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“You’re not a regret. And not just because of Leo. Maybe it would have been easier if you’d told me the truth when we met. But I get why you didn’t, and I know I’ve blamed you for a lot that wasn’t really your fault. Plus…I was pretty much a goner from that first night. Even if you had told me…” I shrug.
I’m still holding his wrist, so I hurriedly drop it. The slowdrip, drip, dripfrom the showerhead is the only sound.
“We captured one of Dmitriy’s men last night.Theman. He’ll know operations. Plans. Hiding places. This will all be over soon.”
“You’re going to torture him?” I whisper.
“Yes.” Nick holds my gaze without flinching.
I swallow.
He grabs a towel from the rack and hands it to me before he uses a second one to dry off himself.
We’re both silent as we finish getting ready. I go pee, brush my teeth, finger-comb my hair, and then crawl into bed. Nick shuts the remaining curtains and then climbs in beside me. He doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t say anything.
I fiddle with the rose around my neck, rubbing my finger against the rough outline of the petals.
Sometimes, I see it as a symbol of strength. A reminder of everything I’ve overcome.
But it’s also a sign of weakness. Proof I’ve clung to the memory of a woman who barely cared about me. Evidence that part of me is hoping to rewrite the past.
“This will all be over soon.”
The sentence should sound comforting.
A threat to Leo’s safety—extinguished.
A trip back home to familiarity—imminent.
But I don’t feel relieved or excited.
I’ve gotten used to life here. More thanused to. Comfortable.
I love working at the shelter and feeling like I’m making a difference in people’s lives. I love walking around the estate and soaking in the solace. I love when Nick gets home and we eat dinner as a family of three. I love looking forward to sleeping with him—both in the literal and the sexual sense—all day long.
Tears slip silently down my cheeks into the pillow that’s already damp from my wet hair, mourning the loss that’s about to take place.
And at some point, I fall asleep.
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
LYLA
“Mom?”
“Yeah?” I glance at Leo, who’s sitting beside me and studying me with a curious expression.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course. Just tired.” I manage a smile.
Leo has a book in his lap. I didn’t think he was paying any attention to me, so I zoned out for the first half of the trip to school.
I look at the front of the car, trying to figure out how close we are to Leo’s school. Valentin is driving us today. I’m not sure when that happened—when I discovered I know most of Nick’s men’s names. The ones who I interact with regularly at least.
Valentin is one of the friendliest and therefore one of my favorites. He’s chatting with Egor, who’s usually more reserved. All of a sudden, Valentin’s tone changes. He’s speaking Russian, which I still can’t understand more than the occasional word. Before it was eager, almost playful. Now, it’s sharp with a repressed edge. Like worry he’s trying to hide.
Something slams into us from behind. There’s commotion all around. Screeching tires and shouts and the distinctive echo of gunfire.
