“Hide that,” Lev instructs, striding toward the door.
“Where?” I hiss, hurrying after him.
The dress’s material is stiff and itchy. Under it, I’m wearing nothing. My clothes from yesterday are lying in a heap in his bathroom. They’re all I have with me.
He opens the door, giving me a cursory glance. I look down, too, the lights in the hallway finally allowing me to see what I’m wearing.
It’s a uniform, I guess. Old-fashioned, the design simple and plain, the color a drab gray. There are pockets, but none large enough to fit a gun in.
Lev realizes the same. He holds a hand out. “I’ll take it for now. Will only raise suspicion for a maid to have one.”
“The maids wear this?” I ask, adjusting the fabric again in the hopes it’ll make it more comfortable. No luck.
He nods. “My mother is traditional.”
“She lives here?”
He nods. “Shoes.”
I only have one pair of sneakers with me. I pull them on and follow Lev down the silent hallway, missing the comforting weight of my gun in my hand. I hope Lev has a plan if anyone catches us because this ill-fitting dress doesn’t feel like much of a disguise.
This house is gigantic.
I tried to take it in last night, but I was disoriented. I’m still disoriented, but slightly more aware. And the size isn’t reassuring. It feels like too many corners to hide behind, too many bedrooms hosting enemies who will hear any misstep.
At the top of a stairwell—not the ornate one we ascended before—Lev stops. I do, too, worried there’s someone ahead. But he focuses on me, not our surroundings.
“I need a reason to rush you out of here,” he says. “One the guards won’t question.”
“Okay …” I say slowly, unsure of what that means.
Lev procures a knife from nowhere, and I gain a better idea.
“I’ll keep it shallow,” he tells me. “All the cars have first aid kits. It’ll bleed—that’s the whole point—but you won’t?—”
“Just do it.” I hold my left palm out, figuring it’s better to keep my dominant hand in commission.
He doesn’t hesitate. The slice is so fast that I barely register the movement. One second, my hand looked normal. The next, there’s a red line. Blood begins to well, spreading across my palm and dripping down my fingers. Some of it stains the ugly dress.
Lev strips his black T-shirt off, twisting the fabric before pressing it against the cut.
I eye his bare chest, then the crimson spots speckled on my outfit. “Can we change before the wedding?”
His gaze cuts to mine, and I remember I haven’t shared my decision with him yet. He didn’t ask.
We stare at each other. Me, trying to glean some insight from his impassive expression. Him, I can’t tell. At least I can’t detect any disappointment or regret.
“Depends how this next part goes,” Lev replies, continuing down the stairs.
I follow, forcing deep exhales as the stinging in my hand grows more and more uncomfortable. It hurts to squeeze his T-shirt, so I’m not really applying pressure. Crimson continues to flow from the cut, a few drops of blood falling on the stairs.
When we reach the bottom, Lev veers left. A few doors later, a right. This place is like a maze. I spot the exit he must be headed toward, the doorframe taller than the others and heavier-looking. Just before he reaches it, Lev kicks the leg of a table. I watch as the vase on it wobbles, then falls, smashing into a dozen pieces. It’s not that loud, but it echoes in my ears like cannon fire after the careful quiet.
Lev yanks the door open. He glances at me and barks something in Russian, beckoning me forward with one hand. Blindly, I listen, stumbling as one of the vase’s shards crunches beneath my sneakers.
I’m outside. It’s still dark past the floodlights that illuminate the exterior of the house. Not cold, but not warm either.
There are two men on either side of the door. Both heavily armed, both impassive.
