And the shaking is just turbulence.
“It’s a nightmare,” Slava says, his voice low and steady. “I got you. You’re safe.”
I’m gasping for air like a fish out of water. My heart slams against my ribs so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack through the bruised bone. The jet shudders again as we hit another pocket of rough air.
Just turbulence. Just a nightmare.
My hands are still shaking and I can’t quite close them for some reason. When I look down, I realize that Slava’s fingers are interlaced with mine.
Was he holding my hand the entire time as I slept? Was that how he knew I was having a nightmare? Or did I reach out for the safety of his touch in my panic?
He follows my gaze down to our joined hands, and then he starts to pull away.
“Don’t.” The word escapes my lips. “Please.”
He stills.
“Hold me,” I whisper. “Until we land.”
I don’t have the energy to pretend I’m anything other than exhausted and terrified and desperately, pathetically human.
Slava hesitates for a brief moment. Then, he slides his arm around me, encases me in the fiery embrace of his touch, and pulls me closer.
I close my eyes at the relief of not being alone in the dark. My cheek finds the hollow of his shoulder. His heartbeat is steadybeneath my ear and slower than mine. And with every mingled breath, my heart steadies just a little bit more until my pulse gradually stops trying to escape through my throat.
“I was on the yacht,” I hear myself say, unprompted. “With Don Leo.”
Slava’s arm tightens around me and he pulls me even closer. “He won’t reach you here.”
I lean back into his reassuring heat as the turbulence smooths out, and nod. But there’s still just a final root of doubt that’s dug itself deep into my mind. I bite my lip, wondering if this is the time to ask.
But what if the answer isn’t what I want it to be, but further confirmation that Slava really is the monster I believed him to be?
Huh, I think. Believed. Past tense.
Then, as if sensing the conflict in my mind, Slava moves behind me. He tucks away a strand of my hair behind my ear in an impossibly gentle gesture and holds me even closer.
“What is it?” he whispers against my ear.
I close my eyes. “Do you remember asking what Nico told me at the fundraiser gala?”
“I do.”
There’s no turning back now. “He told me you raped and murdered his younger sister.”
The words come out like floodwater from a burst dam, and as they come, I’m powerless to stop them. Slava tightens slightly behind me, but he lets me continue.
“And on the yacht,” I say, my voice whisper quiet. “Do you remember Don Leo asking me if you ever told me what you did to his Gia?”
“I do.”
“Now I’m asking you.” I take a breath and turn to look him in his eyes in the dark. “Did you? Did you rape her? Did you kill her?”
“No,” Slava’s jaws clench and his voice is bitter. “And Nico is a fucking liar. Gia was his older sister, not younger.”
His words confirm what I found in the obituary, and it feels as if a physical weight lifts off my chest.
I shift further so that I can see his entire face, and find his eyes holding an infinite grief, like a man who’s been carrying something heavy for a very long time.
