Page 257 of Sexting His Assistant

My chest tightens when his name appears.

I let it ring.

The cab turns into the old district twenty-two minutes later.

The building Roman sent me to is plain, four floors, faded cream paint, laundry on one balcony, a broken nameplate near the entrance. Nothing about it looks like the place where a missing woman connected to all of Luka’s problems would be hiding.

Maybe that is the point.

I pay the driver in cash and step out.

My legs feel weak, but I keep moving.

Third floor. Apartment 3C.

The stairs smell like dust, cooking oil, and old rainwater. I climb slowly because my head is starting to throb again, and by the time I reach the third floor, I have to stop with one hand on the wall.

I almost turn back.

Then I see the door.

3C.

I knock.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then the lock turns.

My whole body goes cold before my brain catches up.

The chain slides back. The door opens wider.

Alina Karelin stands in front of me.

For a second, I cannot breathe.

Not because she looks glamorous, or smug, or anything like the woman who walked into Luka’s office and dropped the word pregnant like a bomb.

She looks nothing like that woman now.

Her hair is loose and unwashed, falling around her face in dark waves. Her skin is pale. There are shadows under her eyes, and one side of her mouth has a small split near the corner. She’fs wearing leggings, an oversized sweater, and no shoes. One hand is wrapped around the edge of the door. The other rests low on her stomach.

Protective. Unconscious. Terrifying.

I take a step back without meaning to. “No,” I whisper.

Alina’s eyes flick past me into the hallway, frightened and quick. Then she looks at me again.

“You came,” Alina says. Her voice is hoarse.

I stare at her. “What the hell is going on?”

28

NINA

I take a step back. This has to be a trap.