After what felt like an eternity of silent grief, the car stopped. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to face the reality of a world without my family, a world where the people who had raised me saw me as a stranger. But his hand, so gentle and so strong, was on my chin, lifting my head until my tear-streaked face was looking at his.

“Moya solnyshko,” he whispered, his voice a low, raw rumble. “Look at me.”

I did. His eyes, those cold, hard emeralds, were now filled with a dangerous, ...