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I’m the one he wants. Leo is also valuable to him, as my heir. They were both bait when he could have just taken Leo. That tells me Dmitriy knows—or at least suspects—Lyla is just as important to me as my son.
After a long deliberation, Dmitriy agrees. “Fine. The boy can go.”
His gun swings from Leo to Lyla, which does little to decrease my anxiety. I’m distracted by Leo running to me instead of the door. I lean down to hug him, banking on the fact that Dmitriy would find it distasteful to gun me down while talking to my child. He has one of the worst traits in a potential leader—craving approval.
I only hug Leo for a few seconds. Dmitriy can change his mind quickly, and I don’t want my son anywhere near if that happens.
“At the end of the hall, there’s a door. Take the stairs all the way down. There are men there, and they’ll protect you.”
Leo nods, so stoic and so determined, it cracks something in my chest. Kids shouldn’t have to be this brave. They should laugh and play and stay woefully ignorant to the ways the world can be a strange and scary place.
“I love you, Leo,” I tell him. Three simple words my father never told me. “Remember that, always.”
Another nod, just as serious.
“Go.”
He listens, darting out the door and into the hall. And for a split second, I feel relieved. Then, I look at Dmitriy. Look at the gun he’s holding, and all I feel is dread.
I’m going to do everything I can to get Lyla out of here. But there’s a good chance I’ll fail. She’s entirely expendable in Dmitriy’s eyes. American, not Russian. Poor, not rich. I could do everything he asks, and there’s still an excellent chance he’ll kill her.
Part of me—the detachedPakhanpart that’s a duplicate of my father—knows I should turn around and walk out of here. I’m risking my life for a woman I owe no loyalty. We’re not married. We’re not even a couple. And I’m still armed. It’s a move Dmitriy won’t be expecting.
But my feet don’t shuffle so much as an inch.
“Now, her.” I revert to Russian.
Dmitriy laughs. “Drop the gun, and I’ll think about it. Keep it, and she dies.”
Fuck.
His expression is all triumph. He loves games like this. Loves that he finally has the upper hand.
It’s a terrible deal. Nothing close to an assurance. But I flip on the safety and toss the gun on the floor—because if I don’t and he kills her, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.
Dmitriy’s expression is all surprise. And I realize he had no idea if this would work. Maybe it’s just too difficult for a narcissist to comprehend prioritizing someone else above yourself.
Surprise melts into glee. “Take a seat.”
He finally moves the gun away from Lyla, but I don’t dare look at her. I walk toward the chair he’s pointing toward, hoping obedience will lull him into a false sense of complacency until I figure out some sort of plan.
Once I’m seated, Dmitriy dangles a set of handcuffs in front of my face. The metal glints in the fading light. “Put these on.”
I smirk as I take them. “I didn’t know this is what you were into, cousin.”
“It’s not,” he sneers. “Maybe I’ll rape the slut and let you watch.”
I wasn’t entirely surprised when I found out Dmitriy had left. I knew he wasn’t content as the supporting act, that he was temperamental and impulsive. But this is the moment I realize the person I might consider family is truly gone. Because the man I delivered a rapist to wouldn’t have suggested sexual assault as an intimidation tactic.
“Just like Natasha?”
Dmitriy’s ugly expression falters, just for a moment. I know revenge for his former girlfriend wasn’t driven by love. She was a model he liked parading around on his arm. But her assault and death bothered him, probably more than anything else ever has.
“Let her go, Dmitriy,” I plead. “This is between us.”
I don’t dare look at Lyla. We’re still speaking in Russian, so she can’t understand what we’re saying. I hope she’s planning an escape. Dmitriy is totally focused on me, which makes this her best chance.
“Not so high and mighty now, Nikolaj? What happened to my last words and tearing me limb from limb?”
