"Boss—"
"I said we'll see." My tone makes it clear the conversation's over.
Misha nods, already pulling out his phone to make theother calls happen. Pyotr drives, steady and sure. I sit in the back seat, watching my city, carrying its weight, making choices that might save us or destroy us.
All because of a girl who draws and bites her lip when she concentrates.
All because I'm not ready to let go.
Maybe I never will be.
18
LILA
The shower water runs cold before I notice. I've been standing here letting it beat against my shoulders for—how long? Twenty minutes? Thirty? Time blurs when you're locked in a luxury prison.
I twist the tap closed and reach for the towel.
The suite is empty and eerily quiet. It has been since Ivan left yesterday, after…
My face heats remembering. The sheets still smell like him. Like us.
He hasn't checked on me once since the note.
The ensuite bathroom is all marble and gold fixtures. I wipe steam off the mirror and stare at my reflection. Wet hair plastered to my head. My skin is pale and washed out. There's a mark on my collarbone—his mark—fading now to a yellow-purple that looks more like I walked into a wall than got thoroughly claimed by a Russian mobster.
What if he doesn't want to check on me anymore?
What if he's done?
But then—why do I care? That's the real question. I should want him to be done. Should want to go back to my normal life,my studio apartment, my night shifts at the diner, where the most dangerous thing was Mick's cocaine habit and truckers who stared too long.
Fuck.
I care. That's the problem. I care so much it's terrifying.
I pull on one of the new shirts he gave me.
Moving quietly, I press my ear to the door to the hall. There’s nothing at first. Then—voices.
Male voices.
Russian. Low, tense. Multiple.
Probably Pyotr and the other two thick-necks. Probably.
But why would all three be here? At the same time?
Is this… a meeting? Likethat kindof meeting? The “Bratva men deciding who lives and who vanishes” kind?
I should stay here and wait for Ivan like a good girl in her tower.
But then, clear as day, I hear it: "Lila." It’s spoken with such venom, my stomach clenches.
They're talking about me.
Oh shit.
