She backs away with posture rigid enough to cut steel. “I love you.” Her words possess no polish, just raw vulnerability. “Be safe. Call me.”
And just like that, the doors shut, snapping her off from us and sealing the noise and fury outside. The alarms vanish, leaving only our breathing and the steady splatter of water on elevator steel.
I stare at the closed doors, feeling the press of Kirill’s body behind me, solid and warm despite the soaking.
My mother’s words echo in my head.
You always were your father’s daughter.
For the first time in years, they don’t sting like a wound.
They reassure like a blessing.
The elevator doors slide open and spit us into a cold, echoey concrete underworld. The low, oppressive ceiling features fluorescent lights that flicker and buzz like angry wasps trapped in a jar.
Staff halls.
Kirill doesn’t release my wrist. With his iron grip, he marches me toward a door with a glowing red EXIT sign hanging overhead.
Water drips off the hem of my drenched dress and dots the floor, though the liquid will dry in a matter of minutes. As we push outside, the evidence vanishes into grass.
From here, it’s a short walk to the valet parking, and Kirill already has his key out and ready to go. I’ll have to get the valet key back from Mom, but that’s a problem to deal with after the cops, guests, and clean-up crew have all gone.
When we reach his car, his hand abandons my skin.
Like stepping off a curb I didn’t see, I stagger at the loss of contact. He ushers me into the Audi, barely glancing at me. I drop into the seat, the leather chilly and clammy beneath me.
He gets in and closes the door but doesn’t drive immediately.
Instead, he pulls out his phone and taps out a number. I study the hardness of his jaw and the steely glint of resolve in his eyes. No warmth or humanity there. Just pure, cold focus.
“Package acquired.”
Anxiety crawls up my spine at the word.
Package.
Not person. Not Jordan.
‘Package’ could refer to the box, or me, or both of us bundled into a category that strips away meaning.
Drops of water shiver down the back of my neck.
“Someone else is involved. Don’t know who. Gio aligned with another person.” He pauses for a beat, his entire body tensing. “Fuck.”
Once he ends the call, he tosses the phone onto the console without meeting my eyes.
“Problems?” I try to keep my tone steady, but my voice barely makes a breath in the vast, buzzing silence.
“Always.” As he turns the key, the engine rumbles to life.
We speed out of the lot, the night closing around us like a velvet bag.
City lights blur past, long lines of neon and gold streaking the windows. Beneath us, the car hums. Kirill’s leg is close enough to touch.
I think of what we just did, what we survived, how for a few crazy moments, we acted as a team. I want to reach for him, to bridge this weird chasm that didn’t exist before the gala.
But I don’t.
