“Irina,” I answer.
“How was it?” she shrieks immediately. “Tell me everything. Did they love you? Did they fall at your feet? Should I start looking at apartments in Seattle?”
“It was intense,” I say. The city blurs by outside the window, gray on gray. “I won’t know about callbacks until next week.”
“But you felt good about it?”
I let my head fall back against the seat, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. My muscles ache, but in a satisfying way from hard work, not the frayed exhaustion of panic.
“Yes,” I say finally. “I think so. I didn’t fall. I didn’t blank. I did what I came to do.”
“Then they’re fools if they don’t take you,” she says. “And if they don’t, we send Luka with a bat.”
“Or a pool stick,” I tease, realizing that Scottie might be the only one who would find that funny. “I think the goal is less violence now.”
“Fine. A strongly worded letter, then.”
I huff out a laugh. I wish that would work, but she knows how this goes as well as anyone.
A message pings across the top of my screen, cutting into the call.
Unknown number.
The preview text is in Russian. My stomach drops.
“Hold on,” I say, pulling the phone away from my ear.
I tap the message open, and my phone auto-translates.
Your brother thinks he is clever. This marriage will not last. When it fails, you will come home. And when you do, we will discuss the consequences of your disobedience.
Think very carefully about your choices, Katerina.
— Father
My hands start to shake.
“Kat?” Irina’s voice is tinny in my ear. “You still there?”
“I—yes.” My voice comes out thin. I drag in a breath, force my tone flat. “Sorry. The cab nearly missed the turn.”
“Do you need me to stay on the phone with you?”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “I should go. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Okay,” she says softly. “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and stare at the message until the words blur.
He knows.
I shouldn’t be surprised. He has eyes everywhere. Thankfully, he can’t use them to hurt anyone outright… not with the U.S. and Russian governments watching his every move, waiting for him to so much as breathe in the wrong direction so they can throwhim in prison for the rest of his life.Which is exactly why he wants Maxim as a son-in-law. Maxim would shield him. Clean up his image. Make him look untouchable.Still, threats don’t require violence. And I wouldn’t be shocked if there’s a tracker on my phone, my bank accounts… everything.
But seeing it spelled out—his certainty that this will fail, his calm, quiet assurance that my disobedience is just a delay, not the permanency of my own freedom—has my hands shaking.
When it fails. Not if it fails.
