“I’ll scream. If you touch me, I’ll scream my head off.”
I moved my jacket aside to discreetly show her my side piece. I would never harm her. I was acting more on instinct than anything else. In my world, showing weapons was the equivalent of two animals baring their teeth at each other. Men I dealt with on a daily basis rarely batted an eye when weapons were revealed. It’s almost how we greeted each other.
But Mila froze and whispered, “Is that a gun?”
I softened my voice. “Please sit down so we can chat.”
Her entire body was trembling, but the fire that flashed in her eyes was real. To her credit, she obeyed and sat quietly on the bench.
I sat down beside her.
For a moment, we watched the progressively more chaotic scene unfold in front of us. Now the police were sectioning off the crime scene with tape. Other officers were starting to gather witnesses, and the paramedics left without a patient.
“How did you find me?”
“I got lucky,” I lied. “Your uncle currently has all his men out looking for you. The police are involved, and everyone is focused on bringing you home.”
“Bringing me home?” Her eyes widened with incredulity. “Is that your idea of a joke?”
“I don’t joke around.”
“They’re trying to marry me off so they can use my passport.” Her eyes filled with tears, but her voice was cold. “Have you met Sergei?”
Sergei was a ruthless psychopath with violent tendencies. These traits made him excel in this line of work, but I would never be stupid enough to turn my back on him. “I know Sergei.”
She shook her head. “I’m not going to marry him. You might as well shoot me here because that’ll be more merciful than forcing me to be legally bound to that man.”
I didn’t look at her or allow my face to show any emotion. Instead I watched the police work. I estimated I had about four minutes before they moved toward us and tried to question Mila about what she had witnessed. I would lose all control of this situation if she started talking to the police.
“Your marital choices don’t involve me.” I spoke with cold precision. “I’m here to do a job and get you home safe and sound.”
“They’re not my choices,” she sputtered. “That’s the point.”
I refused to allow myself to feel any level of sympathy for her plight. I had a singular objective. I needed to gather enough intel on her uncle to put him behind bars for the rest of his life and shut down his entire Bratva organization. Getting his guns and drugs off the street would save countless lives. Nothing mattered more than that.
“Sounds like a conversation you should be having with your uncle, not me.” I watched as the police took their time talking to witnesses. I needed to motivate her to willingly move out of their line of sight.
“Just shoot me.” Her tone was listless. “I don’t think any fate is worse than this.”
“Didn’t take you for a quitter. Seems to me you have endless opportunities to manage that situation, and none of them involve asking to be shot.”
She looked at me sharply. “You’re another level of delusional, you know that?”
“Stop thinking with your emotions,” I added gruffly. “Now let’s go.” I stood up and motioned with my hand for her to stand up.
To my surprise, she stood and, without a second glance at the twenty cops standing in the courtyard, followed me back inside.
As we stood silently in line for a taxi, I reflected on how small and compliant she had become next to me. She wasn’t falling in line because she trusted me. She had become a product of her environment. For a young woman with no autonomy in this world, compliance meant safety. She had been conditioned to obey, and because of it she’d probably become another dark statistic, especially once Sergei got his hands on her. She had the instincts to fight against her fate, but the only skill she had learned was submission.
She was not my problem.I ushered her into a taxi and then sat down beside her. I gave the driver instructions to head back to the airport, where my rented pilot was on standby.
She didn’t speak for the entire ride, nor did she look or talk to me while we boarded the plane. We were halfway through our flight back to Moscow before she turned to me and asked, “What do you mean, I should stop thinking with my emotions?”
She stared defiantly back at me. I knew she was asking me for answers to problems that weren’t mine. My only objective was to get her back safely, not to counsel her toward her personal freedom.
I chose my words carefully. “Men like your uncle aren’t swayed by emotions. He’s a logical man who makes decisions based on what’s best for his business. Appeal to that.”
She frowned. “I don’t know anything about his business. What do I say?”
