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“You can’t kill me,” I shout. “The commissions are waiting for us. They—”
“Don’t you understand?” Timur says. “You set it all up. You shot Vlad. I was working a scam for Sissi to get the Morettis on the run, but I changed my mind once I knew who you were. It’s easy to fake information when you’re the one who manufactured the data in the first place.”
I’m dizzy. It’s hot in the car, and my head is in agony. How much of this will I remember? Is it even happening?”
“Can’t be true,” I mumble.
“Oh boy, you’re slow at times,” Timur laughs. “This is for real. The komissiya sanctioned your murder and gave me the hit. They thanked me, Arman. Imagine that! So I’m paid up, and I have a new job. Guess what it is? I’ll give you a hint—it used to be yours.”
No.
“Leave Lilyana alone, Timur,” I say. “This has nothing to do with her.”
“You should have left her alone.” The car is slowing down now, rumbling over gravel. “I intend to steal or destroy everything you care about. She’s your treasure, isn’t she?” I hear the sneer in his voice. “Your tsvetok. Well, don’t worry. She’s mine now, and she won’t miss you when she sees what I’ve got for her.”
The car slows to a halt, and Timur gets out. I hear him moving things in the trunk; something metallic.
Timur is my brother, and he’s gonna kill me. I don’t care about that; if I could, I’d trade my life for Lilyana’s without a moment’s hesitation. Like me, Timur knows that some things are far worse than death, and he’s determined to send me to mine with the knowledge that my beloved wife will suffer more than I did.
Timur opens the rear passenger door, and I twist to look at him.
“It’s me you despise,” I say. “Torture me, hurt me, make me bleed; I don’t give a fuck. Take your pound of flesh if you must, but you’d better take it from me and me alone. Because I swear, Timur—if you hurt my wife, the Devil himself will give me a pass to return and fuck you up. I’ll crawl out of the depths of Hell and drag you down there with me.” I narrow my eyes, hatred coursing through me. “You can’t kill me enough, you cunt. I’ll get you for this.”
Timur’s grin tells me plenty. I close my eyes and mumble quietly to myself.
“What are you saying now?” he asks, leaning over me. “Speak up, you idiot.”
As soon as he gets close enough, I bring my head up with speed, and my forehead meets the bridge of Timur’s nose. He screams as blood streams from his face, spattering over me, and I twist my body, trying to get to my feet.
The gun is ice cold, pressing a circle of pressure into my temple. “I hope it was worth it, dear brat of mine. No one will look for you where you’re going, let alone find you.”
He hasn’t shot me yet. I might have a chance to escape if I can—
The sting is deep and sudden in the muscle of my thigh, and already, the light is fading. Timur holds up a hypodermic needle. His voice comes to me through a thick fog as the world falls away.
“Give my regards to Papa.”
43
Lilyana
Sasha's phone rings, and at first, no one hears it. The trills and hums of the machinery in Vlad's room have become ambient, masking the ringtone, but eventually, Sasha picks it up.
I'm not listening. All I can think about is the tragic, sick state of affairs that brought us here. Love is a beautiful thing, but it has the potential to cause the most profound pain. I wouldn't be this afraid if I didn't love my brother or carry such guilt and powerlessness if I didn't love my husband.
Even if Arman succeeds in bringing the Morettis to heel, what then? Who will admit to shooting Vlad? The perpetrator will understand their life is worth nothing if they are found out. Even if the Morettis are responsible, confessing wouldn't be a smart move. They will likely get away with it, just like when my father was almost assassinated. Except this time, it was close. So close.
I want my life to begin. The life I never thought I'd have with the man who has already given body, heart, and soul for me. Arman is the only thing I'm sure about. I bet it all on him.
A voice cuts through my thoughts, and I realize it's Sasha. He doesn't sound like himself.
"I think I'm misunderstanding this somehow," he says. "You're telling me Arman…" His words die on his lips, and although the person on the other end can't hear him, he nods. "No. I'm still here. You've seen evidence? From where? What do you mean?"
The room grows darker, and a chill rises inside me. Sasha's expression is stony, but there's no mistaking the dead weight of grief settling on him.
"So you've already agreed to—what?" He drops his face into his hand. "Jesus. Yes, I know we weren't entitled to be consulted. Oh, fuck you, Oleg! You expect me just to accept this?"
Everyone is staring at him by now. Something has gone terribly, catastrophically wrong, and these are the last few moments before we find out precisely what has happened.
