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3
ALINA
My father’s words give me a terrible sense of foreboding, but still, I can’t argue or demand an explanation. When it comes down to it, I don’t know the first thing about my father’s operation, and that’s the way he wants it. So, no matter what pushback I give, I won’t get answers.
Instead, I watch as my brother follows my father back down the trap door. Then it closes with a heavy finality.
The silence that follows is deafening, and when I turn to look at Mishka, he’s watching me with guarded eyes. That same unreadable expression he wore when I first met him is firmly back in place. He’s a stranger once more, after months of feeling like I’ve never known someone so deeply, so… completely.
It’s all just gone, vanished in the blink of an eye.
“I'd better take you to your room,” he says, his deep baritone measured.
Wordlessly, I turn on my heel and march out of my father’s cigar room, leading the way toward the stairs that line the entry.
Butterflies come to life in my belly in Mishka’s presence, and for the first time, they’re not the good kind. As he stalks silently beside me, his lithe, athletic movements feel far too dangerous, too predatory. He escorts me upstairs without a word, his looming figure a reminder that I might have just made the worst mistake of my life.
And when we reach my room, he steps inside behind me, closing the door.
My heart skips a beat as he posts himself in front of it, cutting off my path of escape. His storm-blue eyes penetrate my soul as they scrutinize my face.
“Thank you,” he says in that same guarded tone. “You saved my life.”
“You owe me an explanation,” I state, as if that rationalizes my behavior. Crossing my arms, I leave off the “that’s the only reason I kept you alive,” though it’s implied in my tone. But if I said it, it wouldn’t entirely be true. Despite what I saw in the basement—despite how deeply betrayed I feel—I can’t help wishing Mishka might have some reason that could absolve him.
Because despite how much I hate him right now, I can’t just stop loving him.
“I know, but I don’t have much time,” he murmurs, pushing off the door to close the distance between us.
I stiffen, my defenses flying up as I prepare for anything, and Mishka stops, his eyes agonized as he reads my suspicion, my lack of trust.
“Well, I won’t be letting you go back downstairs without one. How can you possibly expect me to believe that you won’t just try killing my father again if I do?”
“I give you my word, Alina. I won’t kill your father today?—”
I scoff, my temper rising. “I hardly think I can trust your word after what I just saw. You’ve been lying to me from the start! Not to mention, your words make it perfectly clear that, if not today, you intend to try killing him again, so what could you possibly say that can make things right? Give me one good reason I shouldn’t march back down there and tell my father the truth right now.”
Combing his fingers into his hair in frustration, Mishka bursts out, “Because I couldn’t do it, okay?” His hands fly into the air in exasperation. “Fuck! I’ve been dreaming of that moment night and day for months, but when I finally got a chance to kill the man who tortured and murdered my brother, I couldn’t pull the trigger.” His voice breaks on his final words, and a look of utter dejection consumes his face.
He starts to pace, his prowling steps like those of a caged lion.
Stunned at his outburst and the weight of the truth behind it, I can’t seem to find my voice. I watch him, wide-eyed, my lips parted as I consider what he just told me.
And though I never dreamed I could forgive Mishka for what he tried to do, my heart softens a little—because I know how deeply Mishka cared about his brother. How much he misses Sascha. Mishka hardly ever talks about him, and when he does, the pain is so raw and overwhelming, he always changes the subject. His brother’s death—still fresh—weighs heavily on Mishka, so I get why he would be so angry at my father if he did, in fact, kill Sascha.
It punches a horrible, aching hole through my chest as the bigger picture comes into focus.
But I still can’t fully trust Mishka, not after knowing he’s been lying to me for months. I see too many gaps in his story to just believe it. If my father did kill Sascha, then how could Mishka get so close to avenging his brother and not pull the trigger? That doesn’t seem like the hit-first-ask-questions-later kind of guy I know him to be.
The Mishka I know acts instinctually. He jumps into the fight because my brother needs the help. He stops the man groping me, even if I initiated it to make Mishka jealous. He pulls me from a smoking car wreck without a second thought when I’m unconscious and can’t ask for help. And he thinks about the consequences after.
So, why not tonight?
“Why couldn’t you pull the trigger?” I demand, trying to make sense of his explanation.
Mishka releases a heavy sigh, his broad, powerful shoulders slumping in defeat. “Because I care too much about you to cause you that kind of pain. I know what it feels like to have your family ripped away, and I couldn’t bring myself to hurt you like that. I didn’t want to lose you.”
My heart twists at his broken words, the agony when he talks about having his family taken from him. But that doesn’t mean I can just let this go. He’s still clearly struggling with the idea of letting my father walk away, and I’m not ready to give him permission to exact his revenge—eye for an eye, or whatever he thinks he’s doing.
