Page 70 of Love Me (Touch of Death 3)
“I don’t know how.”
He shakes his head. “You are far stronger than you think.”
There’s a long pause, and I steal myself to speak the only question I really want an answer to.
“What about you, Sasha? What will you do now?”
His eyes meet mine, narrowing slightly. “What would you have of me?”
I frown. “That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s what I’m asking,” he counters. “What would you have of me, malyshka?”
“I love you.” I shrug one shoulder, unaware of what else to say.
His eyes soften, something akin to pity flashing through them. “I killed your father. We never really discussed it. That’s not something you can just…get over.”
I close my eyes. “You didn’t know, Sasha. You didn’t know me, or him, or what would transpire.”
It’s taken me some time to come to terms with the fact, but I don’t blame Sasha. He was following orders, doing a job, nothing more. Enrique was the perpetrator in all of this. Every single part. He always has been.
“You forgave me for trying to kill you,” I say.
“It was justified.”
“You would have let me kill you,” I whisper.
We both know he could have stopped me in a heartbeat, but he didn’t. He was willing to die, and for what?
“To bring you peace, yes. For some kind of justice for all your loss, yes.”
“You feel guilty for killing a man you didn’t know.”
His jaw clenches, and a low breath hisses from him. “If I’d known…” His eyes lock with mine. “How could I possibly have predicted you, malyshka?” For a moment, he looks so lost as though nothing in his world makes sense anymore.
I reach out, cupping his jaw. “I forgive you.”
He closes his eyes, leaning into my hold. “Do not say the words if you do not mean them, Adelina. This is no small thing.”
I shift closer to him, and his eyes flash open, icy blue baring into me as though he could see my soul. “I mean them, Sasha. You’re a good man. I know that.”
“I kill people for a living.” For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks like he regrets that.
“My father killed people, so did Gabi. It’s just business.” I snap. “I won’t justify how I feel about you. If it’s wrong, then so be it.” I close my eyes and drop my forehead to his, inhaling the clean, minty scent that always seems to cling to him. “You’re all I have left, Sasha.” Realization washes over me, and I push away from him, trying to steel my heart. “But if you don’t feel the same way, I understand.”
A small smile touches his lips as he tilts his head to the side. “Malyshka,” he practically purrs. “I love you in a way I didn’t believe existed before. You are…a rainbow to a blind man.”
I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, clinging to him.
“But, you need to grieve. You’re vulnerable at the moment. Forgiving me may be rash.”
I consider his words for a second. “You know the funny thing is, I’ve come to terms with my father’s death. He ran a mafia, did bad things. He chose this life, and ultimately it caught up with him. I still can’t truly forgive him for selling me to Enrique in the first place.” I drop my gaze to my knotted fingers in my lap. “It’s Gabi I can’t get past.” I blink back tears. I feel like I’ve cried so much in the last few months. “She was young, a naïve girl trying to follow in Daddy’s footsteps.” I shake my head. “She deserved so much more, Sasha.”
“I know,” he whispers. “The world is not just.”
“I need you. Please don’t leave me.”
He stares at me for long moments before he lets out a sigh. “I am here for as long as you need me, malyshka.”
“Promise?”
He smiles. “Always.”
That should be enough, but it’s not. A small voice in the back of my mind whispers that I’m weak, and he sees it. I am here for as long as you need me. What happens when I don’t need him?
The scent of coffee and French toast fills the kitchen. The TV plays on the counter, the incessant thrum a backing noise to the chatter in the kitchen. Lorenzo sits at one end of the breakfast bar, two of his men on either side of him. They’re discussing last night’s football game. The old man is still not himself, grief has warped him, as it has me, but we’re both trying to survive and live the best we can. It’s still fresh and raw. Gabriella isn’t even in the ground yet.
I grab a cup of coffee and prop my hip against the bar, clasping the mug in my hands. Sasha comes to stand beside me, his arm brushing mine seemingly casually, but I’m hyperaware of him.
