Chapter 17 Lily
LILY
I stare out of the plane window, but my reflection is what catches me more than the clouds.
Every few minutes I drift away into daydreams, back into sunlit moments with Alek, back into the dizzying reality of being his.
The thought of him—of what belonging to him means now—burns through me until I shift in my seat, restless.
I want every moment that’s coming next. I want all of it, all over again.
Alek is asleep beside me. His head is tipped against my shoulder, and the walls of his usually guarded expression have fallen away. Peace has settled over his features, softening them until he looks almost boyish. I
think about waking him, about stealing him back into consciousness just so I don’t feel so alone in the rush of sky around us, but I can’t. He needs this. I’ll hold still as long as it takes.
Even with a former Navy pilot in the cockpit, sleep hasn’t touched me. My body is too wired, my mind too full. But being next to him—being near his warmth—makes me feel safe enough that I don’t need rest.
The door to the private suite opens, and the flight attendant leans in to tell us we are beginning our descent into JFK. The words plant a knot of nerves low in my stomach, heavy and twisting. I don’t even realize how tightly I am gripping the armrest until he stirs against me.
“Hi, gorgeous,” Alek mumbles, eyes still closed, his voice rough with sleep.
His arms find their way around me, pulling me in until I can feel the steady beat of his heart against my side.
His warmth spreads into me, and for a moment it drowns out the weight in my gut, even when the jet dips down like some wild, mechanical beast tearing through air.
We land with a jolt that sends a vibration through the cabin.
As the plane taxis toward the private hangar, the hum of the engines fades into something quieter, and with it comes a heaviness I didn’t expect.
The door folds open, and the first breath of city air hits me like a wall.
It is heavier than I remember, thick and grim, like the end of a dream.
It clings to my skin and tastes like concrete and sirens, like something is already trying to pull us back down into the dirt.
Maybe it’s just the city’s way of whispering that the honeymoon is over.
Or maybe, out there past the tarmac, it’s something else entirely—something waiting.
The attendants move with quiet efficiency, lifting bags from the jet and passing them to the waiting black SUV. Home is only a drive away. I should feel relieved. Instead, there’s a sharp edge in the air, a tension that clings like static.
Alek comes down last. He takes the stairs slowly, but before his feet touch the tarmac his posture shifts. His gaze fixes on the horizon, shoulders tightening under his jacket. He isn’t looking at me. He’s watching for something.
Curiosity pulls at me like a string. Just before I step into the SUV, I follow the line of his focus.
That’s when I see them—three NYPD cruisers, lights slicing across the air, and a heavy police van behind them, all closing in fast. Their sirens wail louder with every heartbeat, a sound that claws at my spine.
Panic unfurls inside me, sharp and blinding. My brain leaps ahead, running through a dozen ways to move, to hide, to run. But Alek doesn’t move. He stands there, not even fully clear of the plane, as if carved out of the wind. Calm. Patient.
I step forward, intent on putting myself at his side. I don’t care what’s coming. If he faces it, I face it.
Then he glances back at me—just one glance—and gives the smallest shake of his head. That’s all. It’s enough. My feet root to the ground.
This is his fight, not mine.
The patrol cars screech to a stop, boxing in the jet and the SUV. The van slides into the hangar in reverse, its back doors swinging wide to spill out four SWAT officers, heavy gear clanking. More cops fan out from the cruisers, hands not on their guns yet, but close. Ready.
The detectives come last. They don’t run. They don’t shout. They walk.
The first—tall, dark hair streaked with silver—moves like a man who’s seen everything twice and stopped being impressed by any of it. His partner, a younger woman gripping a notepad like it’s her lifeline, trails behind him, trying to keep up.
“Lily Walters?” the older one asks, tone flat, almost disinterested.
“Petrov,” I correct automatically, even as Aleksandr pulls me closer to his side like he already knows something’s wrong.
“Who’s asking?” Aleksandr’s reply is sharp, eyes narrowed like he is prepared to rip this guy’s throat out.
The detective holds up his badge. “I’m Detective Toscani. This is Detective Young. NYPD. You’re under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Officer Lyon, of the Nineteenth Precinct.”
The words slam into me like a punch.
Murder.
I freeze, the pulse thudding in my ears, while the rookie detective steps forward and starts to reach for me with shaking hands and a pair of cuffs.
“Don’t put a finger on her!” Aleksandr surges toward me, but three officers intercept him instantly.
“You’re arresting her?! For what?!” His voice is pure chaos—raw, animal. “You don’t touch her! You don’t fucking touch her!”
The hangar goes still.
“An officer saw her entering the crime scene,” Detective Toscani says, and my eyes flicker up to the smug look on Detective Young’s face.
Dahlia, her name is Dahlia; she’s the witness.
I want to crawl into myself and cry, scream.
I was never supposed to be arrested. I was never supposed to… fuck. I’m the one going to jail.
Officers tighten around him, shouting commands, but he doesn’t care. He jerks against their grip, fighting to reach me, and for one terrible second, I think they’ll draw their weapons.
“No, this is bullshit,” His voice slices through the noise, hoarse and frantic.
I can’t. I can’t even breathe. The cuffs snap closed around my wrists. Cold metal bites into my skin.
“Lily!” Aleksandr snaps and my eyes lock with his, forcing me out of the spiral and into his madness. “Fight, you hear me? You keep your head up and you don’t say a word.”
I nod, the words stuck so far down my throat I think I’ll vomit if I try to speak right now.
“You have the right to remain silent…” Detective Young’s voice trembles. “Anything you say or do can be-”
I tune them out and keep my eyes locked on Aleksandr to the point where I don’t move because I don’t want to miss a moment of his face.
His body. His scent. I want to remember it all.
Officer Toscani jerks me toward the car, ripping me out of the trance, and Aleksandr growls—low, rough, like thunder rolling over broken glass.
The sound coils down my spine, curling my toes in my shoes.
“Don’t be so fucking rough,” he snaps, voice cutting like a whip.
“She killed an officer,” Officer Young snarls as she comes up beside me. “This bitch killed an officer. She’ll get what she deserves.”
The word bitch hits me like a slap. Aleksandr freezes for a split second, then his whole body goes electric.
“What the fuck did you just call her?” Aleksandr snarls, jerking against the officers who quickly run in front of him, blocking him from me.
“Watch yourself, Petrov,” Toscani warns, yanking me so hard I lose my footing.
“Is that a fucking threat?” he roars, trying to surge forward. His muscles coil so hard his shirt strains, his eyes locked on Young like he could rip her throat out with his bare hands.
Three officers grab him at once, one arm around his chest, another around his waist, pulling him back. It’s barely enough to keep him from breaking loose.
Toscani sucks his teeth dragging me towards the police car, and with the handcuffs so tight and the pinching of my shoulder blades to keep my hands behind my back, the pain explodes across my shoulder like white lightning at the movement.
I hiss between my teeth, twisting in agony as the handcuffs dig deep, cutting my skin.
“Lily!” Aleksandr’s voice turns into a snarl. He thrashes so violently that two officers stumble with him, and he lunges toward Toscani.
An officer gets too close, trying to hold him back, and Aleksandr’s fist flashes out, knuckles colliding with the man’s temple in a sickening, brutal crack. The officer goes down instantly, hitting the pavement hard.
“Get him down! Get him down now!” someone yells, panic sparking through the chaos.
Aleksandr keeps trying to get to me, dragging them like they weigh nothing. His face is pure rage, and he shouts, “Let her fucking go, Toscani! Now!”
I twist in Toscani’s grip, my face wet with tears, watching Aleksandr fight against the crush of uniforms. “Please—please just stop!” My voice is barely human, torn from my throat.
But they don’t stop.
Four men slam into Aleksandr now, forcing him down, pinning him, knees on his back, his arms wrenched behind him. Blood slicks his knuckles and streaks his mouth.
And even then, even pinned to the ground, he keeps his eyes on me.
The chuckle that comes out of him is demented, his chest is heaving, eyes wild as he speaks. “I’ll have your fucking head.”
“Sir,” one of the officers with his knee in Aleksandr’s spine speaks. “You are being arrested for obstruction of justice and assaulting police officers.”
“Aleksandr-” I plead, my eyes watering and stuck on him pinned to the ground still fighting to get to me.
They handcuff him and drag him to his feet like a wild animal, taking him to the police van and forcing him to watch me go to jail for him as he goes to jail trying to protect me.
I stumble to the cop car with my head high.
My first time being arrested and it was for the Petrovs.
For the death of Officer Lyon. For the man I love.