Sasha's POV:
It had been two months since I woke up.
My days were filled with nurses drifting in and out of my room, checking vitals, jotting notes, muttering progress reports. A few weeks back I'd started physical therapy, and now I could almost walk one full stretch of the hallway with the help of a walking stick.
The soreness in my body had dulled little by little, and I was moving more on my own. I could even go to the bathroom without help.
Funny, the things that make me proud these days.
As usual, my mother hovered around me like we were symbiotes. Papa and I had to practically threaten her into taking a day off and resting at home. It was nice having time alone with him again. I had missed him, even though he visited me often.
My grandmother had finally returned to Grandfather's side now that I was somewhat stable. Still, she called me every single day—while also checking up on my mother.
But my brother? Still M.I.A.
It was as if everyone had signed a silent pact not to mention him. Every time I asked, the conversation veered off into another direction. It was really starting to get on my nerves. Still, I tried to piece together scraps of information, eavesdropping whenever I got the chance.
And yes—I still remembered.
The fact that I'd reincarnated.
Into a dark romance novel, of all things.
I had nearly screamed the house down when I first realized it. Remembering my past life was one thing—at least that I could make peace with. But being born into a novel? That was a whole new ball game.
How much has my existence already changed the plot? What would happen to my family—the people I'd grown to love in this life?
The butterfly effect should have already started. I had no idea what kind of storms were coming. Would this world still follow the plotline… or twist into something else entirely because of me?
Those thoughts haunted me for a week before I forced myself to let go.
An idle mind is the devil's workshop.
And I had better things to focus on than spiraling into depression over things I couldn't control.
Like my kidnapping.
From what I remembered—both from experience and the plot—it had been the Krug Zmeev. Translation: The Circle of Serpents. A vindictive rival gang to our Bratva, neck-deep in child and human trafficking.
The one thing I respected about my father's values was that he refused to deal in trafficking. That one moral line made him a million times better than those who did.
And this was coming from someone who had been a slave to that system for most of her youth.
Back to the bloody scum who kidnapped me. I had some idea of their internal systems, thanks to Nikolai's book. His entire story had revolved around digging into them—with his lover, of course. Which also meant a lot of romantic tension and scenes I now wished I could bleach out of my brain.
Sorry, brother. This sister deeply regrets reading those parts.
But the most infuriating piece of it all was the mole.
Papa's close circle had a double agent—a traitor who played a role in my death. For some reason, I couldn't remember his name, or anything that might identify him. My kidnappers hadn't given me anything useful, and even trying to recall the details made me nauseous.
Looks like I've got my work cut out for me.
Sigh.