«What do you mean?»
«We tried calling the last numbers you dialed—from your phone—to inform your relatives…» she began.
Spartacus shot up, his strength returning with anger. «Who asked you to do that?!»
His fury surged. His poor mother was probably having a heart attack by now. He covered his face with his hand. What kind of punishment is this?!
«We told them you were fine,» Valeria said gently, guessing his worry. «No one’s panicking, if that helps you feel better…»
Then she added in a whisper, «But tragedy didn’t strike you, Spartacus… at least, not yet.»
His breath caught in his throat. He froze.
«Your wife, she…»
«What about my wife?»
«She’s… gone.» Valeria covered her mouth. «She fell from the fifth-floor window.»
«Nadya?» he rasped.
«Yes…» she nodded, her face contorted with sorrow. «You’re still too weak for this news, but it can’t be hidden.»
«Who the hell are you, damn it?! Did her father send you here to poison me with this nonsense?! Get out!» he shouted, jumping out of bed.
Enough. This was too much. So she wanted to die? Great—he’d help her now!
He lunged at her, but orderlies were already rushing in. More staff joined them. No one could restrain him—he tossed them off with brute force, thrashing like a man possessed, aiming to reach the lying suicidal woman.
Then a nurse, with surprising precision, jabbed a needle into his arm. He kept fighting, swearing, punching—until the sedative took effect. His movements slowed, the world blurred, and he slumped into the arms of the men in white coats.
When Spartacus finally lifted his heavy eyelids, he didn’t see Valeria or the nurse. Instead, a stern male face hovered above him, expressionless.
“Is he awake?” the man asked someone.
“He’s coming around,” the nurse answered.
Spartacus turned his head and saw the familiar gleam of a needle in her hand, ready for round two.
«Don’t you dare drug me again,» he muttered. «Just leave me alone.»
“Good afternoon, Mr. Rudov,” the man said, opening a badge in front of his face.
Spartacus blinked at the ID.
“I’m a prosecutor. Spartacus Germanovich Rudov, you are under investigation. You are being charged with driving citizen Nadya Vladimirovna Klimova to suicide through psychological abuse.”
Spartacus shot up.
“No!” he yelled, his eyes bloodshot. “You’re lying!”
His fists clenched.
“Unfortunately, I’m not,” the prosecutor said more gently. “I’m sorry for your loss, but it’s the truth. Your wife jumped out of a window and died on the scene.”
He covered his face with both hands and howled. He screamed like a madman. The moment they tried to calm him, the nurse injected him again, and everything faded to black.
Chapter 8
“I’m your attorney. My name is Dmitry,” the man introduced himself, pulling a folder from his briefcase.
Spartacus looked at him blankly, then lowered his eyes.
“Your late wife's father has pressed charges against you,” the lawyer began as he took a seat across from the accused in the empty interrogation room.
“How much time am I facing?” Spartacus asked in a lifeless voice.
“A lot. More than fifteen years. But thanks to Valeria Igorevna, you won’t serve a day.”
“She a magician?” Spartacus muttered bitterly.
“You shouldn’t be sarcastic. She spared no expense to prove the evidence against you was fabricated.”
He sighed and looked at the lawyer. “What kind of evidence did Nadya’s father bring?”
“He brought in people who claimed you hired them to kidnap her, intending to use her for blackmail.”
Spartacus shook his head and groaned, burying his face in his hands.
“These people are now on our side. Don’t worry. They’re going to retract their statements.”