It’s the first genuine emotion I’ve allowed myself in hours.
For all the chaos spinning around us, for all the questions we still don’t have answers to, despite it all, this girl still has her fire blazing inside her chest, still has her wit, and meets the darkness in front of her with her chin up and eyes open wide.
And maybe, just maybe, that makes her a survivor.
Or something far more dangerous.
15
IVY
Idon’t know why I even bothered to tell him about my family.
It’s not like he cares. He’s literally aMafia leader.
The top of the food chain in a world where people disappear just for crossing him, not the kind of man you unload your sad little life story to over an early lunch. And yet here I am, word-vomiting my way through all the family skeletons I’ve spent years keeping under lock and key because he simplyasked.
I don’t know why I tell him about my parents. Or how I can’t rely on them for anything—not for money, not emotional support, not even a basic phone call unless they need something from me.
I clawed my way out of that suffocating house as soon as I could, desperate to put a continent between us. The only plan I’d ever had was to get into a good college, get a degree, and finally build a life that didn’t have their fingerprints all over it.
And then, because I’m apparently incapable of shutting up, I admit the worst part. That I ended up failing that dream, too.
Hard.
I say it quickly, like if I rush the words out, maybe they’ll sound less pathetic. I tell him how the student loans are piling up. About how my part-time over the last two years to help me get by has barely scratched the surface of my insurmountable debt. And then finally, how I’d decided dropping out would be better than continuing to throw money into a sinking pit when the overseas “job offer” landed in my lap like a miracle.
When I finally stop talking, I realize I’m clutching my napkin hard enough to leave it shredded in my hands, twisted and torn from how badly I’d been wringing the poor thing through my fingers.
Across from me, Maksim surprises me. He doesn’t look bored or dismissive. He’s been quiet while listening, never once waving me off and telling me my problems are insignificant compared to the power plays he deals in daily.
If anything… he looks almost sympathetic. And worse, a little intrigued.
It’s unnerving the way he studies me, recalculating something in his head, maybe the internal chess game he’s always playing because of me.
And that’s when he drops the bombshell on me—that someone’s been tracking me, pulling my personal data, and connecting me to the shootout that happened at the cafe.
To say I’m surprised is an understatement. Who the hell would be interested in me enough to want to kill me? I don’t have enemies, as far as I know, and certainly not the kind who follow me halfway across the world just to take me out.
It’s a terrifying thought, my life hanging on the line of a very thin tightrope. But with no other resources other than the man sitting in front of me, I’m shit out of luck trying to resolve this myself.
“What would you say about making a deal?” he says finally. “Help me find out who pulled your information before you arrived in Moscow, and I’ll pay your debt off. All of it. I’ll even give you enough money to find yourself a new apartment.”
I just stare at him.
Two things hit me at once, both with the force of a punch to the gut. One—what the actual hell does he mean he’s going to pay off my hundreds of thousands of dollars in student loan debt? And two—how the fuck am I supposed to help him track down an online executioner?
I’m just a fucking girl from the States. I don’t have any hacking abilities. Even if I did, why would I waste them on trying to help his gang when I could be using them to go dark and start my life over somewhere new?
Then again, the idea of no longer having any debt hanging over my head is… tempting. Paying my loans off would hand my future back to me on a silver platter. Why would he do something so… kind? It doesn’t make sense
Which means obviously, there’s a catch because there’s always a catch with people like him.
“And how exactly am I supposed to help you? What, you think I have some magical hacking abilities I’ve been hiding? I don’t even know where to start.”
His gaze doesn’t waver, though there’s a slight uptick to the corner of his mouth. “Start with Sergei. Look into his recordswhen you have access to them. Emails, calls, any logs of visitors that come and go off the property, including my Bratva. There might be someone he’s been in contact with who knew you were coming from the States. Someone who could benefit from using you against him as leverage. If so, I want to know why and who that is.”
The implication makes my stomach twist.
