Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
"My son," my grandfather says in his shaky, rasping voice. "You look as if you’ve seen a ghost."
Vadka sits back in his chair and takes a swig from a bottle. "I don’t know if I’d describe him that way. Looks like he’s angry." He tips his head to the side. "Somebody key your car again, boss?"
He’s the only one I let get away with bullshit like this. "Got another one?" I ask him. Of course he does. He takes the cold drink from the ground beside him, pops the top off, and hands it to me.
I gulp half of it before I speak. I swallow and sigh, looking over the balcony. "She has no memory of who she is."
"No shit," Vadka says, his eyes wide. My grandfather doesn’t respond at first, though his bushy gray eyebrows knit together.
"Are you positive about that?" he says quietly.
"That’s what Zoya tells me. I have to test it."
My grandfather nods thoughtfully, stroking the gray on his chin. "You definitely do. What does she gain from pretending she doesn’t know who she is?"
"Everything," I snap.
He holds up a hand before I continue. "Easy, son. Think. What does she gain if she’s your bride? Your wrath. Her lack of freedom. Punishment."
I talk over him. "Yes. Of course. She earned that by putting our entire family at risk." He shakes his head and raises a palm.
"You don’t need to explain to me what’s at stake or why you’re angry." He doesn’t approve of our criminal empire but understands that his grandchildren were thrust into a life we couldn’t escape. He’s the calming presence in our family, offering wisdom in a world filled with brutality.
"If she doesn’t know who she is, does she escape any of that?"
I shake my head. "No."
"Then it stands to reason that she has nothing to gain by lying, correct?"
I swallow hard. "Correct."
"But think of what you gain if she doesn’t remember who she is."
I think, turning over the possibilities in my mind as if holding jewels in my palm, each facet reflecting sunlight. "A new story.”
Grandfather smiles. He may despise organized crime and eschew the Bratva, but he fits right in.
My thoughts race.
“If she doesn’t know who she is,” I continue, “maybe she never jilted me. We’re already married. Her family doesn’t know she escaped; nobody does. I spread the news of a secret ceremony so news gets out.
“You’ll make her wear your ring,” Vadka supplies. "The one she lost in the accident.” He chuckles. "I do love how your wicked mind works."
Grandfather watches us both with interest. "Of course, everyone needs to be in on this. Are you confident that deception is the way to continue?"
I face him, my temper rearing its ugly head. "She stood me up. She put everything I’ve worked for at risk. I’m doing her a favor if we skip straight to wedlock, and she’s now married to me."
My grandfather nods thoughtfully, his fingertips pressed together. "Fair enough. And what if her memory comes back?"
"By then, it will be too late.” I scowl. “She’ll belong to me.”
Grandfather continues nodding, his bushy white brows knit. "We need details about how her memory might work."
Even while I'm consumed by uncertainty, I have to maintain control. So I call Dr. Zuta, a trusted associate. The noonday sun is high on the horizon when he finally answers. My voice is low but forceful, the weight of my concern bearing down on me. I need to know if her memory loss is genuine. I need to discern whether or not she’s lying.
"Mr. Kopolov, to what do I owe this pleasure?" the doctor asks.
I explain quickly what happened. "So you need to determine if you're dealing with amnesia," the doctor summarizes. "In this case, if she truly has suffered trauma, it's not uncommon for memories to become fragmented or temporarily inaccessible. She may be confused or have gaps in memory, and there’s no real way to test if she is lying. What you'll have to do is watch for inconsistencies. But be careful, do not push too hard, or you could cause further damage."
My jaw tightens. I am not someone who suffers uncertainty, and I despise the ambiguity of the doctor’s words. My mind flashes back to Anissa—those fragile, hauntingly familiar eyes. Or were her eyes perhaps too wide? Is there anything I can trust about her?
"And if she is lying?" I ask, my hand clenched into a fist, my voice colder now. I'm trying to hide the desperation in my words. I’ve gone from chasing down the bride who stood me up to having one who may be deceiving me.
"There’s no real medical way to prove it," the doctor replies. "But as her memories return—and they very well may—there might be behavioral shifts. Maybe she'll react to you differently. Just treat her carefully for now. Her mind needs time to heal."