Chapter 21
Alina
Dominik leads the way to his room, and I follow him without question.
This morning, I woke in a building with an injured mobster who lives a dangerous life of luxury, and the only thing that felt real all day was my brother’s voice on a phone. Now everything feels too real.
I sit down on the side of his bed and immediately feel like a fool as he stands there staring at me silently.
“I should go back to my bed…” I shake my head and get to my feet.
“Sleep here,” Dominik says, erasing my embarrassment.
“Where will you sleep?” I ask, hating the way the question sounds, hating that I care so much about the answer.
He looks at the chair, the one I sat in last night. “Where else?” he says.
In your bed with me, I think but don’t say it.
“Are you sure? You should lie down. You’re the one who has been bleeding,” I point out.
“I won’t sleep until my men check in again,” he answers. “And I want you resting in here while I wait.”
“Fine,” I cave, too exhausted to argue that I should go. I’ll lie down for a few minutes, maybe an hour, until he’s finally ready to turn in. Then, I’ll go back to the guest room. At least that’s what I tell myself.
I crawl under the sheets and lay my head down on the pillow that smells like him, like safety, while Dominik settles into the chair with his laptop and phone within reach.
Sleep doesn’t come so much as it decides to drag me under. I fall, and the fall never ends, and I dream.
I’m running down a hallway that keeps lengthening just before I reach the door at the end. It’s infuriating. I feel like I’m stuck in an endless loop of a nightmare that never ends.
When I eventually wake, my throat is dry, and my eyes are swollen.
The clock says I slept for hours, not minutes.
Dominik still sits in the chair. He opens his eyes and looks at me like he knows exactly where my gaze is at all times.
“You slept,” he says, and stands without a sound.
He moves like he strong-armed his wound into behaving overnight.
He doesn’t wince when the bandage pulls.
That enrages me more than I expect it to.
I want him to be human where I can see it.
“Show me,” I say, pointing to the place under his shirt where the blood made a stain earlier. “I’ll change it.”
“You already did,” he says.
“Again,” I say. “Because you’ve been moving too much.”
Dominik considers the demand, or the permission inside it, and then pulls the hem of his shirt up.
The edges are still red, but not as angry.
It is both better and worse than I want it to be.
I go get the kit from where I left it in the study because my hands need a job and my mouth would make one if I didn’t.
“Lift,” I say when I return, and he does, without comment or jokes this time.
I peel the tape off carefully. The gauze sticks at the edge.
I tug it and he breathes in. I want to apologize but refuse to.
I clean the angry ring, and Dominik watches me like I’m the first person to touch him so gently without asking for anything in return.
“You do that like you’ve been doing it forever,” he says when I finish.
“I’m a quick study.”
“I know,” he says, and the words land low and warm.
We’re too close. My palms flatten against his stomach where the muscles twitch, a small, involuntary recognition of my hands.
He doesn’t step back. Neither do I. The air between us is something you could roll like a coin.
I don’t know which side it wants to land on.
I pull my hands away because I’m not going to be the one who tips it, at least not until he’s had more time to heal.
Dominik’s phone vibrates, and he answers it. His face doesn’t change, and everything else in him does. He says, “Yes,” and “Later,” and “No,” then he pockets the device and looks at me like the next sentence will require my spine.
“They brought a mouth with them that may be ready to speak,” he says.
“A what?”
He tilts his head. “A biker with a new patch and fresh fear who we can likely convince to talk to us.”
Oh. He means a hostage—a man left breathing on purpose. By “convince” I’m sure he means “inflict pain.” “What will you do with him?” I ask for confirmation even though I’m pretty sure the answer exists in a dozen fictional films and stories and rumors.
“Lean on him until he says something worth hearing.”
The ease with which he says it makes my stomach flutter unpleasantly; the clarity with which he means it makes something in me unclench.
I don’t have to guess what kind of man I’m in bed with metaphorically, even if I’m still pretending we’re not headed there literally.
I don’t want a man who flinches from himself.
I don’t want a world where bad men are allowed to be complicated.
I want this exact honesty, even if it makes my skin feel too tight.
“Can I—” I start, then stop because I shouldn’t want to be anywhere near what comes next.
“No, hellcat,” he says gently, the term of endearment easing the blow. “I’ll report back with the part that matters. Then, we’ll tell your brother how many breaths he has left to come up with the money.”
The mention of Archer is still a trapdoor, but the drop isn’t as far this time. I nod in understanding. “Okay,” I say, but it sounds like a lie.
Dominik reaches for me then. He takes my hand in his.
It’s so normal, so innocent, I almost laugh.
And then it isn’t normal at all when his thumb strokes once across the inside of my wrist and my whole body comes online like a city grid after a blackout.
He feels the shock of it because he’s watching my face.
He does it again because he likes seeing the effect he has on me.
“We’re going to figure this out,” he says quietly. It isn’t a pep talk. It’s a promise.
“How?” I ask because I like the way he answers me every time with something that isn’t hope but the truth.
“This is what our family does. War comes naturally to us, and we always win.”
“And a war between you and Gavriil?”
“I hope I never have to find out how that battle ends.”
I don’t know what to do with that truth, so I put it aside for now. All I know is that if they ever go to battle, it won’t be because of me. I refuse to let that happen.
Dominik takes the chair again when I move toward it like he’s decided I’m only allowed to occupy his bed. He looks at the phone on the table and then at me. “If it rings,” he says, “you say your sentence.”
“And if he asks for more?” I ask.
“Hang up,” he answers. “Because that’s all he deserves after betraying you. The guns don’t absolve him of all his sins.”
It shouldn’t feel like a crown being set on my head when he says things like that. But it does.
So later, when Archer texts, I type out exactly what Dominik and I discussed. Nothing more, nothing less.
I’m still breathing for now. I don’t know for how much longer if you don’t bring the money.
Dots start then stop.
UNKNOWN: Alina? How do I know this is you, that you’re okay?
I don’t answer. The phone rings instead, the ringtone like the bang of cymbals in the quiet room. I don’t move, preferring to let Dominik decide this. He hands me the phone, and I hit accept and press speaker so he can hear every word too.
“Alina?” Archer’s voice is too loud, too bright for this time of night.
“I had one sentence,” I say, and my voice is exactly what I need it to be, steady and cold. “I used it.”
“Please. Please, just—”
I end the call. My hands are steady. My lungs are not. The phone vibrates again immediately, and we let it ring until he gives up.
I put the phone on the bedside table and lie down on top of the covers because he gave up too soon for comfort. Across the room, I study the set of Dominik’s mouth, the casual way his ankle crosses over his knee, and how he looks at me like I’m more valuable to him than two million dollars.
“Dom?” I say because I want to hold something inside me that isn’t fear.
“Yes?”
“You could sleep in the bed too, if you want.”
My heart thumps hard at my own boldness, but I don’t take the offer back.
His face is unreadable. Not surprised or smug. His shoulders seem to relax an inch, though.
“Okay, dikaya koshka.”
I tell myself that offering the man his own bed isn’t surrender. It’s just being polite.
Either way, his agreement, even if he doesn’t accept, allows sleep to take me again in pieces and puts me back together right and wrong.
The next time I wake, the light has changed outside the window, and the chair is empty.
The apartment smells faintly of coffee. The clock says I took another hour I didn’t ask for.
I sit up, expecting to see him in the bed next to me, but it remains untouched.
He never took me up on my offer. Disappointment burns like acid in my belly.
The bathroom door opens, the scent of a hot, soapy shower filling the air with his presence.
“You’re awake. Good. I’m on my way out,” Dominik explains.
“What?”
“The biker is downstairs, ready to talk. I want to hear what he says straight from his mouth,” he explains. I don’t ask where “downstairs” is. I remember it all too well.
“Will you—” I don’t know how to say be careful or don’t bleed without insulting him.
“Yes,” he says. “There are plenty of guards up here now, even if you can’t see them. You’ll be safe until I return.”
“I know,” I agree.
He steps past me, hand brushing my arm for exactly one heartbeat, enough heat to carry me to the kitchen and back. “Go back to sleep. Eat some breakfast,” he suggests.
When he’s gone, I toss and turn, unable to go back to sleep. Eventually, I get up to go make coffee.
On the kitchen island, beside Dominik’s ruby necklace, sits a new vase of flowers. Eleven flawless white roses…and one black rose in the dead center.
For a moment, I actually smile—right up until I lift the card.
For Alina.
My stomach drops. That isn’t the sweet message I was expecting.
I’d already assumed Dominik bought them, so who else could they be for?
Except…maybe they’re not from Dominik.
A cold shudder moves down my spine. I don’t know whether to feel flattered, unsettled, or hunted.
After my coffee, I decide to pluck the black rose from the center of the bouquet and carry it with me to the bedroom, turning it slowly between my fingers. The petals leave a faint stain on my skin like ink.
Gavriil thinks this is all a game. One he’s certain he’s already won.
God, I hope Dominik proves him wrong.