"We shall see," he says softly. "You know you can't hide from me forever, dorogaya."
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone with a shaking hand. Luchenko's call has further shattered the fragile sense of security I've tried to build here… and that was already decimated by Gerald.
Luchenko is right—he has eyes everywhere. Nowhere is safe. Not from him. Not from Gerald, either.
My attempt to put us in a better situation now has us in the firing line of not just one formidable man, but two.
I glance over at Yara, listening to music contentedly on the living room couch. My heart constricts.
I have to protect her from both of them, no matter what it takes.
Chapter 25
Alina
The cacophony of the crowded mall fades into white noise as I weave between displays of garish luxury, my eyes darting, my body coiled tight.
I'm a fox passing through the henhouse, wary of the pecking order. The other women shoppers eye me with thinly veiled disdain, their judgment searing into my back.
I'm in a designer outfit that Gerald had waiting for me in my wardrobe when I arrived here, but in my mind I'm in a worn cardigan and sensible shoes that scream imposter amidst their designer brands and socialite gossip.
I yearn to melt into the crowd, to camouflage myself among their carefree laughter and trivial concerns. PTA problems. Drama with local charity events.
But I know better. There’s no real hiding for me here. I’m simply on borrowed time, my leash extended only so far.
The fact Gerald let me out on a shopping trip without a team of chaperones is a small miracle, but he seems particularly distracted by work lately.
I jumped at the chance to slip away, even if only for an hour or two.
A prickling on my neck turns my blood icy. I'm being watched. Is it one of Gerald's men, sent to monitor my activities? I turn slowly, my muscles tensed to bolt.
"Alina? Alina Petrov?"
My gaze collides with warm brown eyes set in a chiseled face. Caution floods my mind. I resist the urge to glance around for Gerald's goons. Perhaps this man is one, a new hire, sent to follow me around and report back.
The man closes the distance between us, his movements fluid yet non-threatening. He's playing this smart, not spooking the skittish target. Me.
"Got a minute to chat?" His voice is low, meant only for me. "I'm Agent Morello. FBI," he says, discreetly removing an item from his pocket and flashing it to me. It's a badge. And I'm no expert, other than what I've seen in the movies, but it looks legit.
I fight the questions rising in my throat. The middle of a crowded mall is no place for this conversation. But when will I get another chance?
I force myself to nod, despite every self-preservation instinct screaming otherwise.
Morello gestures to a quieter corridor off the main thoroughfare.
I follow on leaden feet, hyperaware of everything around me. The murmur of shoppers fades as we walk, replaced by the rapid buzz of my pulse in my ears.
Morello stops and turns to face me. His eyes are intense but kind, radiating a gentle concern that puts me on edge.
What's his angle here?
"I know you're in a tough spot, Alina," he begins, his voice pitched low. "I want to help get you out of this situation, if you'll let me."
My lips twist. "Help? From a cop?" I utter a harsh laugh. "Where I'm from, your kind don't help people like me. Unless there's something in it for you."
Morello's brow furrows. "I'm not like the police where you grew up, Alina. My only agenda is making sure you're safe."