“My father…”
“Is in mortal danger too,” Ivan finishes. “He’s dug in, fortified, but he’s one man. Old. Stubborn. If the coalition turns on him…” He lets the sentence die. Doesn’t need to finish it.
I set the teacup down. Hands shaking.
“You’re saying my father would let me die to save face?”
Ivan doesn’t answer right away.
When he does, his voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.
“I’m saying he’s playing a game he can’t win,” I van says. “And you’re the piece he’s willing to sacrifice.”
The words land heavy. I don’t know if Ivan is telling me the whole truth. In fact, I’m almost certain that he isn’t. But as far as his intentions go, I’ve got a real feeling that he’s doing what’s best for me.
I look down at the steam rising from my tea. Watch it curl and disappear.
Part of me wants to scream that he’s not telling me everything, that he’s twisting things to suit whatever his Volkov agenda is. I know how these things go. I know that this is probably another manipulation—another way to keep me docile, compliant, grateful.
But the other part—the part that grew up listening to hushed conversations behind closed doors, the part that saw blood on my father’s shirt when I was nine—knows he’s telling the truth on a most basic level.
I’m in danger. And right now, Ivan is probably the best option to keep me safe.
I lift my eyes.
“So what now?”
Ivan exhales through his nose.
“I know a motel. Edge of town. Off the grid. Cash only. No cameras. No questions. We lay low there tonight. Tomorrow we figure out the next move.”
I search his face.
He’s exhausted. Lines around his eyes deeper than yesterday. Jaw shadowed with stubble. But steady.
Ivan is risking everything.
Forme.
Or maybe for whatever version of himself he still wants to believe in.
Either way.
I take a deep breath. Let it out slowly.
“Okay.”
“Finish your tea,” Ivan mutters. “We move in two minutes. We’ve gone way past the point of no return now, boy. From here on out, it’s a fight for survival, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
I can see that Ivan means what he says.
But that doesn’t mean I trust him—after all, I’m still a Galkin…
Chapter 12
Ivan
I guide Landon through the narrow service alley until we reach the far corner of the rear parking lot, where a chain-link fence sags just enough to let us slip behind a row of overflowing dumpsters.
