Her smile widens a fraction. "Then I guess I'll see you tonight."
Once I’ve made it to the office, Ilya has busy work for me to go over, double-checking shipment manifests and inventory lists to make sure that we’re not being double-crossed in any way. I lose myself in it for a little while, doing my best not to worry about Svetlana, until mid-afternoon, my phone rings.
It’s Artem. “What’s wrong?” I hiss as I answer, stepping into an adjacent room to keep Ilya from hearing the call.
“Nothing. Not with Svetlana, anyway. But I have to go.” He pauses. “Family emergency. My brother is in the hospital. Something to do with his heart?—”
“Go.” I glance at my watch. “I’m leaving now.”
I hang up and grab my coat, already moving for the door. Ilya looks up from his desk.
"Problem?"
"Personal matter. I'll be back later."
Ilya has known me and trusts me for long enough that he doesn’t ask questions. A burn of guilt settles under my ribs at the thought, realizing that I’m testing that trust. That if Ilya discovers what I’ve done, I’ll never have that with him again. I’ve worked for him so long that he’s more like a brother than a boss, and I know I’m risking something valuable for…
For something just as precious.
The drive back to my apartment takes twenty minutes in traffic that makes me want to put my fist through the windshield. Every red light feels like an eternity. By the time I pull into my spot and kill the engine, my hands are shaking.
She's fine. Artem wouldn't have left if there was immediate danger. She's fine.But the panic doesn't ease as I take the stairs two at a time, then unlock the door and push inside.
The living room is empty… but I immediately see that the window leading out to the fire escape, the one that I keep locked with the keys on me, is open.Allthe way open, and the wood around it is gouged and cracked. I see the flutter of a cardigan, and I bolt for the window.
“Svetlana!” I reach out and grab her sweater, and she lets out a cry, stabbing at my hand with—and now I know how she got the window open—a screwdriver. I hiss through my teeth as it gouges my skin, but I’ve had much worse.
I squeeze through the window, grabbing her arm as she reaches the next level of stairs. “Don’t you dare,” I growl, and she freezes.
"Svetlana." I reach out and grab her arm, reaching for the screwdriver with my other hand. She resists for a moment, then the fire escape wobbles, and she goes very still. From the look on her face, she knows she’s caught. "Were you trying to leave?" It’s a pointless question, but a part of me wants her to admit it.
"Does it matter?" She lifts her chin.
I glare at her as I tug her up the stairs toward me, back toward the window. She comes without struggling, clearly accepting her fate… this time, anyway. "Where were you going to go?"
Her eyes narrow. "Anywhere. Nowhere. What difference does it make? I was running from you." She spits the words. "From this apartment, this situation, this—" She gestures at the space between us. "Whatever the fuck this is."
My jaw tightens. “I thought we were making progress.”
She laughs. “Why? Because you brought me strawberries?” She steps closer to me and jabs one finger into my chest, her eyes flashing up at me as she glares into mine with unadulteratedhatred. “There isnothing, Kazimir, that you can ever do that can make up for what you’ve done.Nothing.”
19
SVETLANA
His face darkens, and I can tell that he really thought that bringing me strawberries and cream and chocolate, running an errand for me, was enough to make up for letting me walk out of that warehouse alone. That all of the past and the present can be fixed by giving me something I wanted. One thing. "You can't keep me here. You can't just lock me up and expect me to?—"
"I'm protecting you." His voice is stubborn, firm. He really believes his own bullshit.
"You're imprisoning me!" My voice rises. "You're keeping me here against my will, watching me, controlling everything I do?—"
"Because you can't be trusted!" He's shouting now, too, his control finally snapping. "Because the second I turn my back, you try to run. You try to leave, to go back out there where anyone could find you, where you'd be alone and vulnerable and?—"
"That's my choice to make!"
"Not when you're carrying my child, it's not." The words hang between us, sharp and brutal.
I laugh humorlessly. "There it is. That's what this is really about, isn't it? Not me. Not keeping me safe. The baby. Your baby, or so you’re determined to think. Your property."
