Not because I’m in love with him. That would be insane. But because somewhere between the threats and the chaos and the way he looked at me like I wasn’t weak… I started to feel safe around him.
Maybe even seen. And if he disappears tonight, if something happens and he’s just… gone—
I’ll never get to ask what that meant.
I remember the way he looked after dinner. That flicker of something when I said sorry. Like I touched a part of him that wasn’t meant to be touched.
My fingers hover over my phone screen again.
I didn’t mean to make things weird.
Delete.
Please be careful.
Send.
I set the phone down and walk away before I embarrass myself any further.
The silence stretches.
I grab a throw blanket off the back of the couch, toss it over myself, and sit. Try to breathe through it.
I close my eyes, whispering into the dark like he could somehow hear me. “Come back to me.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. Too raw. Too true. Because the real nightmare isn’t him staying in my life. It’s him not coming back at all.
9
Anton
Midnight smells like rust and bleach.
The warehouse is old Bratva property—off Charleston, tucked behind a decommissioned meat plant where the bones used to pile higher than the walls. We haven’t used it in years, not since Lev decided he didn’t like the acoustics for torture work. Said the echoes ruined the pacing.
Tonight, it’s good enough.
The lights buzz overhead, throwing yellow halos onto the concrete. I check the corridor again, then the padlock on the far door. It’s reinforced, welded shut from the inside. No plumbing. No vents. No way for Viktor Kozlov to off himself before I get what I need out of him.
He’s locked up tight.
Still breathing. Still bleeding.
And for the next forty minutes, still alive.
I walk the length of the corridor again, silent. Cement crunches under my boots—dust from the last crew who used this place for something messier. Could be blood. Could be plaster. Doesn’t matter. It’s clean enough for tonight.
I check the time. 12:09.
Igor’s reply still hasn’t come in.
I texted him thirty minutes ago with the address. Not the full location—just a block radius, with the entry code for the gate. I expected a thumbs-up, maybe a brief order.
Instead, I got nothing.
Well…not nothing. He read it.
I saw the status change.Read. 23:38.
