Konstantin doesn't give him a single drop.
He stands perfectly still, his arms hanging loose at his sides. His eyes don't even blink at the mention of his mother. They’re fixed on Moretti with a look of clinical observation, as if he’s watching an insect crawl across a tabletop before he decides to crush it.
"Are you finished?" Konstantin asks. His voice is devoid of anger, which makes it a thousand times more terrifying.
Moretti's grin falters. He wanted a broken man. Instead, he's standing in front of an executioner who is simply biding his time.
He looks at me with disgust. Then back at Konstantin. "Take her," Moretti sneers. "She’s broken anyway. A traitor who sold you out for a glass of water. Take your garbage and get out of my sight."
A guard slices the ties.
I fall forward but never hit the floor. Konstantin catches me. His arms are like iron, locking around my waist, pulling my battered body against his chest.
I burst into tears and bury my face in his neck, soaking his collar. "Konstantin," I choke out.
He doesn't say a word.
He cups the back of my head, fingers twisting into my bloody hair. He pulls me back just enough to look at my face. Dried blood and dirt streak my skin, but he doesn't care.
He crushes his mouth to mine.
The kiss is hard, like he’s trying to swallow my soul. He tastes the blood and the dirt on my lips and still drinks me in, claiming every broken part of me.
It’s the only thing that stops the world from falling apart.
"I have her," he says, murmuring to himself as he pulls his mouth free.
Behind us, heavy boots meet concrete. Moretti is already barking at his men, rushing toward the exit. Arthur is right behind him, scurrying like a rat, looking at his shoes so he doesn't have to see me.
They got what they wanted. They're leaving us in the dust like we're yesterday's news.
Konstantin carries me toward the Ferrari.
"Run while you can, Konstantin!" Moretti shouts. "Enjoy the night. Because the sun is never coming up for you again!"
My husband doesn't look back. He opens the car door and sets me gently in the passenger seat. He leans in close, hand brushing the hair from my forehead.
"Did they touch you?" he whispers.
"I told them," I sob, guilt crashing over me. "Konstantin, I told them about the shipment. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
He ignores the confession. His eyes search my face, then travel down to my body, checking for breaks, for blood. He grabs my wrist firmly.
"Did. They. Touch. You?"
I tremble, unable to hide it anymore. I lift my right hand.
The blood is dried on my skin. The shallow slice Moretti made is a bright red line across the base of my thumb. The black marker circle is still visible, the map of the amputation.
"He... he was going to take it," I whisper, trembling. "And the crash... my chest burns. Is Lev...?"
"He’s alive," Konstantin says, his voice impossibly gentle. "He’s already at the clinic. We’re going there now. The doctor will fix you both."
He holds my hand, tracing the line of the cut with his thumb. "He put a knife to you."
His thumb caresses the wound, lingering.
"Good," he says. It sounds like he’s talking to the demon inside him. "Now I don't have to be merciful."
