Aleks’s eyes roam the walls of my room.
He lingers on the image I’ve drawn of him, and I find myself waiting for him to say something about it. A comment on the likeness, an insult on the crudeness.
Instead, he says nothing.
I can’t stand the silence. “What else could you possibly want from me?” I finally ask.
“Your cooperation.”
“I am being cooperative. That’s what this is.”
“Not quite,” he says. “I need information from you.”
I frown. “Why on earth would you think I’d agree to that?”
He gives me that tilted smile of his that makes my heart ache and beat faster at the same time. “Because you’ll get something out of it, too.”
“Which is…?”
“The chance to see your family again.”
My eyes go wide. I don’t even have the forethought to manage my expressions; I just give him exactly the reaction he’s looking for. I know that’s not wise, but I can’t bring myself to care.
He sees it right away, of course. “Is that a yes?”
“I… I’m not sure yet,” I say. Too little, too late, but I have to start getting my shit together or I’ll never win a single one of these head games with him. “I need to know what you expect from me.”
“Simple. Your brother has been leading an investigation into my Bratva—”
“You want me to get information on an FBI investigation?” I interrupt incredulously.
“That is the gist.”
“Rob is never going to tell me a thing. Especially not now.”
“There’s only one real piece of information I want to know.”
“Which is what?”
“The tip he received,” he says. “The one that tied the abductions to my Bratva. I need to know his source.”
“He might not even know his source,” I point out. “People report stuff anonymously all the time.”
“Then it will cost you nothing to ask.”
The conversation between us, like always, pings back and forth so fast that my head spins. I find myself staring into his blue-green eyes, wondering how he managed to close the distance without even realizing it.
“You’re asking me to betray my brother.”
He shrugs. “I wouldn’t say it like that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Tell me, then: how would you say it?”
“You’re helping me find out who is really responsible for these disappearances,” he snarls. “Because there is a predator out there, Olivia. And it’s not me.”
“Wow. You’re very convincing.” I clap my hands softly. “I almost believe you.”
“Why would I lie to you?”
“Because you’re trying to manipulate me,” I suggest. “Or maybe just because you’re a huge asshole.”
He smiles savagely. “If I were trying to manipulate you, I’d fuck you again. That’s when you really let your guard down.”
My cheeks flush with embarrassment. I back away from him.
It’s ridiculous for me to assume Aleks doesn’t sense the connection between us. He notices everything, and the sexual tension crackles venomously at all times. I’ve never experienced anything like it.
But I can’t be the only one it affects so profoundly. Not with the way he looks at me, eyes both feral and filled with lust. Like he wants to own me and destroy me in the same breath.
That should terrify me. But all it does is make my breath come faster and my body tingle harder. Even now, I’m trembling. And it has nothing to do with the conversation we’re having.
It should. But it doesn’t.
And I hate myself for it.
That in and of itself is a betrayal to my brother and my family. My only solace is in resisting it. I have to if I’m going to come out of this in one piece on the other side.
One year.
God, it sounds like a lifetime.
“And if we both do what you want?” I ask. “I ask the question, my brother gives the answer, I report back to you. Then what?”
“You’ll get back your freedom and your brother will continue being a dedicated servant of the law.”
I shake my head at his caustic sarcasm. “You don’t know him at all, do you?”
“No, and I don’t care to.”
“His job means everything to him,” I explain, even though I wasn’t asked. “He does it because he genuinely wants to make a difference.”
Aleks rolls his eyes. “Is this supposed to impress me?”
“It’s supposed to make you understand that my brother will never be able to look at his job or himself the same way again. If you get what you want and he drops the investigation, he’ll feel like he betrayed his badge and his country. It will eat him alive.”
His face remains impassive, completely unmoved. Then again, I never expected anything else.
“You may do exactly what you promise and let us both go,” I continue, “but don’t think for one second you’re giving us back our lives.”
He turns and walks slowly across the room, moving at a casual pace. He’s so relaxed I can’t even tell if he’s heard me.
Then he speaks. “Do you think I’m not a man of my word, Olivia? Do you think I’m lying about letting you go when a year has passed?”
“I have no reason to trust you or your word.”
He walks over to the table by the balcony and sits down in the same chair his mother chose the last time she was here. Eerie how similarly they move.
“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the seat across from him.
Even at this distance, I’m painfully aware of his presence. I don’t need to get any closer.
“Thanks, but I’ll stay where I am.”
He raises his eyebrows and then shrugs. “Your doubt wounds me,” he says. “But ask yourself this: why would I keep you once you’ve served your purpose?”
This time, I’m proud of how little my face moves when he flings the insult at me.
“I have no desire to keep your family, Olivia,” he continues. “But your brother started something here. And I have to stop it.”
“Even if he’s right?”
“He isn’t,” he says firmly, eyes flashing.
I squint at him, trying to figure out if his sincerity is imagined or not. I hate the fact that I want to believe him, especially because it means that my brother might be mistaken. That all of this might be for nothing.
“Of course you’d say that.”
“Don’t mistake me for a saint,” he says. “I’ve murdered and stolen. I’ve tortured and lied. I’ve destroyed businesses and men, I’ve brought my enemies to their knees, and I’ve never apologized for any of it. I still don’t regret a single thing I’ve done. I doubt I ever will. Because whatever I’ve done, I’ve done for a reason. Taking these women, though… what reason could I possibly have had for that?”
I blink in confusion. “Maybe you like to be in control. Maybe you get off on it.”
“Oh, I do,” he admits freely. “But I don’t need to kidnap women to get them to do what I want. I know an airplane bathroom that can attest to that.”
Embarrassment and shame and something far too close to arousal rolls down my back in hot waves. I groan in frustration. “For God’s sake, would you stop bringing that up?”
He tilts his head to the side. “Why? Does the memory bother you?”
“Obviously.”
What I don’t add is, It’s only my greatest shame and the single sexiest moment of my life wrapped into one.
“It complicates things, doesn’t it?” He leans forward, eyes locked on mine. “Because you wanted to believe in the fairytale I spun that day. But now, I’ve given you too much evidence against it.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I never do. I’m only telling you what I can see.”
My jaw clenches, but I refuse to drop my gaze. “Oh yeah? Go on, then: what else can you see?”
“A woman who would do anything for her family. Including bargaining away her life for a year to make sure they’re safe.”
The change in subject is jarring, but I roll with it. Anything to avoid talking more about the airplane bathroom. “I don’t recall doing much bargaining. Besides, they would do the same for me.”
He nods. “Believe it or not, I admire that about you all. You, your mother, your sister. Even your irritating fucking brother. In my world, loyalty is the most important thing.”
“My father used to say that,” I whisper. “Well, some version of that. He used to tell us that we needed to look out for each other no matter what. Especially when he wasn’t around anymore.”
“How long has it been since his death?” Aleks asks somberly.
“Seven years. Feels like a lifetime ago and like yesterday at the same time.”
It’s easy to speak the truth as long as I don’t look at him. Even though I still feel those eyes burning on me like spotlights.
“You see yourself as living in the past,” he remarks. It’s not really a question. Just a statement of fact as he sees it. “That makes sense.”
I frown. “What makes sense?”
“People who live in the past find it difficult to live at all.”
I glare at him. “You know nothing about my life.”
“I know enough, kiska.”
“No, you don’t,” I argue. “You may know the broad strokes, but you don’t know details. You can’t know someone based on a fucking file folder. People have nuances. I have nuances. At least, I did. Before you stole everything from me.”
“Nuances, hm?” he asks, calling my bluff. “Say more. Paint the picture of your life for me, Olivia.”
I shake my head, trying to pull together a scrapbook of my life in a matter of seconds. Not because he told me to—because fuck him, after all—but because if I don’t take the time to remember it, it’ll start to feel less and less real, more and more distant, until New York is nothing but a fever dream and all that’s left is the cold, hard reality of this nightmare.
The words fall from my lips like snowflakes. “Walks through Central Park beneath the trees. Sketching on my balcony while the sun set behind the skyscrapers. Strolling through museums that never seemed to end, in a city full of people who looked at beautiful art and felt the same way I did about it. Awed by the genius. Proud to be artists in their own right.”
“Sounds lonely.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Just because I was alone doesn’t mean I was lonely.”
“I think you’re lying about that, Olivia. That’s all I saw when I first set eyes on you. How badly you wanted someone to make you feel seen.”
I flinch, thinking about my father’s words. Words he repeated to me countless times in the last year of his life.
Living is for the brave, he said again and again. I’m starting to think he was wrong.
“Living boldly didn’t bring me anything but heartache,” I say aloud. “So now, I live carefully.”
“What is your definition of living boldly?” he asks.
I frown. “It’s not important.”
He smirks. “That’s what I thought.”
That rankles me. “You know what? Spare me your judgment, okay? You’re a freaking Bratva don. Our definitions of ‘bold’ are probably very different. Our perspectives on life are different, too. You live only for yourself. But when you live together as a family, things change.”
“I live for my Bratva,” he corrects.
“That’s not a person,” I counter. “It’s a lifeless fucking thing. I’m not talking about a legacy, Aleks. I’m talking about family. But I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about that.”
He exhales quietly. “You’ve been talking to my mother.”
“You don’t treat her with respect.”
“I don’t tolerate being questioned. Especially not by her.”
“Why? She can’t have opinions, or you just don’t want to have to hear them? Women can know things, too, Aleks. Your mother can know what’s best for you. What’s best for the Bratva. After all, she ran this thing for four years while you were off doing who-the-fuck-knows-what in Russia.”
He goes silent for a moment, his eyes scouring my face. “What else did she tell you?”
Instantly, I know I’ve made a mistake. I shouldn’t have let on that Yulia opened up to me so much. If he starts limiting her visits to me, then I won’t have a single soul in this house left to vent to.
“Nothing,” I mumble. “That’s all.”
“She wasn’t the leader she claims to be,” Aleks says. “She made mistakes.”
“She was learning on the job. Mistakes are part of that.”
“Well, isn’t someone Mommy’s little champion?”
I hate his condescending tone. “She’s the only one here who is kind to me.”
He glances towards the window. “I’ve been hard on her, but it’s because that’s the only way to make her listen. She’s… stubborn.”
“So that’s where you get it from.”
He smiles. “Not every parent-child relationship can be a love story like yours.”
“Mine is a love story without a happy ending,” I tell him. “An ending that I could have prevented.”
He raises an eyebrow curiously. Despite my reservations, I find myself speaking. Saying things I haven’t said since my father died.
“He was diagnosed with a heart condition. Three blocked arteries. The doctor said that his heart was running on fumes. He had a bypass scheduled two days after he was diagnosed. The doctor told all of us to watch him,” I say. “He wasn’t to be left alone. His condition was fragile and we needed to look out for signs of deterioration. But Mom was at church. Mia and Rob didn’t live at home anymore.”
“You were left alone with him?”
I sigh. “I had a party that Dad had known about for weeks. The boy I liked was supposed to be there. Most girls go to their mothers when they have crushes; I went to him. But after the diagnosis, I told him I’d skip the party, obviously.”
Aleks nods, already seeing how this story ends. “He made you go.”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. You think your mother is stubborn? You never met him. He wanted me to have fun, be young, all that. Living is for the brave—that’s what he used to tell me.”
“He’s not wrong.”
“He was in this case,” I say bitterly. “Because he had a massive heart attack about an hour after I left the house. Mom came home from church to find him lying in the middle of the living room floor with his hand over his heart. The coroner said he’d been dead for at least ten minutes by the time she found him.”
When I look up, I realize three things at the same time.
First, Aleks is looking at me with the softest expression I’ve ever seen on him. It’s by no means sympathetic. But it’s the least severe he’s ever looked.
Second, I’ve somehow ended up sitting in the chair opposite him.
And third, I’ve got tears running down my cheeks.
Crying over my dad has never felt weak or embarrassing. I’m happy to cry for him and I don’t care who sees those tears. Each one is a testament to how much I loved him. How much I still love him.
“His death broke you.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “It did. There was a time when I didn’t think I would ever be whole again.”
“Maybe you were right,” he says. “Because all I see is a woman made of pieces.”
“It’s the price you pay when you love someone.”
“I’ve loved, too,” he says to my surprise. “But no death will ever break me. I take the pain and use it to make me stronger.”
“Who have you loved?” I scoff. “The man in the mirror?”
“It’s irrelevant.”
I look down, wondering why my stomach is flipping nervously. “Right. Why should you open up to me?” I seethe. “I’m only going to be around for a year, right?”
“Unless you decide you want to stay longer.”
“In your dreams, asshole.”
“You’re right about that.” He gets to his feet.
“I won’t stay with you, you know,” I snap up at him. “There’s nothing you can say or do to make me change my mind about that. The minute I’m free, I’m going back to my family.”
He shrugs as though it doesn’t matter to him either way. Then he glances over his now-defaced walls. “I was coming in here to give you freedom of the house, you know. But now, I’m not so sure.”
I jerk to my feet. “Freedom of the house?”
“Only if you promise to keep your doodles confined to the walls of this one room.”
I nod fervently, desperate to get out of this jail cell. “I will.”
“Then you have the freedom to move around the compound as you like.”
“Thank you,” I say—even though he doesn’t deserve it. But it comes out before I can stop it. An instinct from another life.
“And eat more,” he tells me as he heads for the door. “I’m not interested in having a skeleton for a bride.”
“I’m not your bride!”
He laughs darkly. “You are whatever I want you to be.”
Then, just like that, he’s gone. I sigh into the silence.
Three days down as Aleksandr Makarova’s wife.
Only three hundred sixty-two to go.
