Midnight Purgatory (Bugrov Bratva #1)(89)

I inch a little closer, my breath slowing in my chest.

“She managed to convince our parents that it was the right decision for her. Her leukemia was aggressive. She wanted to enjoy her last few…” Her sob stops her in her tracks. “Fuck. This is why I hate talking about Ziva. I start blubbering like an idiot.”

“You’re not blubbering.”

She meets my eyes for a second. “The point is that I missed out on weeks with my sister because I was so busy trying to make her see things my way.”

“I would have done the same thing.”

She flinches and her eyes softly shutter. “That’s just it. It wasn’t my decision to make.”

“It was your job to protect her.”

This time, when she peeks up at me, she doesn’t look away. Like me, there’s a breath caught in her chest. Another tear runs down her cheek as she nods. “It was my job,” she agrees softly. “And I failed.”

“You didn’t convince her to start treatment again?”

She swallows. “I did, actually. By then, it didn’t make a difference. She spent her last few months in the hospital, puking her guts out, getting poked and prodded, hopped up on drugs that made her feel like shit.” The tears are coming fast now and all I want to do is hold her, but I know better than to venture close. “It wasn’t until the day she died that I realized how selfish I had been.”

“No,” I growl firmly. “You loved her. You wanted her to live.”

“I wanted her to live for me,” she corrects. “I made her life, her cancer, her pain all about me. I should have let her choose what she wanted. I should have given her the last few months of her life.”

I don’t consciously decide to move, but suddenly, I’m squatting in front of her, resting my hand on her knee. I notice the little spark of surprise in her eyes but she doesn’t try to move away from me.

“I have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life.”

“She died knowing you loved her.”

“She deserved more.”

“Most people do,” I agree solemnly. “Most people aren’t villains like I am. But the world isn’t fair.”

Her eyebrows pull together. “You think of yourself as a villain?”

I look at her in disbelief. “Don’t you?”

She looks down at my hand on her knee. It’s too late to remove it now, so I let it stay. “You like to pretend you are. But you’re not, Uri. You won’t make me believe that, no matter how hard you try.”

I can feel that little ripple of discomfort start to solidify. The same one that screams, Don’t fucking do it from the second I leave Alyssa’s company until the second I return.

“There it is,” she whispers with her eyes on me.

“There what is?”

“You may not know it, but you’re already looking for ways to push me away. I know that expression. I see it every time you pick a fight with me.”

My jaw clenches. I pull my hand away and get to my feet.

“Let me guess.” She laughs quietly. “You need to leave. I probably won’t see you again for days until you cave and come down to see me under some more false pretenses.” Dragging her eyes up to meet mine, she asks, “Is it so horrible to accept that I might be more than just your prisoner?”

“You are just my prisoner. You’re the one who’s trying to change the narrative.”

Alyssa just shakes her head in quiet disgust. “There it is,” she says again. “There it fucking is.”

“Just because you may know details of my life and my family does not mean you know me,” I snarl. “Don’t make the mistake of assuming you mean more to me than you do. But I suppose that’s typical of you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Ziva told you what she wanted, what she needed, and you refused to listen to her.” Her eyes go wide. Even as the words leave my mouth, I’m aware of what a colossal fucking asshole I’m being. And yet, I still can’t stop myself. “Apparently, denial is your defining characteristic.”

Her eyes go wide and I can see the tears standing there, ready to fall. “You… you bastard.” There’s a foot of space between us but it may as well be a mile-long road through hell. “Get out. Leave me the fuck alone.”

It’s what I wanted, wasn’t it? A reason to walk away without crossing the line yet again. I got exactly what I asked for.

But no victory has ever felt more hollow.





51





ALYSSA


“I brought you something.”

Lev opens his fist to reveal a single purple flower from the garden. Except the petals have wilted from the heat of his palm and the stem has snapped. He stares at the flower, his mouth dropping open with frustration.

“I… I killed it.”

“No, no, it’s okay, Lev.”

That familiar rocking starts up again. “I k-killed it. I killed it. I killed it. I—”

“Lev.” My tone is sharp enough to get his attention. I reach out and take the flower from his palm. “I love it. Thank you.”

He looks unsure. “It’s dead.”