She looks resolved.
At the head of the table, Nikolai pushes his chair back.
The scrape of wood against stone slices through the room. Every muscle in my body locks as he rises unhurriedly. He doesn’t look at Viktor or at Alina. He simply lifts one hand and holds it out, palm up.
The gesture is casual, and unfortunately, familiar.
Within seconds, one of his guards peels away from the wall silently. There is no hesitation, as if this moment has been rehearsed a thousand times. The guard unclips a handgun fromhis utility belt and places it carefully into Nikolai’s waiting palm, grip-first, like an offering.
His fingers curl around the handle, flexing them once, testing the balance, the familiarity of steel in his hand. The sight makes my spine go rigid, heat flooding my chest as instinct screams at me to move, to do something.Anything.
I don’t.
I already know where this is headed.
“I’m glad the truth has finally come out,” Nikolai says lightly. He tilts the gun, pulling back the barrel just enough to check the chamber. When he snaps it shut again, Alina flinches. “Don’t we all feel better now?”
Viktor’s breath comes fast and shallow, his hands trembling where they grip the edge of the table as if it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His eyes dart between the weapon and Nikolai’s face, searching for an angle to exploit that no longer exists.
Across from me, Alina hasn’t moved.
She sits unnaturally still like a figure carved from marble. If I didn’t know her better, I might think she was untouched by what’s unfolding in front of us. But I do know her. I see it in the tight set of her jaw, he way her eyes never leave her father’s face as if she’s committing it to memory.
Nikolai’s attention drifts to her at last.
“I’ve thought about your proposition,” he says.
My heart hammers.
Proposition?
What proposition? What did she offer him? My mind races, grasping for context I don’t have, dread blooming fast and viciously.
Nikolai takes a step toward her. I’m on my feet instantly, chair screeching back as instinct takes over. “Don’t.”
He doesn’t even acknowledge me. Not a glance or a slight pause. I might as well not exist at all.
To my shock, Alina shifts in her chair. She turns her body to face him fully, lifting her chin just a fraction, meeting his gaze head-on like she isn’t staring down the most dangerous man in Moscow.
“And what’s your answer?” she asks.
Her voice doesn’t shake.
That scares me more than anything else in this room.
Nikolai studies her, faint amusement ghosting across his features. Not out of mockery, but with interest. As if she’s just surprised him in a way few people ever do.
“How about a counteroffer?” he says.
Alina doesn’t answer right away. She watches him in silence, eyes narrowing slightly as she weighs his words, measuring whatever the cost of this game he’s playing will have against her. I’m too stunned to move, confusion rattling around inside me rooting me to this spot.
“I’m listening,” she says finally.
Nikolai’s lips curve. Without warning, he extends his arm and holds out the gun to her. Not the barrel, but the grip. The gesture is strangely intimate.
“Your life,” he says calmly, eyes locked on hers, “or your father’s. Your choice.”
My blood runs cold.
