But something primal in me rebels against Adrian’s presence whenever he gets within arms’ reach.

He reaches halfway out to stroke my hair, then thinks better of it and lets his hand fall limp in his lap. “I’m sorry you had to go through all this, Junepenny. You were not made for the Bratva.”

I don’t know why, but the comment slides sideways under my skin like a rose thorn. “I’m fine,” I say. “I’d just like to be able to move my arm without wanting to cry.”

“Give it a few more days.”

I opt not to mention to him that he said the same thing a few days ago. I can’t help thinking that if Kolya were here, he’d not just insist I see a doctor—he’d carry me to one himself, whether I liked it or not.

Of course, we all know that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the baby I was carrying.

“I… I have some more work to get done,” he says, standing abruptly. “I’ll be back tonight, okay?”

I nod miserably and reach for the brown paper bag he’s holding out to me. Joy—chicken sandwiches again. I’m convinced he’s robbing the dumpster, because the bread is stale and the tomatoes are soggy and limp.

“Stay in the back if you can,” he advises. “Keep the blinds closed. My brother has eyes everywhere.”

“If he did, he’d have known you were alive,” I mumble.

“Just—just be careful, okay?” Adrian says as he pauses at the threshold of the door. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

“Something did happen to me,” I mutter before I can stop myself. “You and your brother did.”

But Adrian is already gone.

6

JUNE

I fall asleep again after Adrian leaves, tangled up in sweaty sheets with the tang of processed chicken spoiling on my tongue. My thoughts and dreams are split between Kolya and Geneva.

Ravil may be gone, but I have no idea where my sister stood with him before he died. Is she still with some of his men? Is she on her own?

Is she safe? Is she hurt?

I hope she’s okay. Even after all that she’s done, I want that for her.

And then there’s Kolya. I don’t know what I hope for him. All I know is that every time I think about him, I feel stabbing pains in my chest. It’s honestly nice sometimes, if only because it distracts from the stabbing pains in my arm.

It’s dark when I finally tug myself back to consciousness. No more sunlight slithering through the cracks in the boards. Adrian is still a no-show, and I’m glad about that. It’s so much easier living with him when he’s not around. In hindsight, it always has been.

There’s a creak in the front room. Probably just the building settling. It’s old and decrepit, so that’s not unusual.

I get up, change back into my other set of sweats, and stare at the bed, wondering if I should wash the sheets again. It’s become an obsession. Probably because smells stick in this room like a bad rash that won’t go away.