Page 59 of Gilded in Blood

“He was attacked. So we had to find someone else fast. Konstantin offered Ilya. Said he wasn’t affiliated with any of us. That’s how he came into the picture.”

I nod even though he can’t see me. “Oh. Okay. Well, Konstantin must really trust Ilya to send him over like that.”

“Yeah, he does,” Mikhail says. There’s a small pause, like he’s remembering something. “Actually, they met at some camp when they were teenagers. A religious camp. They bonded over their mutual hate for the whole thing.”

“Really? A religious camp?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.

“Yeah,” Mikhail says. “According to Konstantin, they faced a lot of punishment for small things, a lot of hypocrisy. They bonded over how much they hated it all. Pretty much turned them both into atheists unlike their families.”

I blink, my mind reeling. “Wait… so Ilya is an atheist? Just like Konstantin?”

“Of course,” my brother replies, sounding a little confused. “Why? Is there a problem?”

“No, no,” I say quickly, forcing a light laugh. “Not at all. Just… curious.”

The rest of the call passes in a blur. I try to focus on what Mikhail is saying, more updates about the family, but my mind keeps circling back to Ilya.

The cross tattoo on Ilya’s chest. The story he told me about his religious mother taking him to church. The book I had found on his nightstand.

If he’s an atheist why lie? Why carry that symbol permanently on his body? Why tell me about his mom if none of it was true?

Nothing is making sense.

By the time we hang up, I’m barely present. I drop the phone on the bed and stare at the ceiling.

Has he been lying to me, or does my brother have the wrong information about him?

My phone rings again, pulling me out of my thoughts. It’s Rachel, one of the coordinators at the shelter. She never calls at this hour. I answer quickly.

“Hi, Rachel. Is everything okay?”

There’s a pause. Her voice is unusually cold and clipped when she speaks. “Milana… I’m sorry to call you like this. It’s about Maria.”

My stomach drops. “What happened? Is she alright?”

Another pause. “She’s gone, Milana,” she whispers. “They found her in her apartment a few hours ago. She… she killed herself.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. The phone slips from my hand and clatters to the floor. A raw, broken sob tears out of me before I can stop it.

“No… no, no, no⁠—”

I sink down onto the floor, back against the bed, knees drawn up to my chest. The room feels like it’s spinning.

Maria, who fought so hard to get clean, who was finally starting to rebuild her life, who trusted me enough to share her story, is gone. Just like that.

The last time I called her, she didn’t respond. I expected to hear back from her. Not this. Not the news that she’s dead. She’s not supposed to be dead.

I don’t even hear the door open, but suddenly Ilya is there, gun drawn, eyes scanning the room for threats. The second he sees me on the floor, he holsters the weapon and drops down beside me.

“Milana? Hey, what happened? Are you hurt?” His hands are on my shoulders, gentle, searching for injury.

I can barely get the words out between sobs. “She’s dead… she’s dead… Maria… she killed herself…”

He doesn’t ask for more details. He just pulls me into his arms, wrapping me up against his chest.

One big hand strokes my back in slow, steady circles while the other holds the back of my head, fingers threading gently through my hair.

I cry harder, face buried in his shirt, fists clutching the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. All the pain, all the helplessness I feel for the women I try to help crashes over me at once.