“Elena, please.”
The plea was quieter this time.
Less controlled.
More human.
I stopped walking when I reached the French doors that led into the living room.
My hand rested on the handle.
My back remained turned to him.
“If you want even the smallest chance at redemption,” I said without turning to face him, “you will help me get my sister back first.”
My fingers tightened around the door handle.
“And when it’s done — when I’m finally reunited with my sister — you’ll sign whatever divorce papers I put in front of you.”
My voice hardened.
I turned my head slightly — just enough for him to see my profile.
“And you will never come after me again.”
Silence stretched between us.
The night felt louder because of it.
Ruslan stared for several seconds.
I didn’t turn to look at him — but I felt his gaze.
Heavy. Measured.
Then quietly —
“I’ll do whatever you ask.” A declaration that he understood the terms.
Chapter 9
ELENA
Two months had passed.
Yannis and I had just cleared security at Iron Hollow Federal Penitentiary — a maximum-security fortress carved into the California landscape like a scar that refused to heal.
The building loomed behind razor wire and reinforced guard towers.
Concrete walls. Steel gates.
Gun posts positioned at calculated intervals.
It wasn’t designed for rehabilitation.
It was designed for containment.
Inside, the visitor’s hall smelled of bleach, stale coffee, and despair that had soaked into the walls over years.
