42. Maxine
42
MAXINE
I ’ve always wondered about the cruel hand of fate.
I’ve spent so much time wondering about it—how it chooses who to save, who to corrupt, who to destroy. I’ve tried to make sense of its whims, tried to convince myself there’s a pattern, a reason, but the truth is, fate doesn’t care.
It didn’t care when it handed me the worst year of my life. One disaster after another.
Our father died.
We became poor.
We became homeless.
We were on the run from the mob.
Then we ran away and ended up in the hands of the other mob.
No. Fate doesn’t live here anymore.
I start to climb the stairs after Tayana, who takes them slowly, one by one, dragging her feet. I’d like to think that we’re on the same page and we both believe we’re going to get a midnight reprieve and be rescued, but really, if the past year is anything to go by, I’m just trading one clusterfuck for another.
You know, fate and all that…
I clutch the railing with trembling hands, the cold metal slick with my sweat. My palms ache from holding on so tightly, but I don’t let go. If I do, I’ll fall, and while falling might seem like a mercy some days, today isn’t one of those days.
No. Today, I’ll keep going. Not because I’m strong or brave or because I believe there’s hope waiting at the top of these stairs. I don’t. But because of Tayana.
She drags her feet ahead of me, her steps slow and deliberate, her back straight even though I know she’s terrified. Her silence speaks volumes. She’s holding it all in, trying to appear untouchable when I know she’s just as shattered as I am.
My grip on the railing tightens as the memory of the car flashes through my mind. The wind roaring in my ears. The door swinging open. The moment I almost flung myself out into the unknown.
Coward.
I clench my jaw against the word. It echoes in my head, sharp and cruel, but it’s true. That’s what I was. A coward. I was ready to leave Tayana behind, to escape and leave her to face Igor’s wrath alone.
Who does that? What kind of person abandons a sister to a man like him?
Tayana might seem quiet and composed on the surface, but I know her. I know the cracks she hides. She wouldn’t survive this world the way I have, wouldn’t know how to endure the kind of horrors men like Igor thrive on inflicting. She’s not made for this life, and I hate that she’s here, that she’s become part of this nightmare.
I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself to keep climbing. My legs feel like lead, my knees trembling as if they might give out at any moment, but I push through. If Tayana can do it, so can I.
My resolve hardens as I watch her reach the top of the stairs, pausing just before the door of the waiting jet. She glances back at me, her expression unreadable, but her eyes betray her. There’s fear there, yes, but also determination.
She’s counting on me.
The realization settles over me like a weight, but it’s not the suffocating kind. It’s grounding, solidifying.
I won’t leave her to face this alone. Whatever Igor has planned, whatever nightmare awaits us on that plane, we’ll face it together.
As I step onto the last stair, the air seems to thicken, the weight of unspoken truths and lingering dread pressing down on both of us. Tayana turns away and steps inside the jet, her shoulders squared. I follow close behind, bracing myself for whatever fresh hell awaits us.
Because no matter what comes next, I’m all in.
And together, if there’s two of us, we might just have a chance.
The air inside the plane feels wrong the moment we step on board—too still, too quiet, like the silence that hangs thick and heavy before a thunderstorm. My senses prickle with unease as I glance around. Plush leather seats, polished wood finishes, and dim lighting give the jet an air of opulence that should feel comforting but doesn’t.
Tayana lingers in front of me, her breath shallow and quick, her hands gripping her sides so tightly that her knuckles whiten. Igor follows close behind us, his presence looming like a dark shadow.
“Go on,” Igor commands, his voice low and clipped as he gestures toward the front of the cabin.
I exchange a glance with Tayana, whose eyes dart to the back of the plane, and for a moment, I swear I see something flicker in her expression—a strange mix of fear and resolve. But she quickly masks it, giving me a faint, reassuring nod before stepping forward.
As we move deeper into the cabin, the walls seem to close in, the narrow aisle forcing us into a single file. My heart pounds, my instincts screaming that something is off. The faint hum of the engines fills the air, but beneath it, I can hear the faint creak of metal—movement, deliberate and precise.
It happens all at once.
The door to the rear cabin slides open with a sharp hiss, and a dozen armed men pour out like a flood. The cockpit opens too, and more men step out. The metallic clicks of their guns cocking reverberate through the space, freezing us in our tracks. We’re surrounded front and back, and there’s no mistaking who’s doing the surrounding. There’s no mistaking who’s in control here.
“Stay still,” one of the men barks, his voice cold and commanding.
Tayana gasps, her hands flying up in surrender. I do the same, my pulse hammering so loudly I can barely think. Igor, however, doesn’t flinch. He straightens, his eyes narrowing as he assesses the men surrounding us.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he sing songs, and I follow his eyes as they scale the length of the plane, before he rolls them skyward, as though bored.
And then, from behind the line of armed men, a figure emerges.
My breath catches in my throat as he steps forward, his movements deliberate, almost regal. He’s an older man, with lines etched into his skin, gray at his temples.
Tayana pushes past me, taking a step toward the man, before she falters and stops.
“Papa,” she whispers, my voice barely audible.
Igor’s expression darkens, his composure slipping for the first time.
“Anton,” Igor says, his voice laced with disdain. “You’ve been busy.”
Tayana’s father—Anton—stops a few feet away, his gaze sweeping over me and Tayana before settling on Igor. His expression is a mix of relief and cold fury, a dangerous combination that makes my stomach twist. I don’t know which is the more dangerous of these two formidable men.
“You should have known I wouldn’t let you take her,” Anton says, his voice calm but deadly. “Did you really think you could slip her out of the country without me noticing?”
Igor smirks, though the tension in his jaw betrays him. “You’ve been playing house for too long, Anton. You’ve gone soft. It’s why you lost everything. Why your own brother had to step in and clean up your mess.”
Anton’s jaw tightens, his hands balling into furious fists at his sides. I’m getting whiplash trying to follow their conversation. “You don’t get to do that, Igor. You don’t get to push the blame and filth off yourself and onto me.”
I feel the air leave Tayana’s lungs with her gasp as she glances between the two men, her mind racing as she tries to keep up.
“You always were a sanctimonious bastard,” Igor spits. “You pretended to be above it all, but you were just as deep in the dirt as the rest of us. The only difference is I knew how to rise above it.”
Anton takes a step forward, his presence commanding. The armed men tighten their formation, their guns trained on Igor, but Anton waves them off.
“You’re right,” Anton says, his voice quieter now but no less dangerous. “I made mistakes. I wasn’t there when my family needed me most. But I’m here now, and I’m taking her back.”
“What makes you think she wants you back?” Igor says, taunting him. “You cast her aside. You let her live away from us. You don’t deserve her!” he roars, and the cabin of the plane fills with his ferocity, as though it is being filled from the inside out with fire.
Anton turns his gaze toward his daughter. His eyes soften, and for a moment, the hard edges of his expression melt away.
“My daughter will always be my daughter. One day she will understand why I did what I did.”
“But not today,” Igor says. “Today she finally has a choice. Today, she will decide who she wants to run to.”