Page 161 of Betrayal and Vows

"Lenoid knows where you are and where you will go." The old woman delivers the message with no emotion. No inflection.

I freeze.

My eyes go to Anton’s.

“How do you know this?” He takes the basket and moves the loaves of bread, a couple of apples and a block of cheese around.

“Elena,” she answers.

That can’t be right. My mother wouldn’t take the risk.

When Anton and I simply stare at her, she sighs. “Dmitri. Elena spoke with Kira who talked to Dmitri. We have our ways.”

The woman sounds irritated that we dared to question her. I understood there was an underground network in place. My mother was an intricate part of that network. We had learned that she had helped many people escape Russia over the years.

Anton’s arms wrap around me. He’s so warm. So solid. And yet the ground under our feet feels like it could give way at any moment.

“What do we do?” I ask the question not really expecting an answer.

The woman reaches under her shirt and pulls a piece of paper. “Elena wants you to have this. The decision is yours to make.”

“What is it?” I ask as Anton takes the paper.

“A flight,” Anton says. “Back to Moscow.”

That can only mean one thing—Spain is no longer an option.

Safety is off the table.

We will have to live life on the run. No home. No guarantees.

“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “Moscow?”

I stare at the paper in Anton's hands, my mind struggling to process what I'm seeing. A flight manifest. Two seats. Moscow. Tomorrow.

“I don't understand," I repeat, my voice barely a whisper.

Anton's jaw is tight as he looks up from the paper. "Your mother is suggesting we go back and finish this."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I stumble backward, shaking my head. "No. No, that's insane. That's a death sentence."

There's pain in his eyes when he meets my gaze. "We already have a death sentence, Lena. At least in Moscow, we have a chance at a real life."

"A real life?" My voice cracks. "Anton, they'll kill us the moment we step off that plane. This isn't a chance at life—it's suicide."

The old woman shifts uncomfortably near the door, but I barely register her presence. My entire world has narrowed to Anton and the madness he's suggesting.

"Your father knows Elena helped you escape," he says quietly. "Everything is falling apart."

My stomach drops. "Is my mother in danger?"

Anton doesn't have to answer. I can see the truth written across his face, in the set of his shoulders, in the way he won't quite meet my eyes.

She's already dead. Or she will be soon.

"Oh God." I press my hand to my mouth, bile rising in my throat. "This is my fault. I did this to her."

"No." Anton's voice is sharp. "This is Vadim's fault. This is the life we were born into. But now we have a choice."