Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I only found out afterward Prodi had us for over two months.
“They starved us.”
Misha keeps quiet, and he doesn’t try to comfort me. He’s probably too scared I’ll lose my shit or stop talking.
I don’t blame him. Insane people are unpredictable.
Destructive emotions bubble in my chest. It feels as if the hell we endured has taken up residence in my soul.
The torment will never stop.
“I loved Everleigh,” I whisper. “Love. I love her.” Lifting my head, I lock eyes with Misha. “It feels like I’ve lost my soul.” I give him a pleading look. “I’m still stuck in the darkness, but she’s not there. I can’t think straight. I can’t live without her.”
Misha lifts his hand, and gripping my shoulder, he leans closer. “She would’ve wanted you to live, brother.”
Anger flares through me like a missile. “I wanted her to live! It doesn’t matter what she wants because she’s rotting in some unmarked grave!”
My emotions spiral, and I lose my mind.
“Alek!” I hear Misha shout.
I feel his hands as everything goes black, and I’m sucked into the darkness, where I keep shouting for Everleigh.
But there’s no answer.
There’s only the silence of death.
Chapter 19
Everleigh
Unlocking the front door, I push it open. Entering my house, which feels more like a grave than a home, I nudge my luggage to the side and lock up behind me.
Walking to the living room, I slump down on the couch and stare at the blank TV screen.
I’m exhausted from the long flight from Russia to Ohio.
Automatically my hand rests on my abdomen. It’s something I started doing when I found out I was pregnant.
Yelena, the kind nurse from the hospital, helped me get my belongings from the hotel. We were just in time as they were going to get rid of everything after three months.
She also helped me make a booking for a flight and dropped me off at the airport. I have her phone number, and although I promised to call, I don’t intend to.
I appreciate everything Yelena and Mr. Vlasov did for me. The old man came to check on me daily until he was sure I’d be okay, then I never saw him again.
I can’t call Yelena and risk the bratva finding out I’m still alive. It’s best I stop all contact.
Every day I pray the bratva have forgotten about me.
Everyone except for Alek.
There’s a sharp pain in my chest, and it feels as if my heart is being ripped out. Curling into a fetal position on the couch, I let out an agonizing cry.
I’ll never see Alek again.
For what feels like the millionth time, I break into a million pieces.
I barely survived my parents’ deaths, but there’s no surviving the loss of Alek.
In that tiny room, he became my everything – my heartbeat, my breaths, my sole purpose for existing.
How do I begin to deal with all the trauma I suffered? How do I pick up the pieces of my life?
In the safety of my family home, I cry for hours, but none of the tears make me feel better.
Once I calm down, I force myself to get up. I find a pad of paper and a pen and start to make a list of everything I need to do.
Put the house up for sale.
Pack everything.
Check the car’s oil and tires.
Hire a moving company.
Move to LA and start a new life.
Find a gynecologist in the LA area.
Get everything ready for the baby.
I let out a sigh as I set the pen down. When my stomach rumbles, I get up and head to the kitchen where I grab burritos from the freezer.
While they bake in the oven, I brush my hand over my abdomen.
At least you have a little piece of Alek with you.
I look down at my flat stomach, and for the first time, I talk to our unborn child. “Hi.” Intense emotions wash over me again, and my voice is strained as I whisper, “Thank you for not leaving me alone, little fighter.”
It’s taken me four months to sell my family home and to move to LA.
I’ve been super busy, and it’s kept me from losing my mind.
I’ve just entered my third trimester, and ‘little Alek’ is growing quickly.
When the doctor told me I was having a boy, I decided to name our baby Alek Vincent Adams – for Alek.
The past four months have done nothing to lessen the longing and heartache. The trauma is still there, and there’s no way I’ll see a therapist. I can’t bring myself to talk about everything that happened.
And no one will understand.
No one, but Alek.
Needing to take a load off my feet, I sit down on the couch and glare at all the boxes I still need to unpack.
I think Alek would be proud of me. I never thought I’d be able to sell my parents’ house and move across the country.