"Do what?"
"Leave. Dante would never force you to go if you wanted to stay."
I let out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "Wouldn't he? He's forcing me to go to a safe house. He's forcing guards on me. He's making all my decisions for me and calling it protection."
"He's terrified."
The simple statement makes me turn to look at him. Alexei is sitting in the other seat behind the driver. He seems more serious than usual. I can feel the heaviness in all of this. I know a lot of that is on me.
"I know he's terrified," I say. "I can see it every time he looks at me. But I can't live my life as his prisoner just because he's afraid of losing me."
"He lost Katya?—"
"I know. He told me. But I'm not Katya. We can't live our lives paying for his past mistakes."
Alexei is quiet for a long moment. "You love him."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes."
"Then why are you leaving?"
"Because sometimes loving someone means refusing to let them destroy you both." I lean my head against the window. "He wants to lock me away, Alexei. Keep me in a cage where nothing can touch me. And maybe that would keep me physically safe, but it would kill everything that makes me who I am. And I still have to think about my father. He’s going to kill him, Alexei. I’m not stupid. I know what’s happening."
"He just needs time?—"
"How much time? Until the baby's born? Until our child is grown? When does it end?"
He doesn't have an answer for that. Neither do I.
“Alexei, can you answer a question?”
“Maybe.”
“Is my father alive?”
“Yes.”
It’s a small relief.
We're approaching an underpass, the road narrowing as concrete walls rise on either side, when Alexei's entire body goes tense.
"Something's wrong," he says, his hand moving toward his weapon.
"What—"
Three black SUVs appear from nowhere, boxing us in. One in front, one behind, one pulling alongside. The timing is too perfect, too coordinated to be random.
"Get down!" Alexei shouts, and then the world explodes into gunfire.
The rear window shatters, glass raining down on me as I throw myself onto the floor of the backseat. Bullets punch through metal with sounds like thunder. I can hear Alexei cursing in Russian. The driver tries to maneuver the SUV through the ambush but failing.
Our escort vehicle tries to pull alongside, but one of the attacking SUVs rams it, sending it careening into the concrete barrier with a sickening crunch of metal.
We're alone. Outgunned. Trapped.
Alexei returns fire through his window. "Backup pistol, under your seat. Can you reach it?"
I fumble beneath the seat, my fingers finding cold metal. The Glock Dante made me practice with feels heavy in my hands, but familiar. Muscle memory from hours at the range kicks in—check the safety, proper grip, breathe.
