Andrei is in the main room with his men, going over the plan for what feels like the hundredth time. I can hear his voice through the door, issuing commands. For the last two days, he's been distant when we're not alone, focused on planning. And I understand why. His men have been questioning him, the frequency growing the longer I'm here, questioning whether I'm worth the trouble, whether keeping me alive is making him weak. He has to prove he's still in control, still the ruthlesspakhanthey need him to be.
But at night, when he comes to bed, he holds me like I'm the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. Like if he lets go, he'll drift away and never find his way back. It feels like a strange, in-between liminal state, where we're playing at romance without ever really saying that's what this is. Knowing it could end so quickly, if things go wrong.
I get up and dress in jeans and a t-shirt and Docs, simple clothes that I can move quickly in if something goes wrong. I hate that I'm thinking like this now, that a meeting with my father has to be considered tactically. I don't feel like myself anymore. This isn't the life I tried to create for myself—one where I'm hiding, afraid of my own family, thinking about the possibility that if something goes wrong, I might not see another sunrise like the one I watched this morning.
Things won't go wrong,I tell myself.My father will listen. He'll see reason. He'll understand that this war is destroying us and that the only way forward is peace.
I want to believe it. I need to believe it. But there's a voice in the back of my mind—small and insistent—that whispers I'm being naive. That my father didn't become a billionaire by prioritizing his daughter's happiness over business opportunities. That the man who refused to pay my ransom might not be the man I thought I knew.
I push the thought away and focus on braiding my hair. My hands are shaking slightly, and it takes three tries to get the braid right. When I'm done, I stare at my reflection in the small mirror above the dresser.
I look pale. Scared. Young. I look like someone who has no business negotiating peace between criminal organizations. But thishasto work. My father keeps escalating, keeps arming Andrei's enemies, keeps pushing this toward total war.
Maybe I can reach him this time. Maybe he'll listen.
The door opens and Andrei steps inside. He's dressed in all black—tactical pants, a fitted shirt that shows the lines of his shoulders and chest, and boots. He's armed; I can see the bulge of a gun at his hip. His face is hard and expressionless. But when he looks at me, something softens in his eyes, just for a moment.
"Ready?" he asks.
"No." The honest answer comes out before I can stop it. "But I don't think I'll ever be ready for this."
He crosses the room and cups my face in his hands. His palms are warm, familiar now. "You don't have to do this,ptitsa. I can call it off. We can find another way."
"No." I shake my head. "I have to try again."
"Your father might not listen."
"I know." My throat tightens. "But I have to try."
He studies my face for a long moment, and I can see him wrestling with the decision.
Finally, he nods. "Okay. But you stay close to me. And if anything goes wrong—anything at all—you run. You understand?"
"Andrei—"
"Promise me, Liesl." His grip on my face tightens slightly.
"I promise," I whisper.
He kisses me then, like he's memorizing the taste of me. Like he thinks this might be the last time.
It could be. If my father agrees to everything, if he stands down… he might take me back with him. This might be Andrei and my last moments together, alone.
My chest seizes at the thought. But I can't possibly think that I'd rather stay here, in this chaos and violence, than go back to my life.Can I? I talked to Andrei about a future last night, the barest glimpse of it, but that feels very far away now. How can we ever make this work?
And then he pulls me against his chest and holds me so tightly I can barely breathe. "We're going to survive this," he says into my hair. "Both of us. We're going to end this war and then we're going to figure out what the fuck we are to each other. Okay?"
I feel tears burn behind my eyes. "Okay," I whisper, even though I don't know how that possibly works. We're so different.Our worlds are so different. I don't see how we walk away from this tonight together.
I cling to him for a moment, trying to memorize the feel of his arms around me, the steady beat of his heart against my cheek, the scent of him that's become as familiar as my own.
A knock on the door interrupts us, and Viktor's voice comes through. "It's time,pakhan."
Andrei releases me slowly, reluctantly. "Let's go."
—
The meeting locationis a small cabin fifteen miles from the safe house where I've been staying, an old hunting cabin on property Andrei owns. It's isolated, far from anywhere that gunfire would draw attention. The thought makes my stomach churn.
