Page 118 of Nemesis

“Of course,” Uncle finally says. “As soon as he leaves American soil, the bounty on your daughter will be eliminated.”

Ten million dollars.

Is that really all these fuckers think my baby’s worth?

My forehead presses against the cool glass. We’re speeding down the road faster than I’ve ever gone, and it still feels like we’re wasting precious time. Something about the situation reminds me so much of my first day in New York. The horrible drive into the city from the airport.

If only I’d known what was waiting for me in that city. If I’d known, I would have told that driver to take me directly to the ballet. I’d have raced up those ridiculous steps and through the gaunt theater halls. If a performance was in progress, it would’ve ended on the spot. A bullet to that ugly chandelier that hung from the sky, and the entire crowd would run screaming. All that would’ve mattered was the girl on the stage, and pulling her into my arms as quickly as possible.

“He sent his own plane, son. That means they’ll confiscate any electronics on your person,” Sasha says from the seat beside mine. “Are you sure you don’t want to say goodbye?”

I can’t.

If I so much as hear her voice, I’ll have this car turned around so fast that the tire marks would linger on the road for years to come. I shake my head, swallowing around a painful lump.

“She’s going to be mad, Sasha. Really fucking mad, and that’s okay. She’ll push you away, but you need to keep showing up. Every morning. Every night.”

“I will,” he vows. “I will show up every day. I won’t leave her side.”

I nod again, rubbing my temples. “She takes her coffee with a splash of cream and two cubes of sugar, but she’ll only drink it while it’s hot. Not lukewarm. Hot. And she needs someone to spar with. Her cousins don’t realize how good she’s gotten—they take it easy on her. She needs an honest challenge, someone without an ego, but who won’t treat her like a Bratva princess.”

“Understood.”

“And she likes to wear clothes a few sizes too big,” I add, burying my nose in my sweatshirt. It still smells like her. “But she can’t buy something for herself without feeling guilty about the money, so you need to buy the clothes for her and say they were extras or something…”

“Vasiliy,” Sasha cuts me off, a hand landing on my bouncing thigh. God, I can’t sit still. “You’ve done so much for my daughter. She was a husk when she got here, and you’ve filled her life with color. I will find a way to get you back. It may take some time, but you have my word.”

“I appreciate that.” Even if we both know it’s an opportunistic fantasy. “But so long as she’s taken care of, I couldn’t give less of a shit what happens to me.”

The car’s deceleration fills me with a sense of doom. We drive through the private gate and directly onto the tarmac, where a familiar, white jet with the Morozov family crest lies in wait.

You can do this, Vasiliy.

You can get on this plane to keep her safe.

Stepping out of the car is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. Sure enough, one of my uncle’s trusted soldiers waits at the foot of the jet, ready to confiscate my weapons.

My heart aches.

Get on the plane, Vasiliy.

A hand clasps my back. The Siderov Pakhan and I have never shared such an intimate moment. His bright green eyes are a poor replacement for the ones I love so much, but right now, they do provide some solace. I glance past the airport gates, all the way back to the line where the road meets the growing storm on the horizon.

I’ll come back to you, moya zlaya.

My legs are numb.

Each breath burns.

In.

Hold.

Release.

Steps creak across the wood of Dad’s office. Then a soft blanket is draped over my shoulders, and a cool glass finds my hand. I bring it to my lips and tip the contents onto my tongue. The burning heat makes me choke.

“Vodka. From my favorite stash,” Dad says, settling onto the couch with a drink of his own. “How are you doing?”