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"What the fuck did I do?" I groan, the guilt becoming an insurmountable mountain in my chest. "How could I let this happen?"

Dad pulls me into a hug. "No one saw this coming."

"I should've." I yank away from my father, my guilt morphing into white-hot rage. "I was so fucking sure no one would have the guts to take us on. It's because of my arrogance the woman I love was tortured." I lock eyes with him. "She can die."

"She won't. Mariya is strong."

The air rushes from my lungs, and I remember how hard she fought.

"Dio, Papà. You should've seen her fight. She was so fierce."

If I weren't consumed with fear, guilt, and anger, I'd take a moment to feel proud of Mariya.

Finding the strength in my parents, I nod. "She'll pull

through."

"Of course." Dad gives my shoulder a squeeze. "She has Koslov and Terrero blood in her veins, and neither is easy to kill."

I turn my gaze back to the window and just soak in the support and comfort my parents are offering me because I'm going to need it to get through the next couple of hours.

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