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As he turns his blazing eyes on the butcher once more, I know he doesn’t even need to say his next line. “This is your last chance, old man. The next one goes between his eyes.”
“Okay! Okay, God, please, just don’t kill my son!” he screams, falling to his knees.
His wife looks on the verge of fainting from her place behind the counter.
“I know where they are. I know—I can take you to them. I’ll help you lure them out.”
“Dad, no,” the son pleads.
“Danny, shut up!” his mother screams, her tearstained face red with terror and inconsolable grief.
The son falls silent, all eyes turning to her, and for a moment, no one speaks.
Then the butcher shuffles on his knees as he tries to face her. “Hannah, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry?—”
“It’s okay,” she murmurs, nodding vigorously as tears stream silently down her cheeks.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Rasputin growls, gesturing for Malik and Kristof to get him on his feet. “Let’s go. Novichok,” he adds, using his nickname for me to avoid saying my real name in front of the family of butchers, “deal with that, and be quick about it.” His chin jerks toward the son in my grasp.
Then the men turn toward the door with a chorus of dark chuckles. Filing out, they leave me to it. Normally, now would be the time Lenka, Malik, or Kristof would put a bullet through the kid’s head to teach his parents a lesson.
But the command is vague enough, I intend to deal with him my own way. So as soon as the door swings closed, I level a deadly gaze on the mom, then the son. “You’ll keep your mouths shut if you want to live,” I state flatly.
Then, with the butt of my pistol, I hit the top of the kid’s head, knocking him out cold with one heavy blow. The mom screams, her hands covering her mouth in horror as he drops like a stone.
And as she rushes to his side, I stride calmly out the door.
35
ALINA
Sitting at my desk, I tap my pen idly against my notebook, my mind a hundred miles from the test I’m supposed to be studying for. School feels so far removed from my reality right now with everything weighing on my mind.
And yet, it’s the only thing that drove me until a few short months ago.
But the grade I get in anatomy seems so minor compared to the challenges I’m facing.
I need to tell Mishka about the baby. I can’t keep hiding it from him, and after nearly a week of not having another opportunity to speak with him, I feel more desperate than ever.
Because I can’t come up with a reasonable solution except to tell him the truth and see if he’ll run away with me.
I would give up graduating college to save his life.
I’ve thought long and hard about it, and that seems like our best chance of being together, of raising this child in peace. We could start a new, humble life somewhere across the country, far from where my father could find us.
Though I hate the thought of leaving my family, I would do it to save the life of the man I love. I haven’t told Mishka yet, but it’s another confession I intend to make.
I love him.
I’ve only grown more confident of the fact over the past few weeks of wrestling with my emotions and wrapping my mind around the future fate has dealt me. I’m not just crazy about Mishka. I’m not just wildly attracted to him and his raging masculinity.
I love him for countless reasons. I love him even for some reasons I can’t explain.
Only that level of love can convince me to cut ties with my family. After all, I love them dearly too. But it’s my family that’s making me choose. Mishka never would. And for that, I love him all the more.
My heart swells, and I drop my pen onto my notebook as I rest a palm over the stomach.
I’m still terrified to tell Mishka.
