Valentina’s eyes are wide, fixed on Maksim’s body.
“We need to go now." I reach my hand out to her, and she takes it without hesitation.
We run out the back of the restaurant and to my car.
"Get in," I urge, sliding behind the wheel as she buckles herself into the passenger seat.
I floor the accelerator, tires squealing as we tear away from the scene. As we flee to freedom.
“Cristian?”
A hand settles on my arm. I blink.
Valentina stands in front of me, looking up at me with a curious expression.
“Don’t forget what I said, Valentina.” Maksim buttons his coat.
Her eyes stay fixed on me, and I realize I was lost in a fantasy. A fantasy I could still make real.
My fingers twitch toward my gun.
“Let’s go, Cristian.” This time, her expression is urgent. Almost likeshe knows what I’m thinking and wants to stop me from doing something stupid.
These violent thoughts keep ambushing me. Vivid daydreams where I end this farce with a bullet. They feel so real that sometimes, I worry I might act on them without meaning to.
I nod and step aside to open the door for her.
But even then, I’m imagining reaching for my gun and firing.
This can’t go on.
Every minute I let this continue feels like I'm failing her.
We need a plan.
Something better than my murderous fantasies.
Something that won't start a war.
Something that will free her without getting us both killed.
But watching Maksim track Valentina from the room, his men positioned strategically throughout the restaurant, I wonder if such a solution exists.
I usher Valentina away, my hand protectively placed on her elbow.
Once we're safely inside our vehicle and pulling away, she lets out a breath that seems to deflate her entire body.
“You okay?”
She sucks in a breath that returns color to her cheeks. It’s amazing how fast she can rally. "If looks could kill, Maksim would be nothing but dust right now," she jokes, a halfhearted smile touching her lips. "I thought you might actually murder him with your eyes."
"If only that were true," I mutter, gripping the steering wheel tighter and imagining it is Maksim’s throat. "I'd have turned him to ash weeks ago."
The joke falls flat between us, weighed down by the reality of our situation.
I check the rearview mirror, not risking another ambush.
“Yes, well, you’d have to turn your death stare on my brothers too.” She rubs her temples.
