He’s been so quick to judge and condemn me for my actions involving Ivy, all the while being a hypocrite himself.
The sound of a key being shoved into the front door’s lock cuts through the quiet like a gunshot.
Roman and I both freeze mid-step, instincts kicking in before thought. The soft jingle of metal is followed by the subtle scrape of the key turning. Someone is on the other side of that door… someone who isn’t supposed to be here right now.
Roman’s hand moves first, sliding beneath the edge of his coat. His thumb brushes the grip of the pistol holstered beneath his ribs, but he doesn’t draw it.
My own pulse quickens, but my hands stay loose at my sides, my eyes tracking to the hallway. The apartment is too small for comfort. Not enough blind corners, no clean exits. If it’s Emily—or worse,Mikhail—we can’t afford to be seen.
Not yet.
We move silently. Roman signals with a glance, and I nod. We pivot toward the hallway, steps swift and controlled as we slip out of the living room and into the narrow corridor that leads toward the bedroom. A small alcove there offers just enough cover out of sight from the front entrance but within earshot of anything that happens next.
The door creaks open, then footsteps. A light voice calls out into the apartment, soft and sweet sounding. “Ivan?”
Emily.
Roman shoots me a quick look that says everything.
There isn’t time to react before her footsteps shift and move toward us, coming straight down the hallway. Roman’s head snaps toward me, a curse half-formed on his lips, but there’s no time to voice it. No time to hide or maneuver and retreat.
She rounds the corner within seconds, stopping dead in her tracks the moment her eyes land on us. The shift in her expression is immediate. One second, she’s acclimating to her home again, and the next, she’s faced with two grown men she doesn’t recognize invading her living space.
Her movements are pure instinct, legs already pumping, arms swinging, bare feet thudding against the hardwood floor as she turns and runs the way she came.
Roman is after her first.
“Shit—!” he snarls, lunging.
I’m right behind him.
She’s fast for a woman that pregnant, faster than I expected, honestly. Fear fuels her. Adrenaline turns her into something more nimble, but then she stumbles, her hand shooting out to catch the wall for balance as her center of gravity shifts.
One hand fumbles for the front door trying to wrench it open, the other bracing the wall next to her to keep her upright.
Roman catches her by the arm.
“No! Don’t!” she screams.
She twists, elbow flying, panic making her erratic and wild. Roman grunts, nearly catching the hit square in the face, spinning her around and pinning her gently but firmly against the wall with one hand braced near her shoulder.
“Enough. I don’t want to hurt you,” he snaps.
She thrashes anyway, hands balled into fists as she beats them against his chest with a desperation that’s more heartbreaking than it is threatening. She’s crying now, her breath coming in ragged gasps, shoulders trembling beneath the thin cotton of her cardigan. “Please, please, don’t… please, take what you want! I don’t care. Just don’t hurt me!”
Roman’s expression twists, not in pity but discomfort like he’s been shoved into a role he never asked for. He doesn’t want to restrain a terrified, pregnant woman. None of us want this.
“We’re not here to rob you,” I say.
She freezes at that. Just for a second, her shoulders lock up mid-breath. She stares at me like she’s trying to recalibrate, like the words don’t make sense yet.
“W-What?” she finally breathes.
“We’re not here to steal from you or hurt you. We’re not common criminals. If we were, you’d already be on the floor subdued. That should tell you something.”
Roman slowly eases his hold on her, his palms lifting in a gesture of peace. She doesn’t bolt again, just stays braced against the wall like a trapped animal waiting to see which side we’ll come at her next.
I take a careful step closer, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “We’re looking for someone you know. A man from Russia.”