SHATTERED ILLUSIONS

Elara’s POV

Although I had never visited this hospital before, just now it felt all too familiar. Everything appeared to reflect the chilly indifference of the world I was born into—the white walls, the distant buzz of fluorescent lights, the faint whispers of staff strolling past. Though Mafia life had advantages, it also had drawbacks; I had always loathed the coldness around it. Here I was, though, standing at the emergency room's threshold, clutching sweets and flowers in a plastic bag, trying to somehow make the visit less embarrassing.

About Marko Kuznetsov, I conflicted emotions. Indeed, he was the ex-sister of mine and indeed, he was a dangerous man in every respect. But there was something about him that made me pity him. Not the merciless monster my relatives depicted him to be. Though no one ever bothered to find out, he had also suffered.

"Excuse me," I began, attempting to keep my voice steady as I went forward to the front desk receptionist. Here I am to see Marko Kuznetsov. He was admitted following an automobile accident.

The woman in her mid-40s who had dark circles under her eyes, the receptionist, stared at me like I had just asked her to clarify quantum physics. She tapped away on her keyboard then turned back to me with a neutral face.

"I'm sorry, Miss," she stated squarely. Early today, Mr. Kuznetsov was released.

My heartbeat dropped.

Not knowing exactly what I was expecting—maybe an apology, maybe a reconciliation, or maybe simply the chance to see the man who had previously been so vital to my sister, whose name had tormented the family for years—I had traveled all this way.

Dismissed. Exactly as such. Wordless.

I tried to control the flood of emotions threatening to sweep over me by hard swallowing. I nodded, trying to keep it together, and left the hospital head held. Every stride made the blooms feel more weight in my grasp.

I kept thinking about Marko as I climbed into my car. His world was one of coldness, power and danger; my family hated him for it. They had never seen him the way I did—or perhaps it was that I had always seen the damaged man behind the mafia chief. Now, though, I couldn't help but wonder if he was out there somewhere secluded, maybe even hostile to everyone who had turned their back on him.

I considered the last time I saw him—many months ago during a family get-together. He had been strange as well as charming, dangerous, definitely. Perhaps I had imagined it, but I had seen something in his eyes—something gentle that defied the image he wore so successfully. Once the love of his life was my sister Isabella. Though they had blazed brilliantly together, they both dropped hard when things went south. Still, why did I find myself thinking of him?

"Stop it," I said to myself, shaking my head as I drew up to the mansion. He is only trouble. always has been.

The great house loomed ahead, austere and chilly. Though I had not yet entered, I could already feel the weight of the family secrets bearing down on me. Inside, everyone was waiting for something to shatter, their breath thick with tension.

I stopped as soon as I entered the living room. As I pulled the door open, it creaked slightly and there they were—my lover, Dmitri, twisted in my sister's arms. His lips pressed tightly to hers, and she answered with such force that my stomach turned around.

My breath seized in my throat. For a while, stunned in incredulity, I stood there. It felt unreal. My heart thumping against my chest, I turned from Dmitri to Isabella. Was this some kind of cruel joke?

Dmitry? I crooned, the word coming out harsh as though I had swallowed glass. With wide-open disbelief, he withdrew from Isabella, but his eyes revealed only panic—not an apology.

Quickly turning away from Isabella, his voice low and guarded, he whispered, "Elara, wait; it's not what it looks like."

My thinking spun. As I turned from Dmitri to Isabella, whose haughtiness did little to cool the fire burning inside me, I could hear the blood hammer in my ears.

With a shaky voice, "You're kissing my sister," I managed to utter. How is it not what it appears like?

"Elara, we...." Dmitri's voice wavered, and he came toward me, but I immediately drew back, my chest tight with wrath.

Isabella interrupted two times, her voice icy and matter-of-fact. "It's not a big issue." Elara, we had kissed just twice. Simply said.

I was not able to breathe. As I digested her words—her laid-back attitude—my vision tunneled. "It simply occurred. I kept repeating, doubting. "Isabella, you are my sister." And he is my boyfriend as well.

She crossed her arms, her mouth curving into a smile that froze my blood. "Well, I wouldn't have had to search elsewhere for consolation if you hadn't always been so busy saving face for this family. Dmitri and I simply... became closer.

Her voice suddenly sounded to me as angry, with a barely veiled disdain. But it transcended Dmitri as well. It covered everything, her entitlement, her jealousy, her ongoing rivalry with me.

Beyond sadness, I felt a deep, burning burn in my chest. It was in its most basic form betrayal.

Hissed at her, my voice faltering with fury, "You're just... disgusting." "How long have things been going on??"

"It doesn't matter," she murmured, pushing her hair back as if the whole thing were only a slight annoyance. "It's done right now. Dmitri's mine. I'm not sure why you're drawing such attention to this. Elara, here we are a family. You should desire us to find pleasure.

Family.

It hit me like a slap. The exact individuals I had trusted—those meant to have my back—were the ones who had just pushed a dagger right into my heart.

Then there was Dmitri, there like a moron, his eyes begging me for some sort of pardon. But he was the one who had broken something inside me—something I wasn't sure could be healed.

Do you even give any thought? My voice breaking, I asked him. "Do you give anything other than your own convenience any thought?"

He did not respond right away. Though it would not matter anymore, I could see the guilt in his eyes. Nothing could turn back the treachery.

"I'm sorry, Elara," he added, approaching closely. "I never wanted it to turn out like this. You must grasp, I—“

But I could no longer pay attention. My heart hammering with a mix of wrath, treachery, and a deep, gnawing ache, I turned on my heels. I wasn sure whether to believe or feel. Everything I understood about loyalty, about love, had just been ripped apart.

My footsteps resounding in the empty corridor, I dashed from the living room. Looking at either of them made me sick now.

But something stopped me as I arrived at the door—a slight noise from the room's corner. First quiet and almost invisible, it then got louder.

a little rustle.

After that—click.

Someone had recently unlocked the basement door.

My breath seized in my throat. I had no desire for research. Who was down there was not something I wanted to know. Still, I found myself unable to control. Slowly turning toward the steps leading down to the basement, the hair on the back of my neck stood on edge.

And then the lights flickered and went out as I started ahead.

The quiet was overwhelming.

Then I listened for his voice.

"Did you really think you could flee Elara?"

Anywhere I would find a voice I could identify.

Leo.

Then all seemed to be whirling out of control.