10 Days to Surrender (Ozerov Bratva #2)

18. Ariel

18

ARIEL

The dial tone buzzes in my ear long after Gina’s laughter fades.

Five minutes wasn’t enough.

Five lifetimes wouldn’t be enough. There was just so much to catch up on.

Feliks bought this stupid loft in Tribeca—can you believe it? Says he wants us to have space for you when you visit. Which better be soon, Ward. I’m not hauling twin strollers up five flights by myself.

Mist coils around the phone clutched in my white-knuckled grip. I sink deeper until the water kisses my chin, trying to drown the way Gina’s voice cracked when she mentioned how thin Mom’s gotten.

I’ve been checking in on her as often as I can. She keeps saying it’s acid reflux, even when I found her crying over a box of your old baby clothes.

A fat raindrop plinks against the phone screen—wait, no. That’s a tear. God. When did I start crying?

The stone beneath me grinds into my tailbone. I don’t care. I can barely feel it over the vise crushing my heart. All those weeks rationalizing my exile— they’re safer this way; this is temporary; I can always go back —crumble like wet newspaper.

My old life isn’t paused. It’s rotting without me.

Cool rivulets streak down my cheeks. Rain, fog, or tears? Who cares? It all tastes salty and sad.

Every bit of news was like another drop in a storm. Gina’s moving in with Feliks. Mom is unraveling. Lora has actually stayed in a relationship for longer than a few weeks, and she thinks this might really be the one.

Gee put a brave face on for all of my news, because that’s just what she does. Babies or no babies, Sasha or no Sasha, there’s still a happy ending in this for you, Ari. I’m gonna make sure of that. What else are best friends for?

Another sob breaks free. I slap a hand over my mouth, but it’s no use. The sound reverberates off the rocks—a wounded animal howl that startles birds from the cypress trees. Water sloshes as I fold into myself, thumbing at the swell of our babies. My babies. The only bright spots left in this dark, endless freefall.

Through the blur, I see Sasha’s silhouette tense on the boulder. He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t speak. Just sits there, carved from the same stone as the mountains, while I fracture into a thousand jagged pieces.

My shoulders shake. Tears drip hot onto the water’s surface. I don’t know what exactly I’m crying for. Is it for Gina’s empty apartment, where we used to split cheap wine and cheaper gossip? For Mom’s hollow eyes, touching baby clothes I outgrew a long time ago? Or is it for the version of me who thought running meant freedom instead of this slow drowning in dark waters?

I feel him approach. Closer. Closer.

I don’t look up. Don’t breathe. Just press my forehead to my knees and let the springs swallow what’s left of me.

Sasha’s touch lands like a lightning strike—electric and inevitable. Warm palm curving over my bare shoulder. The calluses I know so well, dragging against water-slick skin.

I freeze. Every cell sings, Danger .

“Look at me, ptichka .” His voice gravels through the mist. Little bird. The old endearment almost breaks me.

I don’t look up. Can’t. If I turn now, the last of my walls will crumble.

His finger strokes the nape of my neck. Spasms ripple through me—not pain this time, but something else, something highly off-limits. “Ariel.”

The single word cracks the dam. I spin in the water, sending waves against the rocks, and shove at his chest. “You don’t get to?—”

He catches my wrist. Pulls it to his lips. Presses a kiss to my racing pulse.

“I know.” Another kiss to my palm. My ragged breath hitches. “I know.”

His other hand skims my waist beneath the water. Heat blazes where his fingers graze the swell of my stomach. Not dominance. Not demand. A question.

What if?

My thighs graze his ribs as I shift. They remember what I’ve tried so, so hard to forget: the way we used to move together, greedy and gasping.

Three things happen at once:

Rain patters against the surface where our bodies don’t touch.

The twins kick—a frantic flutter beneath his palm.

Sasha’s breath gusts hot against my ear. “I thought… Christ, I thought I’d never get to…”

And then his mouth is on mine.

Slow. So fucking slow. Like we’ve got all the time in the world, not a lie or bullet or an ocean between us. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, gentle where he was once rough, coaxing where he used to take. When I groan, he swallows the sound like communion. Urgent fingers tangle in my hair, tilting my head back as he deepens the kiss.

I surrender. I let myself melt into the solid heat of him, into the dizzying familiarity. His taste brings back a dozen nights just like this. Bathrooms and dressing rooms and his penthouse sheets. He’d bite my neck to tether me to him when I got too close, the growl of mine mine mine as I came…

Then I tear my mouth away. “Stop.”

He doesn’t. His lips chart a desperate path down my throat. Teeth scrape the hollow.

I shove hard against his shoulders. “I said stop! ”

That does the trick. His grip loosens instantly. We stare at each other, panting. Spring water laps at the fresh bruises we’ve carved into each other’s skin.

He looks wrecked. Hair wild from my fingers. Scar flushed crimson. “Ari?—”

“No. This is… this is bad, Sasha. You lost the right to touch me when you lied.”

His throat bobs. I watch the apology die before it’s born.

Rain sheets down in earnest now, sluicing over his scarred torso. Over the ghosts of us twined together in the steam.

Without another word, he turns and climbs from the pool. I watch him dress, every movement tight with restraint.

I sink until sulfur fills my nostrils. The heat burns away the salt of his kiss on my cheeks.

The crunch of his receding footsteps fades into the storm. I know he hasn’t gone far, but at least he’s out of sight for now.

Only then can I let myself sob.

For the man I kissed.

For the man he became.

For all the shattered pieces of us still littering the four thousand miles between here and a place called home.