I SIT IN AN interview room, a two-way glass mirror in front of me, but for now, I’m alone. I keep my face completely impassive as I think about Quinn. I hope that she’s okay, that Mika and Timofei are taking proper care of her, and that she’s somewhere safe.
I wonder exactly how the police have decided I am a suspect in the murder of Oswald Johnson. I had him killed, of course, and with pride—but how they found out I was even involved, I have no clue.
A detective walks in wearing a shitty, cheap suit that is ill fitting. He’s a cliché, and I almost laugh, but I refuse to show any type of emotion at all, especially to authority.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asks as he sits down.
I arch a brow, but otherwise, I don’t say a word. I’ve already asked for my lawyer, and I know that Mika has most likely already called someone to come to my aide. If this asshole thinks he’s going to get something out of me, he must be fucking insane.
“You’re under suspicion for the murder of D.A. Oswald Johnson. Do you realize what kind of prison time that will get you if you’re convicted?”
Again, I refuse to answer, choosing instead to just stare at him as if I’m bored as shit. Which, quite frankly, I am.
“Would be a shame to leave such a pretty little wife at home for so long,” he grins, hoping to get a rise out of me by talking about Quinn.
“I know she fucked Oswald. He had some of her shit in his house,” he grins.
I continue to keep my face impassive, wondering why I didn’t burn that fucker down when I had the chance.
Just then, the door opens, and a man in a suit almost as expensive as the ones I own, walks in. He takes a glance at me, but his focus stays on the detective as he speaks.
“I know that you are not questioning my client after he’s already invoked his right to an attorney,” he asks.
“Not at all, just having a friendly conversation,” he clucks as he stands. “I’ll leave you alone with your client.”
“Turn the speakers off, too. I have my second chair just outside to ensure that it will be done properly,” my attorney says. I fight the smile that’s threatening to form on my lips.
Once the detective is out of the room, my attorney takes his vacated chair across from me and waits until there is a knock on the door. Only then does he speak.
“Pasha Vetrov sent me,” he states.
“He claims he found something of my wife’s in Johnson’s home. He hasn’t said anything else,” I murmur.
“Was your wife in his home?”
“She was. He seduced her before we were married, and he abused her. Later, I found out that he, his father, and my wife’s father were in on a sex trafficking ring, one that also included the Cartel. Johnson was training my wife to sell. She was listed on a black-market website as a fully trained slave. She escaped and came to me; since then, we’ve married.”
“No chance you gained any of this information through legal means?” he asks, arching a brow.
“Do I really need to answer that?” I chuckle.
“You have his father’s name, and her father’s name, so that I can get my staff to legally research all of this?”
“His father is FBI Agent Bryce Wilson, and her father is Johan Parker. Good luck finding them to testify though,” I shrug. His eyes snap to mine before he gives an acknowledging nod. “Money was exchanged, but it was all through off-shore accounts,” I explain.
“Okay, I have enough here to get started. Now, you’ll be up for your bail hearing soon. Depending on the judge, I can pretty much assure that you will not make bail. Instead, you’ll be held until your trial, mainly because this is such a high profile case. Even if I had your judge in my pocket, it would look really bad to let a suspected murderer of the city’s District Attorney to just waltz out of there and go on home to his little wife.”
“Yeah, I understand,” I grunt, lifting my chin.
“But, that being said, you won’t serve a minute in prison. I can guarantee that,” he mutters.
I nod as he stands and walks around the table, his hand clapping on my shoulder.
“I’ll be meeting with Mika shortly. Anything you want me to relay to your wife?”
I tip my head back slightly and shake my head once before I speak. I think about telling her nothing, but the way I was taken out of the house, the fear in her eyes, I have to ensure her that everything will be okay—that I will be okay.
“Tell her it will all be all right. I’ll see her soon, yeah?”
“Sure thing. I’ll be standing next to you at your bail hearing.” He nods once before he turns and walks away.
The police come in and handcuff me before they silently walk me to a holding cell, where I’ll wait until my bail hearing. Then I’ll probably be hauled off to jail. My attorney is right. They’re not going to let me out on bail, no way in fuck. I rub my hands over my face in frustration.
I open my eyes to see Mika, Timofei, and a handsome older man, in a very nice suit, standing just a few feet away from me, conversing with each other.
Sitting up, I stifle a yawn and wipe the sleep out of my eyes. Timofei clears his throat and juts his chin in my direction, making Mika and the stranger turn around and look at me.
“Quinn, this is Matthew Radcliff, Ziven’s attorney,” Mika explains as I stand up.
Matthew holds his hand out, and I wrap mine in his as he shakes it gently.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Dorosha,” he murmurs, his voice much deeper than I anticipated for his frame and height.
“Quinn is fine,” I smile as he releases my hand.
“I was just talking with Mika and Timofei about what our plans are going forward. Ziven informed me briefly of how you knew Oswald Johnson, and how you found yourself residing in his home, as well as his plans for your future until you escaped.”
I feel as though all of the air has been squeezed from my lungs. This, all of this, every single thing, is my fault. Had I not run from Ziven, or had I run from Oswald and just disappeared and not come back to Ziven, then this would have never happened.
“Stop those thoughts, mishka,” Mika’s voice rumbles through the room. I lift my eyes to look at him. “I can hear you from here. This is not your fault. That sick fuck started it, and we’re going to finish it. Ziven won’t be convicted, I guarantee it.”
“Now, he’ll probably have to stay in jail until the trial, just because of the publicity of this whole thing. But Mika is right. He won’t be going to prison,” Matthew assures me. “I have to go, but I’ll stay in contact. Mika, I’ll text you when I get the time for the bail hearing.”
Matthew starts to leave, but before he does, he walks over to me and wraps his hand around my shoulder and whispers that Ziven will be okay, and he’ll see me soon, ending his message with a wink. Timofei, Mika, and I are left just silently staring at each other—or staring off into space is more like it.
“How long could this take?” I ask, finally breaking the silence.
“We’ll take care of you, Quinn,” Mika murmurs.
“That didn’t answer my question,” I say, raising my voice.
“At minimum, a few months,” Timofei states.
My legs give out from beneath me and my ass lands back on the sofa as I stare up at the both of them, slack jawed.
Months.
Months without my Ziven, without the man I love at my side.
I don’t know if I can handle that, if my strength can last that long without him.
“I—I think I need to lie down,” I whisper. They both nod.
I walk on shaky legs until I reach one of the bedrooms, and then I close the door, sinking to my ass, bending my knees before I bury my face in them and cry.
I have no doubt that Mika and Timofei will care for me, but they aren’t Ziven—they aren’t my husband.
There will be nobody to hold me in my sleep, to kiss me, to eat my baked goods and complain that I’m going to make him fat.
I’m hurting him.
I keep hurting him, even when I don’t mean to.
I keep doing it.
Over and over again.
I love him so much, my chest aches. All of me aches at the thought of not being able to kiss and hold him for months.
I let my head fall back against the door with a gentle thud, and I just breathe. I take deep breaths in and let them out before I repeat myself, then I make myself stand up. I crawl between the sheets and curl into a ball.
I need to sleep. I need to rest and relax, or at least try to. I have a feeling that the journey I’m about to embark on is going to be every bit as rocky as I can imagine, maybe even more so.
I didn’t pack anything super nice when I left the condo in a rush, so Mika has to take me back to get an outfit for Ziven’s bail hearing.
I ignore the fact that the front door still looks like a patched-up disaster and hurry to my closet. I refuse to look at Ziven’s side. I don’t want to see all of his perfectly spaced out dark suits, or his shirts that are in the exact same fashion, except in order by color from light to dark.
I take a simple, dark sheath dress that is long sleeve, black, and tight fitted, stopping just below my knees. Then I pull on a pair of nude tights and slide on a pair of black ankle bootie high heels. I did my hair and makeup at the hotel, so now I’m ready to go.
Mika’s eyebrows lift when he sees me, and I have to assume it’s because I’m ready so quickly, and not because I’m wearing a skintight dress. A dress that wasn’t quite so tight the day I bought it, proving that I’ve indeed gained some weight.
“Ready?”
“No,” I answer truthfully as I slide my waist length fur coat on.
“You’re wearing a fur?” Mika asks as we walk out of the condo.
“Might as well look like a badass Bratva wife,” I mutter as I force a grin, sliding my sunglasses on.
“You know Ziven will probably crack a smile when he sees you in your fur and black dress,” he chuckles.
“I’m sure he will.”
As soon as we’re in the car and headed toward the courthouse, my thoughts are consumed of Ziven and only Ziven. Nothing else exists.
I have zero hope that he’ll be allowed to come home, or that bail will even be set. We’re all pretty convinced that he’s going to be remanded to jail until his trial.
We pull up to the familiar courthouse, and I fight back the tears. Weeks ago, just weeks ago, I was walking through the doors to marry Ziven. Now, I’m walking through the doors to watch him make a plea of guilty or not-guilty for murder.
Mika presses his palm to my lower back as we walk through the doors, and I gasp in surprise. Every single seat is taken on the rows of benches, and they’re all by men wearing black suits. A few women litter the audience, but it’s mostly men in black.
I tip my head up to Mika, and he only gives me half a grin as he continues to walk down the center of the aisle, nudging me along as he does. He guides me right up to the front row, where there are several empty seats. I sit down, Mika slides in next to me, and I look to my left to see Kristy sitting there. She wraps her hand around mine and gives it a gentle squeeze.
“Mika wanted you to have a friend for support. I hope it’s okay that I’m here,” she whispers as she leans over.
“It is. Thank you so much for coming,” I say softly.
“We still have that other matter to attend to,” she says as her eyes dip to my belly.
I shake my head, having forgotten about that, but I don’t need a pregnancy test. The evidence that I am indeed not having Ziven’s baby came in the middle of the night.
“Not necessary,” I whisper.
“Damn,” she sighs.
“One day.”
“One day, for sure,” she smirks.
There is a low murmuring that ratchets up a tad when there is a commotion at the front of the room. I gasp when I see Ziven being brought in, wearing handcuffs.
I let out a sigh when I see that he’s wearing one of his beautiful suits. He looks tired, but otherwise okay. His eyes meet mine as he walks to his seat, and he lifts his brows before he shakes his head with a smirk on his lips.
He likes my mafia wife look.
I listen as my husband enters his plea of not-guilty, and then I continue to listen when the judge remands him to jail to await his trial, a date that has yet to be determined. As soon as the judge slams his gavel down, we all stand as he leaves.
I reach over the banister to give my husband a hug. A bailiff walks over to us to cuff him before he immediately wraps his arms around me to hold me as close as they can. I feel his lips brush mine, and then he moves them to my ear.
“Be strong, katyonak. I won’t be here for long, yeah?”
“Okay, Ziven. I love you,” I whisper.
I try as hard as I can to hold my shit together, mainly because every man that is part of the organization in Denver is watching me. Timofei and Mika both made it very clear that I was not to show any signs of weakness in public, and that definitely includes no crying.
“Love you, too, katyonak.”
We don’t say anything else to each other as a guard comes and slaps handcuffs back on his wrists before taking him away from me. I watch as he goes, careful to make a conscious effort not to cry.
Kristy pulls me in for a hug and tells me to call her when I’m able to meet up again. I nod and give her hand a squeeze. If I talk, I’ll cry, so I stay silent. I can tell by the look in her eyes that she understands me.
Mika places his hand at my back again and guides me to the center aisle. Not one Bratva member has moved. With my head up, I walk beside my guard, my friend, and I stay strong as I do it, too.
“You did good, mishka,” Mika murmurs as we step outside.
Timofei appears at my other side, and together the three of us walk to the car. Once I’m loaded in the back, Timofei sits in the passenger seat and Mika in the driver’s.
“What happens now?” I ask.
“We wait,” Timofei rumbles.
“Can I do anything to help while we just—wait?” I ask.
“If Radcliff needs something, he’ll contact Tomfei or me. You give him whatever information he needs. Other than that, you just wait for instruction in general,” Mika mutters.
“This waiting, it’s like torture,” I whisper.
“Yes, but we must play it safely. We can afford no mistakes, and the media is watching. Trust me,” Mika says.
I nod in understanding. I do understand him, no matter how difficult it is, I understand.
Oswald Johnson was a piece of shit. He enjoyed hurting and torturing me so much, that he’s figured out a way to do it from the fucking grave.