Then, I hear footsteps retreating down the hallway.
He was listening. Standing there in the darkness, listening to me play.
I don’t know how that makes me feel.
To make matters worse, later that night, I dream of Bogdan.
He’s standing in Kira’s bedroom, lifting her sleeping body from the bed while she cries for me. I try to run to her, but my legs won’t move. I try to scream, but no sound comes out. He carries her toward the door, and she reaches for me with those small hands, sobbing “Mama, Mama, Mama?—”
I wake gasping, with my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
A shadow fills my doorway, and I nearly scream before I recognize the silhouette. Pyotr. Standing there in the darkness, watching me.
“What are you doing?” My voice is hoarse.
Instead of answering, he moves past me to the window and checks the locks, running his fingers along the frame as if testing for weaknesses. Then, he crosses to the other window and does the same thing.
“They’re secure,” he explains. “Go back to sleep.”
And then he’s gone, retreating down the hallway as silently as he appeared.
I lie in bed staring at the ceiling until dawn, unable to sleep or stop thinking about the man in my spare room.
He heard me having a nightmare and came to check on me. He made sure my windows were locked.
I should be terrified. He’s here to determine whether I’ve betrayed my family. He could be the one who ends my life.
But when he stood in my doorway, I didn’t feel afraid.
I felt safe.
And that scares me more than anything else.
5
Pyotr
The federal warrant hit this week, and everything went to hell.
Dmitri called this morning with the news I’ve been dreading. The authorities have started seizing accounts, freezing assets, and pulling transaction records that trace back to Daria’s name. Investigators are building a case, and they don’t care whether she’s guilty or a victim. They want someone to blame.
I have two weeks left. Fourteen days to find proof of her innocence before Dmitri decides she’s too dangerous to live.
The pressure sits on my chest like a stone. Every hour that passes without answers brings her closer to a fate she might not deserve. I’ve spent the past week watching her, and nothing I’ve observed suggests she’s a willing traitor.
Nothing proves her innocence, either.
I’m reviewing financial documents at the kitchen table when I hear the crash in the bathroom.
My body moves before my brain catches up. I’m through the door with my gun drawn, checking for threats, intruders, or whatever made that sound.
What I find stops me dead.
Daria is frozen beside the shower with water streaming down the tiles behind her. A shampoo bottle rolls across the floor, the source of the crash. She’s wearing nothing but water droplets and a terrified expression. Her brown eyes are wide as saucers, and her lips are parted in shock. Her eyes flit to my weapon, and the terror on her face doubles even though the gun is pointed at the floor.
I relax my stance and drop the firearm the rest of the way.
I should turn around, apologize, and leave. I should do anything except stand here like an idiot, gawking at every inch of her exposed skin while my cock stirs behind my zipper.
