Chapter 18 Aleksandr
ALEKSANDR
She wasn’t supposed to get involved.
The van rattles down the uneven streets of Queens, metal cuffs biting into my wrists with every turn. I keep my head down and my breathing slow, but my mind will not quiet.
Lily.
I can still see her in the back of a cop car, watching them drag me away. The image burns behind my eyes, worse than any confinement. She doesn’t belong in that world. She doesn’t belong in mine.
I told her to stay put. I should have never come back to the city after the honeymoon.
I should have known they would come. This is on me.
When I heard they had found Officer Lyon’s body, I did my research, used some of our moles and contacts inside the NYPD to dig into their progress on the case.
They have nothing. No CCTV. No DNA. Not even a witness who saw Lyon leave the building, let alone be murdered. But they have Lily.
My stomach turns sour and climbs up my throat.
It’s the first time since I was a kid that I have felt this kind of sickness—real, choking nausea just from the thought of what they could do to her.
And seeing it with my own eyes is worse.
I’ll never get the image out of my head: Lily’s big golden-brown doe eyes locking on me, wide and wet, her lip quivering, the way she looked at me like this was goodbye.
That look cracked me wide open, broke my fucking heart, stripped me of every ounce of control I had.
It made me mad. Deranged. It made me swing.
It made me punch five cops and threaten three of their lives, promises I will keep, just because they made her lip quiver.
I’ll never forgive myself for letting her get arrested for me, because of me, but my good girl, my strong girl did it, without protest, she did it with complete loyalty.
By the time the van stops, I have built a wall inside myself. My expression is stone. If they want a fight, they won’t get one here.
The doors open. The night air is cold, sharp against my face as they pull me down from the step. I don’t resist. They lead me through a side entrance, away from the public. This is not their first time bringing someone like me in.
The fluorescent lights inside the station are harsh, bleaching out every shadow. Everything is too bright, too clean, and yet it smells like sweat and stale coffee.
They take my belongings first: watch, wallet, phone, and catalog them one by one. The officer doing it doesn’t look me in the eye. That suits me fine.
I sign where they tell me to sign. I stand where they tell me to stand. I let the camera flash blind me for a moment, then the world snaps back into place, sharper than before.
Through all of it, I keep my mouth shut.
When they try to steer me toward the interrogation room, I plant my feet. “I want my lawyer,” I say, and my voice does not rise, does not break.
Toscani appears again, looking mildly irritated, like I’ve just delayed his favorite part of the evening. “You can talk to us now, Mr. Petrov, or you can wait. It’s your choice.”
“My lawyer,” I repeat.
He holds my gaze for a long moment. Then he signals to one of the uniforms. “Put him in holding until his lawyer gets here.”
They lead me past the glass doors of the interrogation rooms, past the desks stacked with files, and into the narrow hallway lined with cells.
The metal door closes behind me with a heavy clang.
I sit on the bench, hands clasped in front of me. For the first time since they pulled me off the runway, I let my head fall forward, eyes closing against the weight pressing into my skull.
I don’t care what they do to me. I’ve survived worse. But Lily cannot be dragged down into this. Every minute she spends here because of me is a failure I will not forgive myself for.
The time drags, each second stretching so thin it feels like the walls themselves are pulling apart. The fluorescent lights above buzz like flies, white and pitiless, reflecting off the gray concrete until the whole room feels like a coffin.
I sit on the narrow bench, elbows braced on my knees, and let the clock in my head torment me. Every tick is a thought of her.
Could Lily be here, in one of those cold little rooms with a metal table and a camera in the corner? No. They’re smarter than that. They’d keep us separated, miles apart if they could, because even the smallest chance that I might get to her would ruin whatever games they’re trying to play.
Bastards.
I can see it though, too clearly—the way they’ll try to break her down, wearing her thin with questions, twisting her words. I know their tricks. I’ve used them.
But she’s strong. Stronger than anyone ever gives her credit for.
She will dig in her heels and refuse them, no matter how long they circle her.
That’s the problem. The more she resists, the more vicious they’ll become.
And all I can do is sit here with these goddamned walls pressing in on me, imagining their voices needling into her perfect mind.
A muscle in my jaw locks so tight it feels like my teeth might crack. They think she’s just some fragile girl who wandered into this life. They have no idea what she’s made of.
I drag in a breath and force myself to think logically, to plan, but every path begins with her. I need to know where she is, what they’ve said to her, what she’s saying back.
The idea of calling is useless. I know better than to believe their promises. Even if they offer a phone, it will be hours before they let me touch it. By then the damage will already be done.
I lean back against the wall, shut my eyes, and picture the network outside these walls. Nik. Nadia. They’ll know. They’ll get to Gwen. She will have the doors to this place pried open soon enough.
But time—time is the weapon here. And they are using it against me.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to shut out the image of Lily at a metal table, her wedding ring catching the light, her lips pressed into that stubborn line. She hates being cornered. She hates being made small. And I put her in this.
I drag a hand over my face. If they so much as scare her—if they make her cry—there will be nowhere on this earth those officers can hide from me.
Footsteps approach, slow and heavy. A key rattles in the door and I open my eyes.
The door swings wide and a guard with a flat face and bored eyes says, “Petrov. Lawyer’s here.”
Relief pulses through me, hot and vicious, but I keep my expression smooth as I rise. Inside, I am already out of the cell, already walking down the hall toward her.
The interrogation room is small, cold, and reeks faintly of bleach. I push through the door and the first thing I see is Gwen pacing tight, restless circles, the click of her heels tapping against the tile like a countdown.
The moment her eyes find me, she crosses the room and wraps her arms around me. I let her, even though everything in me is rigid.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” she says against my shoulder.
“I’m fine.” The words are automatic, meaningless. “How’s Lily?”
Nothing else matters. Not the metal chairs, not the stale taste of recycled air. My world has narrowed to one point: where is she?
Gwen sighs as she pulls back, already expecting the question, and gestures for me to sit. “I don’t know,” she admits. “They aren’t telling me anything. I haven’t been notified, no phone call about where they’re keeping her. Nadia and Nik are already looking into it.”
Her words hit like a blow to the gut. My hands tighten into fists on my knees. I need to be out there—not here trapped in this concrete box—searching every back alley, every precinct. I need to rip the city apart brick by brick until she is back where she belongs.
The rage swells, molten and ugly, threatening to burst out of me. Gwen, quick as ever, smacks me on the arm. The sharp sting pulls me back, her stare as sharp as glass.
“I can’t believe you punched five fucking cops, do you know how many favors I had to call in to get you out of this?” Gwen hisses, grabbing her hair at the scalp and blowing out a sharp breath.
I force a breath, slow and even. She’s right. Anger won’t open the doors. Anger won’t get me to Lily.
“They hurt Lily,” I manage, low and quiet.
“Those fucking bastards,” Gwen growls, a look of pure vengeance on her face. “I’ll kill them myself.”
I chuckle painfully and correct her, looking up at the camera in the corner of the room. “Language.”
I have to trust Nadia—she loves Lily almost as much as I do, in her own way. And Nik will keep her steady, keep her from doing something reckless. If I can’t be the one to shield Lily right now, they will.
“Did we ever look into this Dahlia character?” Gwen asks suddenly, sinking back into her chair, her brows furrowed in thought. “Best case scenario, she’s just some random woman caught in the crossfire. Worst case, she’s a cop.”
Right. Dahlia. That loose end I should have tied up myself.
I lean forward, voice flat. “Let’s assume she’s a cop. What does that mean for Lily?”
“It’s not great,” Gwen says, her eyes flicking past me to the blank wall like she’s assembling a puzzle there.
“If they’ve figured out she lied about her name and job, it gives them leverage.
But that could mean a hundred different things.
Until I get face-to-face with her, we won’t know what story they’re trying to build. ”
Leverage. They’ll use every angle to try to corner her.
I can’t picture my little book nerd, sitting there locked away. I want to tear the walls down, walk in, put my hands on her shoulders, and tell her it will be all right.
If I have to burn the city to do it, I will. If I have to dig up every ghost in my past to keep her safe, I will.
Gwen stands, brushing down the hem of her shirt, already signaling the end of this short, controlled reprieve. “Well,” she says, tone even, “you ready to get processed so we can get you home?”
Home. There is no home without Lily.
“I’m ready to go get her,” I say instead, rising to my feet. And I mean every word.