Page 265 of Sexting His Assistant

No signal. Of course.

I move toward the window, lifting it slightly.

Nothing.

I turn toward the door.

Alina looks up quickly. “Where are you going?”

“To call Luka,” I say.

Her eyes widen. “Not from here.”

“I have to tell him,” I say. “If there’s a leak near Luka, he needs to know before he keeps chasing Misha using information someone is feeding him.”

Alina stands, one hand braced on the couch. “Please. Don’t bring him here.”

“I’m not bringing him here,” I say. “I’m calling him.”

“There’s no signal in here,” she says.

“I noticed.”

I open the door.

“Nina,” she says.

I stop but don’t turn around.

Alina’s voice breaks. “If you find Misha…”

I wait.

“Tell him I’m sorry,” she says. “Please.”

I look back at her then.

She looks smaller now, not glamorous or cruel, not the woman who walked into Luka’s office and shattered my day with one sentence. Just scared. Pregnant. Guilty. Desperate.

I shut the door and face away. Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m running out of time.

The hallway outside the apartment is dim and stale, with one tube light flickering near the stairwell and the smell of old cooking oil coming from somewhere below. I check my phone again. No signal here either.

I move closer to the stairwell and lift the phone higher.

One bar appears, then disappears.

I try calling Luka anyway.

The call fails before it even rings.

I try again.

Failed.

My fingers are shaking now, and my head has started to throb at the back where I was hit. I press my free hand lightly against the wall and breathe through it.

Not now.