"He's not here right now," I say, then for some stupid reason, I feel like I'm betraying Aleksandr for telling my parents that.
Dad stops and stares at me. "Then get us out of here. Now, before it's too late."
I open my mouth, but Mom speaks before I can say anything. "Please, Lena. It's too dangerous for us to be here."
I stand up, my legs unsteady, and look at the door. There's not a guard there, probably because Aleksandr didn't have the time to set it up before Danil told him they'd found Katya.
If I help my parents escape, there'll be hell to pay. Aleksandr would never forgive me. Besides, do I really think he'd harm my parents? He loves me. At least he said he does. Surely, he wouldn't actually hurt my parents.
Still, looking at their pleading faces, I know I'm already lost. Although it will likely destroy any chance of having a good relationship with Aleksandr, I have to help my parents.
"Okay," I whisper. "But we have to move fast."
Dad's already at the door, testing the handle. "Which way?"
"Back the way I came. Service stairway to the kitchen." I move to Mom's side, taking her arm. "Can you walk?"
"I'll crawl if I have to." Her voice is stronger than I expected, but when she stands, I hear the small grunt of pain she tries to hide.
We slip into the corridor, and I lead them back toward the stairwell. Every shadow feels like it's hiding a guard. Every distant sound makes my pulse spike. Mom's breathing is labored, each step accompanied by a soft wheeze that seems impossibly loud in the quiet basement.
"Slow down," Dad whispers, his arm around Mom's waist. "She needs a second."
We pause at the corner, and I peek around to make sure the path is clear. The voices I heard earlier are gone now. Maybe the guards went outside to smoke. Maybe we'll actually make it.
"This is insane," Mom mutters, leaning against the wall. "We're escaping from a Russian mobster's basement like we're in some bad movie."
"At least the accommodations were decent," Dad says, and I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. "Four stars. Would not recommend to friends."
"Stop it," Mom hisses, but I can hear the edge of hysteria in her voice that means she's either going to laugh or cry.
We reach the stairwell, and I feel a flutter of something that might be hope.
Mom squeezes my fingers. "We're going to figure this out, sweetheart. All of it."
I want to believe her. I want to believe we can just walk out of here and everything will somehow be okay. That Aleksandr will understand why I had to do this. That loving him and protecting my parents aren't mutually exclusive choices.
But I know better.
We start up the stairs, moving as quietly as possible. Mom's knees crack with each step, the sound like small gunshots in the enclosed space. Dad keeps one hand on the railing, the other supporting Mom, and I lead the way with my heart hammering so hard, I'm surprised they can't hear it.
We're almost to the kitchen level when I hear it.
Footsteps above us. Multiple sets. Heavy boots on tile.
My heart doesn't just stop. It detonates in my chest, sending shrapnel through every nerve ending.
Then his voice cuts through the air like a blade. Sharp. Cold. Barely leashed fury wrapped in that accent that usually makes my knees weak but now makes every survival instinct I have screamRun.
Aleksandr.
He's back. He's here. And from the tone of his voice, whatever happened at the warehouse didn't go well.
We freeze on the stairs. Mom's hand clamps down on my arm hard enough to bruise. Dad's breathing stops entirely.
The door at the top of the stairwell opens.
Light floods down, blinding after the dimness of the basement. I look up, squinting, and find myself staring directly into golden, familiar eyes.