experience,” I reply dully. “Who died in front of your eyes, then?”
Jade sucks in a breath, but Ivan doesn’t even blink.
“My sister isn’t dead, but after what happened to her, she wanted to be,” he tells me in a dark tone. “There is more than one way to be scarred permanently. Finding Anya in the state she was left in, looking at her and finding no life left in her eyes?—”
Ivan cuts himself off, and I see his fists clench, knuckles turning white.
He doesn’t need to finish his sentence for me to catch his meaning. No one he loves has been killed in front of him, but he still understands. I’ve heard rumors about the Morozov daughter. The prima ballerina beauty was kept out of our society, only scarcely allowed to perform at exclusive, lavish events. Despite being a perfectly respectable mafia princess, she was hidden more than she was ever seen—for protection. But at age fifteen, she was taken by a group of the worst kind of men.
I don’t know who was truly responsible for the hit, but I know she was broken in the ways of nightmares. Torn apart on film for her family’s torment, only to be saved hours later, barely alive and entirely shattered.
She hasn’t danced since.
Jade hasn’t even met the girl, and I’m not sure how much she knows about her. Despite being married to Dmitri, and twin flames with Ivan, Jade has experienced her own world of trauma, and I doubt she would pry into another girl’s—family or not.
“Ana, Jade,” Dmitri’s voice floats into the room as he steps quietly inside. “Dante asked for you both. He’s in the office.”
Jade looks surprised. “He did? Did he say why?”
“No.” Dmitri gives her a firm shake of his head.
“He probably just wants to check on us,” I reason with a limp lift of my shoulder. It’s a good thing that I changed into some of Jade’s clothes after meeting with the doctor like she suggested. A bath robe would not be a suitable outfit to meet with a mafia boss—friend’s father or not. Although, before tonight, I never would have dreamed of meeting one wearing sweatpants, a frayed pullover, and fuzzy socks either.
My best friend looks reluctant to make me get out of bed, even to go see her father. But I shrug off her soft white blanket and get to my feet, waiting for her to follow. When she does, she takes my hand and threads our fingers together. My eyes track the action and a warm buzz of appreciation swells in my chest.
The walk to Dante Moretti’s office doesn’t take long, and despite the trip being toward a Capo’s office, it doesn’t feel daunting. The man has been nothing but welcoming to me since my friendship with Jade blossomed. I don’t know him especially well, but I trust him enough not to fear him. Unless I suddenly become a threat to him or his family, Dante is inarguably safe for me to be around.
The door is slightly ajar when we approach, and Jade takes that as a sign to enter without knocking. Two men dressed in smart suits stand behind a large cherry oak desk, their quiet conversation coming to an end.
I gulp, suddenly feeling nervous. There’s tension in the air, and I don’t know why. I want to curl in on myself, but I attempt to look brave.
“Please, have a seat, Ana,” Jade’s father says softly. His eldest son is standing next to him, and neither of them look happy.
Is there more bad news?
Please, please don’t let there be more.
