He drops to his knees.
“I’ll write you all the apologies you want. I’ll gift you all the flowers out there. Just please forgive me. Trust doesn’t come easily. And after what Viktor said–”
“You spoke to Viktor?” I pull him up, needing to see his eyes.
“Last night. I went to his house and threatened him if he ever touched you again.” I open my mouth, but he talks over me. “I don’t care about the consequences. He hurt you, and that’s unacceptable. He made me question your loyalty. He spoke of how you spied for him and then betrayed him.”
“That’s not true. I never spied for him, not even when he demanded it from me. That’s why he went after me.” I fight back, needing him to understand.
“I know that now. He was trying to drive a wedge between us. Then this morning, you started speaking in Russian and wanted to go to the park alone. I knew you were lying. I had one of my men follow you. When I saw you with your brother, I jumped to conclusions. I thought you were selling us out. I should’ve known. You’re my wife, my tiger. You deserve better.”
“What made you see reason?” I ask, hoping sense came to him on his own, but doubting it.
“Pyotr called. He explained everything.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Fuck, Katerina! He’s been trafficking women! He’s a fucking monster. We have to stop him.”
“This we agree on. He can’t get away with it.”
“He won’t. The Syndicate will work with your brother and his men. We’re going to figure this out,” he assures me.
“We?”
“You, me, our men, and his. You’re Syndicate too.” His eyes plead with me to accept him.
I stare at him doubtfully. “If I were truly Syndicate, you wouldn’t have doubted me so quickly. You wouldn’t have been so easily persuaded.”
He looks tormented. “It’s not like that.”
“Yes, it is.”
We just stare at each other for a long moment, the chasm between us growing even wider.
“Let’s start planning what we’ll do,” I eventually say.
…
After hours on the phone with Petya, we’ve come up with a rough idea of what will happen. Petya and his men will already be inside. They’ll lax security enough to let us slip in. The Syndicate will handle the men loyal to Viktor, while Petya blocks off Viktor. He won’t suspect his son of being in on it. Only once Dominic can escort me to his office will Petya reveal his disloyalty. Then I’ll be given the opportunity to kill him.
I can tell Petya doesn’t think I can do it. But he doesn’t know the real me. Dominic knows I can do it, but he’s silent during that part of the plan. He’s pensive, as if there’s something he’s keeping to himself.
During dinner we were out of step. He pretended everything was normal in hopes that it will be. Whereas I was pretending to ease his worries. I need him to trust me enough to drop his guard.
They have a complicated plan, but I know an easier, less risky way to go about it. Where the only one in harm’s way is me. I can’t risk Petya’s few men or the Syndicate, including Dominic, for a job I was always meant to do alone. This is my journey.
When my watch shows it’s one in the morning, it’s time to go. In the silence of the night, I sneak out of bed. Tiptoeing through the room, I pack a bag. In it, I put a few workoutoutfits, one of my old dresses, toiletries, and a wad of cash taken from the safe. Enough to last me a few days.
When my phone alerts me that the Uber is ten minutes away, I unlock a window in the den. I hesitate before opening it, trying to recall if windows alert Dominic’s phone when opened. After a few moments, I decide it doesn’t matter. If he gets an alert that the window is open, he won’t see it until the morning, and I’ll already be long gone.
I hold my breath as I open the window, but no alarm goes off. Checking through my bag one final time, I ensure everything I need is packed. I pull out a stun gun since I can’t risk one of his men finding me but also won’t kill them. I heft my bag over my shoulder and lift one leg out of the window.
“FREEZE,” a voice booms.
My heart stops, as does the rest of me. Half inside, the other half out the window, I look up. Through the darkness, I can barely make out the outline of a furious man, gun raised at the ready. My husband looms in the darkness, a force to be reckoned with.
Our eyes lock, and a silent battle ensues. His gaze is full of questions, asking me why I’m leaving. Mine is pleading, begging him to let me go.
Well, most of me pleads. There’s a small part of me that begs him to ask me to stay. To say, ‘don’t go.’ That forbids me to leave.
But in the silence, the only move made is him lowering his gun. His sorrowful eyes devour me one last time, before he takes a step back. He nods at me solemnly.
