Chapter 294: Love is not something you buy with time

Outside the window, a bird landed on the sill and sang one clear note and flew away. Helena stood by the bed with the empty gun on the sill behind her and the bullets heavy in her pocket. She looked at the man who had killed her husband, saved him, and kept her for twenty years.

She did not know which one of them she hated more. "Love is not something you buy with time," Helena said.

She said it softly, and it landed harder than a shout. The Don lay still against the pillows and did not answer.

"I love your brother. That has never changed, not for one day, not in all those years." She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. "And you will always be the man who ruined our lives."

The words hung in the air between them.

Konstantin looked at her for a long time. The color was coming back to his face a little at a time, and his breath was steadier. The fresh bandage, the pills, and the quiet had done their work. He pushed himself higher on the pillows, and when he spoke, his voice was stronger.

"Then what is it going to be?" She said nothing. "You know I am not lying. You can tell. You have always been able to tell." He tilted his head. "You read me like a book for twenty years. So read me now."

She did. That was the worst part. She looked at his tired, gray, stubborn face, and every line of it said the same thing. It is true. All of it. Konstino, the machine in his chest, and the clock inside her daughter.

"I do not need your help," Helena said. Her voice shook, and she made it stop. "I will find Katty myself. And you will take me to Kontino." She turned and walked to the door.

The key was still in the lock. She turned it, and the bolt slid back with a soft click. She pulled the door open. The guards were standing right there.

There were four of them, shoulder to shoulder, tall and stiff in their black suits. They had been there all night. They did not look surprised to see her. They only looked at her, and then past her, into the room.

Behind her, from the bed, the Don spoke. "I do not think so, darling Helena." His voice was gentle. It was warm and calm, as if he were refusing a second cup of tea.

"I cannot let you get hurt." The guards moved.

They did not grab her. They only stepped forward, all four at once, and closed the gap in the doorway like a gate. Their shoulders touched. Their hands hung loose at their sides. Nobody said a word, and nobody had to.

Helena stood very still.

She felt the bullets in her pocket, heavy and useless. She thought of the empty gun on the windowsill. She had cut every wire in this room and taken every weapon, and she had never once thought to guard the door from the outside.

I locked myself in with him, she thought. And I never thought about who held the key. "Whatever I said was true," the Don said.

He had swung his legs over the side of the bed. He sat there with one hand braced on the mattress, and the other, in its white bandage, held against his chest. His face was damp, but his eyes were clear.

"The part about my brother. The part about Katalia’s heart. All of it. But the other thing I said was also true." He looked at her. "That I love you. That I cannot lose you."

"You are not loving me. You are keeping me."

"Both can be true." He stood up slowly. "So you are staying here. Where it is safe."

"Konstantin..."

"And for Katty, our baby, I will find her." He said the old nickname easily, as if it had always been his.

"It is my job to protect her. It is the only thing I have ever wanted to do right." He crossed the floor with careful steps.

"I am not even angry that she tried to run. I understand it. I would have done the same." His mouth moved in a faint smile. "She has your spine. I will never hurt her. I told you that before, and I am telling you again."

He stopped in front of the door.

The guards parted for him. They shifted aside, two on each side, and he walked between them like a man leaving a church then he turned.

The smile was gone. The softness went out of his face all at once, as if someone had wiped it away with a cloth, and what was left was flat and gray and tired.

"I will see you after I find our daughter," he said. "Wait for me. I will be back soon." He walked away. The guards stepped back into place. The door closed in front of Helena’s face with a heavy, quiet thud.

The key turned on the outside. She stood in the middle of the room for a long time.

The morning light came through the tall windows and fell across the bed. The sheets were wrinkled where he had lain. On the floor beside the table, a dish held a small silver bullet and a spot of dried blood.

She did not cry. She had no tears left. She only stood, and she thought. I did it right. I did everything right.

She had played the empty wife for years. She had planted the seed and watched it grow. She had slipped one page into a leather folder, and a sleepy man had signed it with a shaking hand. By the law of the country, she was free. Not one stone of his empire could fall on her head.

I won.

But she was in a locked room, in his house, behind his guards, with her daughter running through the dark and her husband asleep in some hidden place, and no one in the world who knew where to find either of them.

She was free in every way that could be written on paper. And she was trapped in every way that mattered. This is my fault, she thought. I should have gone with her. I should have taken her hand when she held it out.

She sat down slowly on the edge of the bed and pressed her palms against her eyes.