Page 55 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

With Violet.

For a moment, everything tunnels and goes hollow in my chest. Sandrine is pale, her entire body drawn tight and rocking.

Only then does Violet notice me.

“Daddy!” Her voice slices through the pounding of my heart. “This lady is scared!”

“Come here, Violet.” I reach out to her, relieved when she runs toward me.

No, she bolts and launches herself into my arms. I catch her and lift her against me.

My hand cradles the back of her head. “It’s okay.”

But my gaze never leaves Sandrine as her vacant eyes drift my way. There’s a fragile recognition lingering there. Not the kind I want.

She turns away to stare straight ahead, lips trembling. Christ, she looks like she’s about to pass out. Her breathing is uneven, her gaze not focusing. Her terrified face is a memory I buried a long time ago.

She’s breaking apart before my eyes. And in front of my daughter’s eyes. It’s happening in real time.

“Kirill?” Ksenia’s urgent voice cuts in from the arch behind me.

Drago is with her, hand in his jacket. We don’t face crises like this in our home.

“Take Violet to her bedroom,” I say to my sister, my voice low and controlled as I pass Violet into Ksenia’s waiting arms. “Now. Do not leave her alone. Drago, you stay.”

Violet protests immediately. “Daddy, no!”

“I’ll be right there,” I tell her, softer this time, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “I promise.”

When they step away, I rush to Sandrine. Her hands clutch at her head as she continues to rock. A low, broken sound escapes her. It cuts a deep gash in my heart.

This must be an episode. Too much stress from her head trauma, perhaps. I sit next to her. My hands hover for a second before I dare to touch her, unsure if the contact will help or make it worse.

I need to research traumatic brain injuries to know the signs of an episode from the damage, know the triggers, and most importantly, the ways to comfort Sandrine. Because fuck, I want to comfort her. Her injuries and amnesia were words on a piece of paper last night. Now this situation is real.

“Sandrine?” I speak gently. “Look at me.”

Nothing.

I try a rougher voice to break through. My control is slipping despite all that I’ve endured. “Sandrine, look at me.”

She shakes her head, her eyes squeezed shut. Her breathing is so erratic, her entire body is caught in a loop she can’t break out of.

“Drago,” I snap, not looking away from Sandrine. “Get Lourdes. Now. They are in the residence wing outside her bedroom.”

“Yes, Pakhan.” His heavy footsteps trace my lighter ones from minutes earlier.

I lean in and whisper, “Your sister is here.”

I want to hug Sandrine, but I don’t know her touch sensitivities.

All I can do is watch the woman I once loved rock over and over, trapped in something I don’t understand.

What have I done?

Voices in the hallway overlap in quick, urgent bursts. Seconds later Lourdes explodes into the room, and I move away instantly.

“Oh my God, Jessica. I’m here.” She drops to her knees in front of Sandrine, who collapses against her sister, sobs coming hard now.