Chapter 52
Sofiyaand I are staring out the window, searching for any clue about what might happen next, when a key turns in the lock and the door swings open. The guard who dropped off the duffel bag earlier stands in the doorway, his imposing figure framed by the light. This time, he”s not alone—a second guard accompanies him. He’s bald and equally as intimidating.
Sofiya and I both turn as they enter, facing them in silence. My heart pounds against my ribs, the heavy beats echoing the gravity of the moment when everything changes.
The first guard points at Sofiya. “You”re coming with us,” he clips out in a gruff voice.
A panicked look passes between my sister and me. Why separate us now?
The idea of Sofiya facing today alone sends a wave of anxiety through me. Protecting her might be impossible, but I”m determined to try everything I can.
I step in front of Sofiya, blocking her path. “Anatoly agreed that we wouldn’t be separated. We’re not going anywhere unless we”re together.”
The guard sneers. “You don”t have a choice. My orders were clear—just her.”
Both men step further into the room, their intimidating presence shrinking the already stifling space.
“Let”s go. Now!”
Sofiya’s eyes widen with fear, but she steps forward as if to go with him.
I grab her arm to stop her. “He”s just trying to scare you,” I remind her. “They won’t touch us. Anatoly wouldn”t let them mark us on our wedding day.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I”m not so sure of it. Gathering my courage, I challenge the guards. “I want to speak with Anatoly.”
The bald guard glowers down at me. “We don”t take orders from you. Now shut the fuck up, and get out of the way before I drag her out of here.”
My sister puts her hand on my shoulder and whispers, so only I can hear, “Don”t make trouble. It”s not worth it.”
Her hands shake, and her jaw is tight with strain. She”s scared; of course she is. I am too, but I”m more scared about what will happen if we’re separated.
Before I can argue further, Sofiya gently nudges me aside and steps forward.
“What are you doing? We can”t give in so easily,” I plead.
Her expression is filled with sorrow. “Let’s not make this harder than it already is.”
My sister is dressed up and looks every inch a beautiful bride. But waiting for her at the end of the aisle is a monster.
Instinctively, I lash out at the bald guard, my fingers clawing at his eyes. He curses, stumbling back, just as the second guard grabs me, his grip iron-tight as he shoves me hard to the ground. A sharp pain shoots through my jaw as I hit the floor.
Sofiya’s anguished cry is the last thing I hear as they drag her away. The door slams shut before I gain my bearings to sit up. This is some surreal nightmare. I’m alone, dazed, and trembling on the cold, unforgiving floor.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes, and a crushing sense of despair squeezes my lungs. I’ve never felt so powerless, so out of control. But I’ve already lost one person I love; I refuse to lose another.
As hard as it is, I drag myself off the floor and stand tall. Even though it feels impossible, I have to trust that Sofiya will find a way to take care of herself, just as I must take care of myself now.
Anatoly will be coming for me soon. And even though Sofiya is right—I can’t overpower these men—I”ll still fight back with everything I”ve got.
The wedding dress I”m wearing is not the one I was fitted for back in Moscow. It’s over-the-top and princessy, and nothing I would ever choose to wear. But on the positive side, it only takes me a few minutes to find hiding places within the ornate gown’s layers of tulle and lace.
I slip the metal nail file into the delicate seam along the inner bodice, where it”s hidden but easily accessible. The tweezers find a spot under a fold of lace near the waist. I tuck the shard of the broken makeup mirror into the padded lining of the dress”s bustle, careful to place it somewhere it won’t cut through the fabric or my skin. It’s not much, but it’s the best shot I have at defending myself.
When I hear footsteps coming down the hallway, everything inside me tightens in fear. The door opens, and there”s Anatoly in a tuxedo. His twisted game of dress-up for this forced wedding sends chills down my spine.
His eyes rove over my body, not in a way that suggests he finds me desirable but rather like I’m dog shit stuck to his shoe. “Look at you, wearing white like a virgin.” He tilts his head, his lips curled in disdain. “What a fucking lie that is. I chose you because I thought you were pure, one of the few bitches who actually kept their legs shut until marriage. Turns out you’re nothing more than a whore.”
I flinch, and the tiny hairs on my neck stand on end. There”s something unhinged about him. Violence simmers right below the surface.
He stalks towards me, and I instinctively retreat until my back hits the wall. I feel like trapped prey as he closes in.
“Now, I”ll show you how I treat whores.” His words are a venomous hiss.
“I’ve never been anyone’s whore.” My voice trembles. “I craved Roman’s touch because he actually made me feel good. He cared about me and my pleasure. That’s more than I can say for you.”
Anatoly’s expression morphs into something dark and menacing before he delivers a harsh slap across my face.
I cry out, my eyes watering, as I shove against his chest, but he catches my wrists, pinning them high against the wall. My body revolts as his fingers draw a calculated path down my neck, tracing the tops of my breasts spilling over the sweetheart neckline.
“You make me sick,” I yell. “Get off me.”
“I’ll do whatever I want with you.” He grabs my jaw roughly, lowering his mouth onto mine.
His kiss is vile, and a wave of nausea rolls through me. He forces his tongue in my mouth, plunging between my lips repeatedly—a glimpse of what I fear is coming next. I’m desperate to get him off of me, but he won”t budge.
Tears catch at the back of my throat and as much as I don’t want him to see my vulnerability, I’m powerless to stop them. He’s laid me bare and made me face how utterly defenseless I am against him.
“You brought this on yourself. You’re the one to blame for Roman’s death. For everything.”
I know his words aren’t true, but a sickening pang of guilt stabs through me anyhow. A part of me will always feel responsible for Roman’s death.
Anatoly hurls me onto the mattress, climbs on top of me, and wraps his hands around my neck. I gasp for air and attempt to fight him off, but my head spins and white spots dance before my eyes. His face contorts into a monstrous expression as he tightens his grip.
Just when I think I’m going to black out, he releases his hold. I cough, and my lungs sear with each desperate breath.
The relief is temporary because he forces my dress up and settles between my legs. A fresh wave of fear ripples through me when I realize his pants are already down by his ankles.
Swallowing my pride, I beg, “Please, don”t do this. Please. This is no?—”
His hand connects with my cheek, hot and hard, before I even know what”s happening. My head wrenches to the side in pain. Clawing at his face with one hand, I reach down with the other to wrap around the nail file. It’s now or never.
I grip the file like a makeshift dagger as I jerk my hand back. In a swift motion, I drive the pointed end of the file into Anatoly’s neck with all the force I can muster.
He roars and falls back, his eyes wild and unfocused, like those of an animal that”s just been shot. Seizing the moment, I kick hard to force him off me. He stumbles backward onto the floor, and I twist free from his grasp.
Heart pounding, I scramble to my feet and bolt through the unlocked door. My breath comes in ragged pants as I sprint down the hallway. Driven by desperation, I charge toward the first floor, silently praying I don”t encounter a guard around the next corner.
At the bottom of the stairs, I pause briefly, considering which way to go. From the window of our room, the back of the property looked relatively quiet and deserted.
I suck in a deep breath and race towards what I hope is the rear of the house. It might be reckless, considering my slim odds of escape, but the alternative is surrendering to Anatoly, which I will never do willingly.
As I slam the back door open, a racket from above tells me that Anatoly is following. I hurt him, but not enough to keep him down.
Gasping for air, I scan my surroundings—no guards yet, but I”m far from safe. To my left, the land stretches into open shrubland, mercilessly exposed. To my right, the ground slopes steeply upward towards the clifftop. The climb is dangerous, especially in these ridiculous heels, but it’s my best chance of slipping out of sight. If I get high enough, I can hopefully find a place to hide.
As I race upwards, Anatoly’s enraged cries fill the air. He’s losing his mind, calling his guards to the back of the property.
My heart pounds like a drum, but I shove Anatoly”s shouts from my mind and push forward. Rushing up the slope, I stumble repeatedly, each fall harder than the last. After the third crash to the ground, I yank off my heels and toss them aside. Barefoot isn”t much better; the jagged rocks slice into my feet, but I clench my teeth and endure the pain because there”s no other way.
It feels like hours—realistically, it has only been a few minutes—when I risk a quick glance behind me. The sight freezes my blood.
Anatoly is closing in on me. Right behind him, at the foot of the incline, is a group of his guards.
“You better fucking stop running if you know what’s good for you,” Anatoly snarls.
Gasping for breath, I turn and force myself further up the steep hill. There”s nowhere to run and nowhere to hide; the only possible escape is up. I have to keep climbing and hope like hell that I can outrun them or, at the very least, hide out.
My energy is fading fast. Even with adrenaline surging, my body”s reserves are depleted, and I can feel myself slowing down.
A quick glance back confirms my worst fears—Anatoly is gaining on me, his guards close behind.
“You think you can outrun me. That you can hide? You fucking can’t! Stop right now, or this ends very badly for you.”
Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him.
He wants me to surrender, but where will that get me? If he gets his hands on me, I know I”m as good as dead.
On all fours now, I force myself to scramble over the jagged rock, desperate to keep moving despite the exhaustion that threatens to overwhelm me. Hopelessness claws at my chest, but I push back against it fiercely. I can”t abandon Sofiya to face this horror alone, and Roman would have expected me to fight to my last breath. He wouldn’t give up, just like I won’t. But I need rest.
My face meets the cool rock, and I catch my breath. Just as I begin to regain some strength, a deafening explosion rips through the air.
Flames and smoke surge up from the house, and the shockwave that follows nearly topples me.
Holy shit! What the hell is going on?
Automatic gun fire splits the air.
Is this about me?
I don”t have time to figure out what”s going on because, despite the explosion, Anatoly is still coming for me. He pauses to shout orders to his men—something about securing the property and figuring out what happened—but he’s still pushing forward.
“I told you not to run from me, you little bitch.” His voice is full of venom. “I’m going to catch you and make you suffer more than you thought possible. Then I”m going to move on to your sister.”
My stomach knots with fear, but his words shake me out of my stupor. My breath saws in and out of my lungs as I push harder up the hill, and my muscles scream in protest.
Gunfire and shouts continue below, but Anatoly is gaining ground, close enough that I can hear his ragged breaths and curses as I try to stay on a straight path.
I make the mistake of looking back. In the span of a heartbeat, my toe catches on a rock, and I go down hard. Pain flashes through my toe, intense and piercing, as if it’s been split open.
Gritting my teeth, I try to stand, pushing through the sharp jolt. I hobble forward, dragging my foot in the dirt, but it’s useless. Fire shoots through my foot the moment I put weight on it. I try again and again to right myself. To move forward, even if I have to drag my foot behind me.
But there”s no pushing through this. It’s over for me.
The only thing I can do is curl up into a ball and cover my head with my hands to protect myself.
With a savage grasp, he flips me onto my back.
Jagged rocks bite into my skin, scraping across my back with brutal intensity.
He stands over me, his face a mask of fury. “How the fuck did you do it?” His hand finds my throat, squeezing as I gasp for air.
My eyes snap open, locking onto his dead eyes, as I try to figure out what he means. How did I do what?
“Are you working with Belov?” he continues. “Is that it? How did you get a message to him? Fucking tell me now.”
His words confuse me, but I’m done fighting. I fought to the bitter end, but even I need to accept that it’s over. He won.
Who knows, maybe Roman will be waiting for me on the other side. It’s a nice thought at the very least.
“Tell me,” Anatoly rages and squeezes harder, making it impossible for me to talk. Hell, I can barely breathe.
The edges of my vision begin to blur into darkness when, suddenly, a voice I never thought I’d hear again cuts through the air.
“It wasn’t Maxim—it was me. Surprise, motherfucker. I’m back from the dead.”