This wasn't a meeting. This was an ambush.
My father set me up.
The thought is so horrifying I almost stop moving. My legs almost give out. But Andrei's grip is iron, dragging me forward. Then we're at the car and he's shoving me inside. "Drive!" he screams at the driver. "Now!"
The engine roars, and the tires screech. We're driving before my door is even closed, and I'm thrown against the seat as the car accelerates.
Gunfire follows us. I hear bullets hitting metal. The back window spiderwebs but doesn't shatter. Andrei is on top of me, pressing me down into the seat, his body covering mine completely.
"Don't look up," he orders. "Don't fucking move."
I don't. Ican't. I'm shaking so hard my teeth are chattering, and there's something wet on my hands. Blood. Not mine… someone else's.
The gunfire fades. We're moving fast, taking corners too sharp, the driver pushing the car to its limits. "Update," Andrei barks into his phone. His weight is still crushing me into the seat. "Who made it out?"
A pause. His body goes rigid. "Understood." He ends the call.
We drive in silence for what feels like hours. Finally, the car slows. We're back at the estate.Safe,I think, and then flinch. When did Andrei’s estate become the place that wassafe?
I guess when my father staged an ambush instead of meeting with me like he promised.
Andrei climbs off me slowly. His face is spattered with blood and his jacket is torn. "Inside," he growls. "Now."
I stumble out of the car. My legs barely hold me upright. There's blood on my sweater, on my hands, in my hair.Someone else’s, I think again, dizzily. One of Andrei's men who died because I convinced him to arrange this meeting.
The front door of the mansion opens, and Andrei's hand is on my back, pushing me forward. Through the foyer. Down the hallway. Up the stairs.
To my room.
He opens the door and I walk inside on autopilot. My mind is blank. There's nothing in my head except the sound of gunfire and the image of that man's empty eyes.
"Liesl—"
"How many?" My voice doesn't sound like mine. "How many of your men died?"
Andrei’s jaw clenches. "Three."
Three.Three men who were alive this morning. Who had families, maybe. Friends. Lives.
Three men dead because I thought I could negotiate with my father.
"I'm sorry." The words sound hollow. I can’t help but say them, but I also know they don’t mean anything. Not after this. "I'm so sorry, I thought?—"
"No more suggestions." Andrei's voice cuts through my apology like a blade, cold and final. "You don't think about strategy. You don't offer ideas. You don't speak unless I ask you a direct question. Do you understand?"
I stare at him. "Andrei?—"
"Do you understand?"
I nod shakily. "Yes."
"Good." He turns toward the door. "Stay in this room. Don't come out. Don't try to help. Don't try to fix anything. Just stay here and be quiet."
The door closes behind him and the lock clicks. I sink to the floor, back against the bed, and stare at my blood-covered hands.
Three men.
Three men dead because of me.
