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“If I let you go, do you promise not to scream or run?” he murmurs, his hold softening as soon as I stop struggling. But he doesn’t let me go.
After a long moment of hesitation, I nod.
His hands release me, and as I turn to face Mishka, he takes a cautious step back, like he doesn’t want to invade my personal space.
Suddenly, I’m furious. He just finished saying he loves me, and yet, he was more than willing to hurt me and betray my family. “What the hell, Mishka? You were pointing a gun at my father—at the back of his head!” I hiss. “You were going to kill him without even letting him defend himself? Why?” I demand in hushed tones, leaning forward to get in his face.
The conflict warring on his face says it all.
His lips part, as if to give me the explanation he promised, but no sound comes out. My heart sinks as I realize there is no horrible misunderstanding.
Mishka intended to kill my father.
2
MISHKA
This is the moment I’ve been dreading.
Because Alina knows now that I intend to kill her father—intended—and in an instant, all that we had together is gone. I can see it in her eyes.
The devotion they held earlier, when she told me she loves me, has been replaced by a betrayal I know I can’t come back from. A hatred for everything I stand for—apathy, dishonesty, treachery. It doesn’t matter that her father’s still alive. It’s clear from the fire in her eyes, the cold fury on her face. She’s never going to forgive me.
But I have to try.
Because when I lowered my gun, I made a choice. Despite all I’ve lost to Sergio’s power-hungry violence, I can’t kill him. It would hurt Alina, and I can’t stand the thought of being responsible for her pain.
Still, how can I tell her that now? Why would she believe me when her own eyes told her otherwise?
She waits silently, her fear from a moment before consumed by the heat of her wrath. And as I struggle for the words to cleanse myself of blame, a ball of tension knots in my stomach. I need time. Just a moment to gather my thoughts—preferably a place where no one will walk in on us having this conversation.
“Can we… go somewhere more private so I can explain?” I ask, my words halting as I offer my hands, palm up, in a sign of supplication.
“No,” she states coldly, planting her feet and putting her hands defiantly on her hips. “I won’t go anywhere with you—never again. You used my family’s good will, our trust, with the intention to betray my father. We let you into our home. I let you into my heart, and you lied to me. You lied to all of us. For months. What I saw down there was not some spur-of-the-moment, impulsive reaction. You planned it, didn’t you? So, how can I trust you? How can I trust anything you have to say? Does it even matter what you have to say when I will never forgive you?”
Her words lance through my heart, cutting me open like a knife. And though I know it could trigger her flight response again, I can’t stop myself from taking another step forward. Alina’s arms drop, her back stiffening as I come within a foot of her.
At the last minute, I restrain myself from touching her, though all I want to do is hold on because I feel her slipping away. “Please, Alina,” I beg, willing her to hear me out. “You’re right. It might have started out that way. I did come to Viktor’s aid with the intention of ingratiating myself with your family. I wanted to get close to your father. I did intend to kill him. But just now… when I finally had my chance…” I release a heavy breath, my shoulders slumping in defeat. “I couldn’t do it,” I breathe, imploring her to see, to understand how much she means to me.
“Why—”
The trap door swings open, the hinges protesting audibly with the considerable weight, alerting me to someone’s arrival. Alina’s eyes dart over my shoulder, and a rosy color fills her cheeks.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Sergio demands, his deep voice booming from behind me as I turn to face our newest arrivals.
Alina’s father, in all his superior physical size and glory, climbs up the steps from the basement. Viktor stands at the top of the stairs, his gray eyes—similar in shape and color to his father’s—narrow with suspicion as they flick between me and Alina. As soon as Sergio exits the stairs, Viktor closes the trap door, extinguishing any chance of the prisoners below being heard.
“You were supposed to come downstairs,” he continues, his burly form filling the space of the cigar room as he does an impressive imitation of a grizzly bear standing in preparation for a fight. His red-tinted hair and full beard lend themselves to the image. “Instead, we find you alone in a room with my daughter? You'd better have a very good explanation, Orlov.”
I’m dead. My lips part as I search for an excuse, but nothing plausible comes to mind. I have no doubt I’m on my own this time because Alina’s probably ready to watch her father take my head at this point, which means she won’t be coming to my defense.
The irony of it hits me with full force. I was so close to achieving everything I came here for, my whole purpose for infiltrating the Sakharov brotherhood. And now, I’ve lost everything—their trust, Alina’s love, and any chance I had of getting close to Sergio and catching him off guard.
But my feelings for Alina not only made it impossible to pull the trigger, but they’re also now what’s going to get me killed. Months of sneaking around, of holding my breath every time we were seen in a room together, the countless stolen glances, stolen kisses, stolen touches, just waiting for someone to see the truth in my eyes.
And I’m going to die, not because I coveted Sergio’s daughter. Not because I dared to touch her, to have her, to love her when I knew I shouldn’t. No, I’m going to die because, when the time came, I couldn’t shoot the man I want dead more than I care to live. All because I’m not strong enough to break Alina’s heart.
“I was looking for you,” she cuts in boldly, stunning me into silence.
