The shower door slams open with a crack that makes me flinch, water spraying everywhere as he storms out. He's walking toward me and I try to move, try to run, but my body won't respond and he's so fast, so impossibly fast.
His hand shoots out to the towel rack.
No.
Not the towel rack. Behind it.
The gun was there. Hidden. Within arm's reach of the shower because of course it was, because this man doesn't feel safe even in his own bathroom.
In one fluid motion, he's got it in his hand, and then the barrel is pressed against my forehead, cold metal biting into my skin.
Water streams off his body. Off his hair. Drips from his fingers onto my face.
The world tilts.
I'm not here anymore. I'm in my living room. Dad's on his knees. Patrick raises his arm. The gun—the gun—the sound—
Please. Please don't.
"Talk." Lev's voice cuts through the memory. Low and cold and absolutely terrifying. Water drips from his hair onto my face. "Now."
I can't talk. Can't breathe. The metal is pressing into my skull, and I can smell gunpowder—is it real or am I imagining it—and Dad's blood is spreading across the carpet and the sound the sound the SOUND—
"I said talk." The pressure increases, and I feel the trigger guard against my skin.
A sound tears out of me. Not words. Just a broken, animal noise.
"Who sent you?" He leans closer, and I can see nothing but those ice-gray eyes. "Roman? Patrick? Gustav? One of the Italians? I have a million enemies, so talk, or I blow your fucking head off right here."
Patrick.
He said Patrick's name, and suddenly I'm back in that living room watching my father beg, watching the gun rise, watching—
"Please—" The word comes out as a sob. "Please don't, I'm just—I'm just new, I got lost, I swear—"
"Liar." His finger moves to the trigger, and I can see him deciding, calculating, the moment he's going to—
"NO!" I try to move, try to get away, but there's nowhere to go, and my legs give out, and I'm sliding down the wall, and the gun follows me down, pressed against my forehead the whole time. "Please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—I was looking for the linen closet, wrong turn, I'm new today, Marina Petrov's agency—"
"Marina." His eyes narrow. "Bullshit. Nobody gets lost and ends up in my private bathroom."
"I did! I swear, I swear on my father's grave—" My voice breaks completely, and I'm sobbing now, can't stop. "Please don't kill me, please, my mom can't—my brother—please—"
The barrel pushes harder, and I can't breathe, can't see through the tears, and all I can think isthis is how I die, just like Dad, and Ethan will be next, and it's all my fault—
"Look at me."
I can't. Can't do anything but shake and cry and wait for the shot.
"I said look at me."
His other hand grabs my chin and forces my head up. His grip is iron, and I have no choice but to meet his eyes.
"Last chance. Who sent you?"
And something in me just... breaks.
Not breaks down. Breaksopen. Like a door I didn't know was there suddenly swinging wide, and something fierce and sharp walks through.
