Wait.Killer.
The word is different now.
I've never seen him kill someone. Not really. Boris got beaten up, but I wasn't there for the killing part. The men at the diner had guns, but I didn't see bodies drop. He talks about death like other people talk about the weather, but I've never witnessed him causing it.
What if I'm not okay with it? What if I've been lying to myself this whole time, convincing myself I can handle the darkness because I've never had to stand in it?
That man at the penthouse—the one who pretended to be the delivery driver—he got beaten up. Threatened. But not killed.
Right?
What if Ivan killed him later? What if he kills people all the time, and I don't see it? Don't have to face the reality of what loving him means?
What if someone else dies because of me? For me? I don't want that. I don't want blood on my hands, even if it's his hands doing the killing.
What would the women in my books do?
They'd say yes.
They always say yes. The dangerous man offers everything. The ordinary girl takes it. They live happily ever after in their morally gray romance where love conquers all.
Yes. I should say yes.
That's the logical option. The safe option. He won't let me go anyway. I might as well embrace it. Might as well stop fighting and accept that this is my life now.
Except I'm lying to myself again.
I should say yes because I love him. Because three months ago, I saw him walk into the diner and every part of me knew he was dangerous. I knew he'd ruin me and knew I'd let him.
I should say yes because the thought of going back to my previous life makes me want to scream. I should say yes because I can't imagine a world where I don't.
Decision made, I turn around, ready to face him.
"Miss?"
I jump.
A man stands barely five feet away. How long has he been there? I didn't hear him approach. I didn’t even hear the door open.
"I'm with Mr. Petrov,” he says.
I study the man’s face, unable to recognize him. But Ivan has so many men. Dozens. Maybe hundreds.
This one has icy blue eyes and neck tattoos that disappearunder his collar. He could be anyone. Half of Ivan's soldiers look similar.
"Is everything okay?" I ask, steeling my nerves.
"Dmitri Volkov entered through the kitchen." His voice is calm yet deathly serious. "Mr. Petrov wants you evacuated immediately."
Heart plummeting, I try to make sense of it. "He's here? Now?"
"This way. We need to move quickly."
He's already walking toward a door I hadn’t noticed before. A service entrance, probably.
I snatch my purse from the ledge and hurry after him, because what else do I do? Stand here and wait for Dmitri to find me? Let Ivan's enemy get to me while I'm overthinking on a balcony?
We enter an elevator. Small. Plain. Industrial. Not the fancy one with mirrors that guests use. This one's for employees. For people who don't matter enough to see.
