Three months later:
There’s still a hint of winter clinging to the air. But spring is on the way, and you can feel that particular lightness in the air that says the seasons are shifting.
That change is inevitable.
How fitting.
Vera sits next to me on a wooden bench, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. She looks different. The usual bitterness in her face has softened, and there’s something else there too. Reality settling in, maybe. Clarity. Probably regret.
“How’s sobriety going?” I ask, tucking my hands into my coat pockets.
Vera grimaces. “Sucks.”
She shakes her head, looking down at her hands with a wry smile.
“But… I’m happy for it. For the first time in a long time, I’m glad not to be numb all the time, to feel something, even if it’s shit I’d rather not feel.” She exhales slowly, rubbing a thumb over the rim of the mug. “I put every feeling I had into a black box for so long that I forgot what it’s like to actually feel them.”
I study her carefully. “And how’s that going for you?”
Vera smirks sourly. “Also sucks.”
I smile faintly. “Honesty looks good on you.”
She sighs. “That’s the point, though, isn’t it. To feel the shitty parts and work on them so you can become a better person, day by day.” She gestures vaguely around us. “That’s what they tell me in Group, anyway.”
The high fences, the locked gates, the ever-present security… Yeah, this isn’t some luxury treatment center tucked away in the Hamptons. This is court-ordered, long-term recovery.
When the fire consumed our old house, revealing the thirteen other bodies buried around it including my birth mother, and confirming what everyone had long suspected, namely that Arkadi’s crimes were even worse than first thought, Vera didn’t hide from it.
She admitted everything. Confessed every time she turned a blind eye or facilitated his crimes because she was too scared…or too weak…to stop him. She owned her part in it. Now, she’s paying for it. This place is the halfway point between consequence and redemption.
“You know,” I murmur, shifting on the bench, “we could look into moving you somewhere…nicer.”
Vera shakes her head. “Nah. I deserve a lot worse.”
She turns, meeting my gaze directly. “I’ve done a lot of bad shit, Lyra,” she says quietly. “Not to mention, I was a lousy mother.”
I huff a small laugh. “You weren’t that bad…”
She smirks. “Yeah. I was.”
She exhales, rubbing her coffee mug again before looking at me, weary sincerity in her expression. “And I need to atone for that. That’s not a simple ‘sorry.’ I’m learning here that it’s going to take time. Even then, I don’t think I’ll ever make it up to you entirely.”
I study her for a moment. “But you’re trying,” I finally say. “And that counts for something.”
She nods slowly. “Thanks. I hope so.”
Silence stretches between us, not quite comfortable, not quite tense. Just there.
Finally, she clears her throat. “Lyra, if I stay here instead of putting in for a transfer to somewhere else…” She lifts a shoulder. “Will you come visit? Since it’s right outside the city?” Her voice drops slightly, like she’s afraid of the answer.
I tilt my head, contemplating. Then I shrug. “Maybe?”
She lets out a small breath, her lips twitching. “I’ll take that.”
The ride back into the city is quiet. Carmine’s driver doesn’t say a word, and I’m grateful for that. My mind is too full. Of Vera. The past. What comes next.
But the moment we get home, all of that broodiness disappears. And the second I step inside, I don’t have time to think at all.
Because Carmine is already there, pouncing on me.
I let out a breathless giggle, pushing against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. His hands cage me in, his lips brushing my throat.
“I missed you, wife.”
I smirk. “Please. You saw me this morning.”
“That was at least three hours ago, which is way too fucking long.”
I shove him, laughing. “Our guests will be arriving soon. Including the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. De Luca.”
Carmine grins, his hands flexing on my waist. “Fuck, that’s seriously going to take some getting used to. Oh, and I just talked to Nico. He’s on his way with—”
“Hey, Carmine?” I interrupt, grinning mischievously.
He arches a brow. “Yes, dear?”
I get up on my tiptoes, whispering against his lips. “We have fifteen minutes before our guests arrive. How about you shut up and fuck me?”
His grin turns savage. “I’d better hear a please from that mouth, or I’m going to forcibly fill it with something else.”
I ostentatiously clamp my lips shut, saying nothing.
His grin darkens. ‘Now you’re in trouble, little dancer.’
“Promise?” I whisper, shivering as his fingers glide down my spine.
His eyes flash dangerously.
“Promise.”
