Page 70 of Devil's Vows
“Milana—” I start, reliving the same shock I had when I first saw these photos. I thought we’d put all this shit behind us.
She looks up at me. Our gazes clash, tears flowing down her cheeks, eyes wide in horror.
“Have you seen these?” she asks on a strangled sob. “Who else has seen these?”
“That envelope? Nobody but you. But there have been others.”
She snatches in a desperate breath. “Others?How many?”
“Three. All the same photos we got the hacker to remove—” I start, stepping up to her.
“No, no-no-no,” she says as she steps away from me, holding her hand up, clutching the envelope to her chest. “No! NO!”
She looks like she’s going to collapse, but Gabriella is suddenly beside her, and Milana doesn’t ward her off like she wards me and Yuri off.
One of the girls starts crying.
Gabriella meets my gaze as Milana shoves her face into her shoulder. She wraps her arms around my sister, literally holding her up.
“Please, help her,” I desperately mouth to Gabriella, not knowing what else to do. Milana needs help. She doesn’t want mine. “I’ve got this,” I add, waving to where Irisha and Katya are now sitting frozen at the table, with toppled milk dripping onto the floor, taking Lucky Charms with it like doomed canoes heading for a waterfall.
Gabriella nods.
“Come, Milana,” she says softly, calmly, as if she’s dealt with women in crisis all her life.
It hits me then this convent girl has wisdom despite her age, that she’s lived through so much, and that despite all her issues, she’s strong for others when everybody else is failing. She’scalm in a crisis. She does what needs to be done. She’s level-headed and in control.
Until she isn’t, and then she’ll lean on me.
She’s everything I could ever need.
She is my godsend, even if just to help my sister out of this fog she’s lost in.
36
GABI
I have an arm around Milana’s waist. She’s trembling so much, it feels like her legs are going to buckle. It’s a wonder she can walk at all.
She’s in shock.
In her room, she collapses on her bed and smothers a wail in her pillow. It’s as if her heart is being wrenched from her chest and she can feel every tug, tear, and rip of muscle and flesh.
“Milana—” I start, not knowing what to do as she curls into a ball, crunching the envelope to her stomach. “Let me help you. Please.”
She’s showered. Her bed is made. The window is slightly open to let in fresh air. This morning, she woke up with hope, having me cornered with my secret, and now this…
I reach for the envelope, expecting her to cling tighter, but she lets go and curls into an even smaller question mark of broken human. I sit and rest my hand on her back, waiting a moment. “May I?”
“Yes,” she whispers between sobs. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I just can’t?—”
To think last night I slipped out of character, broke my rules, and gave Milana the sword she’s holding over my head. Now she’s here, gutting herself open for me, so desperate she doesn’t care it’s me, a woman she accused of being a spy, here to traffic the girls. I didn’t realize she was this desperate, but to just have a fraction of the hold on her that she has on me could flip my situation completely.
“It’s okay,” I say, not really feeling smug about the situation. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”
She grips my arm, squeezing hard, her eyes begging. “Promise me,promise meyou won’t tell anybody.”
I nod, but curse in my head. Until I know what it is, it would be stupid to make promises.
