Her mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but enough to register as something almost human. “Don’t get used to it.”
Despite myself, I let out a quiet laugh.
It's short-lived, breaking against the ache rising in my throat like a tide I can't outrun. Then it hits me all over again like a punch to the ribs. My laugh dies mid-breath. The warmth drains from my face, my stomach hollowing out.
“Is there news?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
It’s a hopeless ask but I can’t help it.
Ihaveto ask, if only to give myself a thread to cling to. On the off chance that Maksim, by some miracle or divine intervention, is already holding our son in his arms, then maybe…maybeI won’t have to follow through with the impossible deal I made. Maybe I can still back out and run and take Leo and disappear from everything.
Katya’s expression doesn’t change, but the silence that follows says enough. “No. Not yet.”
I close my eyes and nod, the tightness in my throat returning tenfold.
“Men like him always overreach. Sooner or later, they destroy their own leverage trying to tighten their grip on it.”
She’s standing now, brushing invisible lint off her sleeve, as calm and composed as ever. A woman carved out of ice and something far older than cruelty,clarity. The kind you gain from watching men like Mikhail burn down kingdoms from the inside out.
She nods toward the tray of food by my bedside. “Eat. You’ll need your strength. This isn’t over yet.”
Just like that, she starts to head toward the door, but I stop her before she reaches it.
“Katya. Wait,” I say, voice catching just slightly.
She pauses,hand hovering near the doorknob, turning just enough to glance over her shoulder at me. One brow lifts, elegant and precise. “For what?”
I wet my lips, nerves tangling with something deeper. More vulnerable. “Can I borrow a phone to call my sister?”
Her expression flickers, just the barest shift. Not out of suspicion but from interest. She turns to face me fully again. “Yoursister?”
I swallow. “Yes. I need to call her just to let her know I’m alive. Since it’s been weeks…”
For a moment, she says nothing. The silence stretches in a strangely contemplative manner. It’s heavy, compressing me from all sides the longer I’m forced to sit in it.
There’s nothing predatory in her stare, nothing overtly cruel or calculated, but it still makes me want to shift beneath the blankets and hide. She’s reading something I can’t hide no matter how desperately I try to—my fear of being found out, my grief and guilt over this godforsaken plan.
She sees it all.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she finally says, her voice as unreadable as her face.
Then she turns and exits the room with the same silent grace she always carries. When the door clicks shut behindher, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Not exactly the plan I had in mind to get my hands on a phone. But then again, I’m not exactly lying.
Idowant to call my sister, if only to tell her what the hell happened to Leo and me. There’s no doubt in my mind that she and my parents have been worried sick. Or worse, grieving. For all they know, I’m dead or something close to it.
And Leo… Oh, God… I can’t even imagine the hurt and worry they’re feeling losing their only grandchild.
I don’t know what Mikhail has told them, or if he’s said anything at all after kidnapping us and holding us hostage. The idea that he could be manipulating my family—using their confusion or pain to cover his tracks and keep them from going to the police—makes nausea roll through me.
How do you explain any of this? How do you tell your sister you were kidnapped by a Bratva heir bent on dismantling your former lover’s empire? How do you explain that your son has become a pawn in a war you tried to stay out of?
I’m not even sure where to begin.
When Katya returns a while later, I’ve eaten through half of the food she’d brought me.
While I’m sure it’s cooked well, I tasted none of it. Every bite feels like chewing through cardboard. I know I’ll need the energy, if not for what’s to come, then at least to keep my body from giving out once the adrenaline and nerves wear off.
She presents a burner phone to me, holding it out like an offering. For a second, I almost feel grateful that she’shanding me a sacred artifact disguised as a cheap, gray flip phone probably bought at a gas station for twenty dollars.