I press the heels of my hands against my eyes until I see stars. This is what happens when you spend three years alone. You lose perspective. You forget how to protect yourself. You fall forthe first man who shows you kindness, even when that man is literally the worst possible choice in the entire world.
But it wasn't just kindness. It was the way he chopped wood shirtless in the cold, muscles flexing with each swing. The way he reinforced my doors and windows without being asked. The way he kissed me like I was something precious and fucked me like I was something he'd die to keep.
My chest aches with the weight of it. With the impossibility of loving someone who should be my enemy. With the knowledge that every moment of happiness I've felt in his arms was built on a lie.
Except it wasn't a lie. Not for him. He doesn't remember ordering the hit. Doesn't remember being the Pakhan who made my family's name synonymous with betrayal and death. To him, I'm just Maya. The woman who saved his life. The woman he's falling for.
The voices in the living room have gone quiet. I strain to hear anything, but there's only the storm and the creak of old wood settling. Are they asleep? Still talking? Planning what to do about me?
I should go out there, should confront this head-on instead of hiding in my bedroom like a coward. But my legs won't move. My body has decided that staying right here, in this bed that smells like him, is the safest option.
I finally drift into fitful sleep sometime before dawn, my dreams full of gold eyes and dragon wings and the sound of gunshots echoing through snow.
Morning comes too soon and not soon enough. I wake to pale light filtering through the curtains and the smell of coffee. Forone blissful moment, I forget everything. Then it all comes crashing back, and I have to fight the urge to pull the covers over my head and never come out.
But hiding won't solve anything. And I need to know what Danil told him. Need to know if I have hours or minutes before everything falls apart.
I dress quickly in jeans and a thermal shirt, then braid my hair with shaking fingers. My reflection in the small mirror looks pale and drawn, with dark circles under my eyes that no amount of concealer could hide. Not that I have concealer. Not that it matters.
The cabin is quiet when I emerge. Too quiet. My heart hammers as I move down the hallway, half expecting to find them both gone. Or worse, waiting for me with guns drawn and questions I can't answer.
They aren’t in the cabin anywhere, and then I see the note. It’s from Sasha—Aleksandr. He and Danil are walking the perimeter and won’t be back for a while. I busy myself with mundane tasks such as mending a shirt, restacking wood in the fireplace, and even reorganizing some kitchen cupboards. By afternoon, I’m yawning every five minutes since I didn’t get much sleep, so I decide to take a nap.
When I wake again, my eyes pop wide open. I must have slept the entire day away because no light filtered in through the windows. I jerk up to a sitting position, then notice Sasha, sleeping peacefully next to me. Just how late is it?
Carefully so I don’t wake him, I get out of bed, wrap a warm robe around me, and leave the bedroom, pulling the door closed softly behind me.
Danil is still awake, standing in the kitchen with a glass of vodka in his hand.
"Hi," he says, but the smile he gives me doesn’t seem genuine. His dark eyes study my face, and I see the moment he registers the fear there. The knowledge.
"You figured it out," he says quietly. It's not a question.
I nod, not trusting my voice. I don’t need to be told what he’s talking about. He knows I’ve figured out who Sasha really is.
He's quiet for a moment. "And you didn't run."
"Storm," I manage. "Can't run in this."
"Bullshit." He leans back in his chair, and the wood creaks under his weight. "You could have tried. Taken your truck, risked it. But you're still here."
I don't answer. Can't answer. Because he's right, and we both know it.
"You love him." Again, not a question, just a statement of fact delivered in that same calm, measured tone.
Heat floods my cheeks. "I don't…"
"Don't lie to me, Lena." The use of my real name makes me flinch. "So either you're stupid or you're in love. And you don't strike me as stupid."
"What are you going to do?"
"That's the question, isn't it?" He leans forward with his elbows on the table. The position makes his shoulders look even broader, more intimidating. "I could tell him. Right now. Wake him up and explain that the woman he's falling for is LenaOrlova. The girl whose family stole from him. The girl he ordered killed."
My throat closes. "Will you?"
"I haven't decided yet." His expression is unreadable. "I'm trying to understand what happened here." He runs a hand over his shaved head. "Aleksandr has been missing for weeks. People are looking for him. Our Pakhan is needed. And there's the others."
"What others?"
