"That's not an option."
"You can't keep me here!"
I meet her eyes, letting her see the truth in mine. "I can. And I will. For your own protection."
"Protection?" She laughs, a harsh sound that has nothing to do with humor. "You're a monster. Everyone says so. Dimitri Morozov, the ruthless Pakhan who kills anyone who crosses him. And you expect me to believe you're protecting me?"
Her words should sting, but they don't. I've been called worse. I've done worse.
"Believe what you want," I say, turning toward the door. "But you're staying here until I figure out who attacked that church and why. If you try to leave, my men will stop you. If you try to hurt yourself, the doctor will sedate you. Make this easy on yourself, Alina. Accept the situation."
I'm almost to the door when I hear the distinctive click of a gun being cocked.
I turn slowly, and my blood runs cold.
Alina stands beside the bed, her ruined wedding dress pooling around her feet, her red hair wild around her face. And in her hands, steady despite everything, is a small pistol—a ladies' gun, probably a .22, but deadly enough at this range.
She must have had it in her handbag, the ivory and lace clutch I saw her carrying at the church. I'd been so focused on getting her out of the building, on protecting her from external threats, that I hadn't thought to check for weapons.
Rookie mistake. One that might cost me my life.
The gun is pointed directly at my chest. At my heart.
"Now," Alina says, her voice steady and cold, "you're going to let me leave. Or I'm going to shoot you."
3
ALINA
My hands shake as I point the pistol at Dimitri Morozov's chest. The same place where Sergei took the bullets that killed him. Three perfect circles, right over the heart.
"Don't come any closer," I warn, my voice steadier than I feel.
Dimitri stands near the door, his expression unreadable. Those green eyes study me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. He doesn't look afraid. He doesn't even look concerned. If anything, he looks... curious.
"Put the gun down, Alina."
"No." I adjust my grip, remembering the lessons my father insisted I take. Self-defense, he called it. Protection for his daughters in a dangerous world. The irony isn't lost on me. "You're going to answer my questions. Why did you take me? What do you want from me?"
"I already told you?—"
"Bullshit!" The word explodes from me, raw and angry. "You pulled me out of that church while people were dying. You threw me in your car like a piece of luggage. You brought me to this... this prison and locked me in. So tell me the truth. Why me?"
Dimitri's jaw tightens, the only sign that my words have any effect. "The truth is complicated."
"Then uncomplicate it."
He takes a step toward me, and I tense, my finger hovering over the trigger. "I said don't move!"
But he doesn't stop. He moves with the confidence of a predator who knows his prey is cornered, each step deliberate and controlled. "You want answers? Fine. I took you because you're valuable. Because that wedding was supposed to create an alliance between our families, and now Sergei is dead. Because whoever attacked that church wanted everyone inside dead, and I don't know who or why yet."
"So I'm what? Insurance?" Another step closer. I can see the details of his face now—the scar above his eyebrow, the silver threading through his dark hair, the hard line of his mouth. "Leverage?"
"Your protection," he says, his voice low and rough.
"I don't need your protection. I need you to let me go!"
"That's not happening."
