I sit, perched on the edge of the nearby chair like I might need to bolt at any second. My leg bounces with nervous energy, my hands clenching and unclenching on my knees.
Ilya looks at me, studying me with a cold calculation that I’ve hoped would never be turned on me. “What the fuck are you talking about? Svetlana?”
“It was her in the cell in Russia. Her father sold her to Iosef and his men. I got her out. That was why it all went to hell. I freed her, and they chased us into a storm. I killed his men trying to protect her, and then I brought her back to Boston with me, gave her money, and cut her loose.”
The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. Ilya's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek, but his voice remains eerily calm. "And where has she been since then?”
“She was at a motel at first. Then I brought her to my apartment. She had no money, no way to take care of herself, and her father was tracking her down. And when I found out she was pregnant?—”
Ilya’s jaw clenches. “With a child from Iosef or one of his men?”
“Maybe.” I swallow hard, seeing his gaze turn glacial. “Or it could be?—”
Understanding dawns in Ilya’s face. I see him remembering the breakfast dishes. The cardigan. My distraction over these past weeks, my nervousness when he was there. For a long moment, he doesn't speak, doesn't move. Just stares at me with an expression I can't read.
Then he speaks, very slowly, very deliberately.
"You've been fucking my ex-fiancée," he says, his voice soft and deadly.
I nod. "Yes."
"You got her pregnant."
"Possibly.”
"And you've been lying to me about it for months. Creating a security risk. A vulnerability that anyone could exploit." He moves toward me, and every instinct I have screams at me to run. "That someone has exploited. But beyond that, youliedto me. About the mission, about what happened, about who was at your apartment… about basically fucking everything. For weeks now. All because ofSvetlana. A woman who was mine, who I cut loose, who I told you to let be."
I force myself to stay seated, to meet his eyes. "Yes."
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" He's standing over me now, radiating barely controlled fury. "Do you understand the consequences of this betrayal?"
"Yes." My voice is steady despite the fear coursing through me. "I know exactly what I've done. I know what it means. I know that by every law we live by, I deserve to die for this."
"Then why?" The question comes out like a whip crack. "Why would you risk everything? Your position, your life, the security of this entire organization? For what, Kazimir? For pussy?"
The crude dismissal of what Svetlana means to me sparks anger through my fear. "It's not like that."
"Then what is it like?" He leans down, getting in my face. "Explain it to me. Make me understand why one of my most trusted men would betray me like this."
"I love her." The words come out before I can stop them, but I started with honesty, and I’ll continue that way until the end. "I love her, Ilya. I didn't mean to. I didn't plan it. But I do. I love her more than I've ever loved anything in my life. And she's carrying my child, and someone has taken her, and I will burn this entire fucking city to the ground to get her back." I stand slowly, looking down at him. “I’ll take my punishment. All I ask is that you find her, once I’m gone. That you make sure she and the baby are safe. We let her leave that warehouse unprotected, Ilya… and it led to this. It has to be made right. Ithasto.”
Ilya straightens, his expression unreadable. "Who took her?"
"I don't know for certain. Either her father or Iosef, I think." I pull out my phone with shaking hands, pull up the message, and show him the photo. "They sent this. They said Artem is dead. They know about the baby."
He studies the photo, his jaw tight. Then he hands the phone back to me and walks to the doorway, staring out at the city lights.
The silence stretches out, excruciating. I want to scream at him to say something, to make a decision, to help me or kill me, but just dosomething. But I force myself to wait. This is his call now.
"You came to me," he says finally, still not turning around, "knowing what this confession would mean."
I fight back the clawing fear in my chest—not even for myself, but for Svetlana. "Yes."
"Knowing that I might kill you for this betrayal."
"Yes." I shift on my feet, needing to move, needing to do something with the desperate energy coursing through me. "I know what I've done, Ilya. I know the consequences. I know thatI deserve whatever punishment you decide. And if you want me dead, I'll accept that. I'll kneel right here and take the bullet myself if that's what you want."
He turns, then, his eyes boring into mine. "But?"
