Every step down the stairs pulls me closer to the point of no return. In the quiet foyer, it’s just the guards and Stanislav waiting by the front door. He turns when he hears me, carrying the exact same exhaustion in his eyes that I feel in my bones.“Miss Petrov.” He gives me a polite nod, then drops his voice lower. “Are you alright?”
The question almost makes me laugh. “Define alright.”
The corner of his lips moves upward briefly. “Fair point.”
We stand in awkward silence for a moment. I can hear Dato’s voice coming from somewhere deeper in the house, barking orders at his men.
“I apologize.” Sudden and unprompted, the admission breaks the heavy quiet between us. “For this entire situation, for what Dato’s put you through, for all of it.” A weary hand sweeps through the air to encompass the perimeter guards and the suffocating opulence of the house, acknowledging the reality of our circumstances in one grim motion.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I could have done something. Could have…” He trails off, frustration flickering across his face. “I don’t know. Something.”
“Like what? Helped me escape?” I shake my head. “You’d be dead. Or worse.”
“Maybe.” He looks at me with those earnest eyes. “But at least I’d have tried.”
I don’t know what to say to that. This boy, this young man in a house full of wolves, actually feels guilty for not saving me. Like he could have made any difference at all.
“Stop.” The words come out quiet, aware of listening ears around us. “Don’t blame yourself for things beyond your power. And make sure Dato doesn’t see how you’re looking at me.”
“What way?”
“The way that shows you give a damn.”
He draws back at the accuracy, understanding what I’ve just pointed out. His brother appears before Stanislav can answer, surrounded by four guards moving in formation.
“Ah, there you are.” He glances between Stanislav and me, eyes narrowing slightly. “Making friends, little brother?”
“Making conversation, that’s all.”
“Sure.” Dato holds his gaze on Stanislav briefly before smiling and clapping once for attention. “Time to go. The beast won’t negotiate with himself.”
The car ride is silent. I sit in the back with Dato. His men occupy the front seats. Another car follows behind us, full of more guards. Dato isn’t taking any chances. I watch Moscow slide past the tinted windows. Familiar streets made unfamiliar by circumstance. I’ve walked these blocks a hundred times, camera in hand, chasing stories that seemed so important back then.
Now I’d give anything to be that woman again. The one who complained about being underpaid and kidnapped on Tuesdays. The one who genuinely believed a broken camera was a serious problem.
I was so naive.
We pull up to an unfamiliar structure, with a weathered brick exterior and covered openings, some deteriorated signage possibly related to fabric production in another era.
“We’re here.” Dato straightens his jacket and shifts to face me directly. “Remember what I told you earlier. Stay quiet, cooperate. Don’t try anything clever.”
I nod.
“Good.”
He gets out first. One of his men opens my door and gestures for me to follow. The night air hits my face, cold and unpleasant.I breathe it in. After five days in that mansion, even the polluted Moscow air tastes like freedom.
Our group approaches the building’s entrance while his guards create a perimeter, fingers positioned near their holsters, the atmosphere thick with nerves since nobody treats this like standard business.
The door opens onto what looks like an old factory floor converted into some kind of meeting space. Concrete floors, exposed beams, and a single table in the center under harsh overhead lighting.
And there, at the table, sits Alexei.
My breath stops.
His hands are folded on the table in front of him. Behind him stand his guards and two other men I recognize from previous encounters. Our eyes meet, and my chest constricts with conflicting sensations: comfort, dread, desire, and rage all layered on top of each other until they’re inseparable.