Chapter 22
AMALIE
The mall feels odd. Maybe it’s the company I’m with.
It’s Saturday, and I was a bit surprised this morning by Roman’s invitation to take Sasha and me to the mall for a little shopping. We haven’t spoken since our meeting in his office, and things between us are still strange and tense.
Roman walks through the place like he owns it—maybe he does. Sasha’s bundled up in his puffy blue coat, holding my hand on one side and Roman’s on the other.
Andrei’s with us as well. He’s trailing a few paces behind us, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, scanning the scene.
Sasha keeps stopping to stare at displays. Then the fountain. Then a kiosk selling crystals. His attention totally gets stolen by an RC car in a shop window.
“Go ahead and look,” Roman says to him. “But I’m not making any promises.”
“And don’t press your face to the glass like you’re a Victorian orphan hoping for some porridge,” I say as Sasha runs off. “They’ve got to clean those face smears off, you know.”
Roman chuckles. I raise a brow. It’s the first sign in almost a day that he’s even slightly glad to have me around.
I understand why. Still, I don’t have to like it.
“Coffee,” Roman says out loud. I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or Andrei.
“Papa?” Sasha asks as he approaches. “Can we get a pretzel?”
“Sounds like we’ve all got a date with the food court,” I say.
“Indeed,” Roman replies.
The moment hits me as strangely domestic. It’s kind of nice, despite the awkwardness.
“I need to use the little girl’s room,” I say. “I’ll catch up, okay?”
Sasha turns to Roman. “Why is she using the little girl’s room?” he asks. “Isn’t she a grown-up?”
Andrei snorts in amusement. “Figure of speech, kiddo.” He glances over his shoulder at me as he passes, nodding at me.
Roman steps close. “Five minutes. And keep your eyes open.”
Before I have a chance to reply, he places his hand on my hip. It’s a brief touch, but it’s more than enough to send a rush of heat through me.
I swallow and nod. “Got it.”
I break away from the trio and head to the restrooms. As I walk, the touch lingers in my mind. Was that his way of saying it was water under the bridge? Or was it totally incidental?
I sigh, turning the corner to the women’s restrooms, located down a corridor lined with department store ads and mall-map signs. I turn another corner and stop in my tracks.
Max is leaning against the wall like he belongs there. Like he’s been waiting.
My stomach drops so hard it feels like it hits my shoes. For a heartbeat, I’m right back to being that weak girl wounded by his comments about my body. Sure enough, his eyes flick up and down me as if confirming I’m still the same size.
My confidence returns quickly. Not a chance in hell I’m going to let him make me feel small, no matter what he’s doing here.
“Max?” I ask. “What the hell? Are you following me?”
He straightens, giving me another once-over like I exist solely for him to pass judgement upon. “I need to talk to you,” he says.
My pulse throbs loudly in my ears. “No, you don’t.”
He steps closer. “Amalie—”
I step back and think of Kyle. Not his face, but his training, the way he used to drill me about how to stay safe as a woman living alone in the city. A big thing was his three-step safety rule. I can hear him saying it in my head so clearly.
Step one: Create distance and get other eyes on the situation. Step two: Put a barrier between yourself and the threat. Step three: Get to a safe person or place immediately.
My instinct is to consider Max a threat, but I’m not about to second-guess myself in the moment. I shift back, stepping further away from Max and closer to the hallway entrance.
“Max,” I say, crisp and clear. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you need to leave me alone. Now.”
His mouth forms into a tight line for a moment, as if he’s frustrated I didn’t throw my arms around him as a greeting. “Listen. I’m not here to cause a scene or anything like that.”
“Good. Then leave before you accidentally make one.” I take a few more steps back, but he closes the distance between us.
He glances past me, as if making sure no one else is in the hallway. “So, the new job…”
My expression is ice-cold. “My new job? That’s what you want to talk about? Well, news flash, you don’t get updates on my life anymore.”
“It’s not about that,” he says. “I’m concerned.”
“Oh, how nice of you to say so.” Another step back.
“It’s just that you always had a bit of a talent for getting in over your head. Remember when you did that month-long sub-in for a special-needs art class during the middle of your senior year?”
“I did it because I wanted to.”
“Yeah, I know. And you nearly cracked from the pressure.”
I narrow my eyes. “But I didn’t.”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “This gig you’ve got now? It goes way beyond that. Not sure you’re going to be able to handle it.”
There it is. The same old angle. You can’t handle it. You need me. You’re not enough.
I take another step back, and another until I’m able to put a trash can between us. It’s not much of a barrier, but it’ll do. My heart is banging like a drum, but my expression remains calm.
“You didn’t give a shit about me when we were dating, Max. So spare me the act.”
“I did give a shit about you! That’s why I wanted to make sure you only took on things you could handle. And why I wanted you to get into shape.”
“You call it help. I call it control. Not the same thing.”
I’m so mad at myself for getting into an argument with him when all I should be focused on is finding Roman.
Max takes a step toward me. “Mal, listen. These people—”
And there it is. He knows more than he should about who I’m working for.
Before he can say another word, a shadow falls over the corridor. I recognize the shape immediately without needing to turn around.
Roman appears like he’s been summoned, like he sensed I was in danger. The air changes instantly. Max’s eyes flash with fear. In that moment, he’s more of a scared little boy than a cop.
I turn and watch as Roman approaches. He’s assessing the scene, sizing it up. Max is too close, I’m standing behind a trashcan, and we’re in a corridor with no witnesses and one exit. Roman’s gaze flicks from my face to Max’s.
Something flashes in Roman’s eyes. Not jealousy, not anger, more like calculation. He steps between Max and me.
“Step away, Detective.” Roman speaks the words quietly and calmly.
Max obeys instantly. It’s almost comical, like some innate part of him realizes he’s in the presence of a more dangerous kind of predator.
“Listen, Barinov,” Max says. “I’m not looking for trouble.”
“Seems like you’ve found it anyway. Or perhaps, you still have a decision to make.”
Max’s jaw tightens. He throws one last look at me, like he’s trying to decide if he wants to say anything else before he runs away with his tail between his legs. He’s always been a fan of the final, cruel barb over the shoulder on the way out.
However, when Roman’s gaze sharpens, he seems to reconsider.
“Fine,” Max says. “Fine.”
He starts down the hall. I turn to watch him leave, spotting Andrei at the opening. Andrei says nothing as Max approaches and passes, simply standing there like a statue, making sure Max doesn’t try anything on the way out.
When Max disappears around the corner, relief washes over me.
Roman turns to me. “Why was he here? He was waiting for you?”
“Yeah. Must’ve been following me, saw me heading to the bathroom and hurried in here to meet me.”
“But for what reason? What did he say?”
“Just that I needed to be careful with my new job. That I wasn’t cut out for it.”
Roman’s jaw works as he processes the information. “But nothing else?”
“Nope. Probably would’ve insulted my weight if you hadn’t shown up.”
I’m making it sound almost innocent, but part of me wonders what Max really would’ve done. Texting me at night is one thing. Tracking me down, following me, catching me alone, that’s another.
Roman’s gaze darkens. “Did he threaten you?”
“No. He wanted to talk, that’s it.”
Roman watches me closely as I speak. Too closely, like he thinks I might be lying.
I lift my chin. “I don’t want anything to do with him.”
A beat.
Roman nods once. “Good.”
That’s it. No interrogation, no demand for more details. It’s almost nice, like he’s trusting me. But something not-so-nice comes with it. There’s an ownership to how he’s approaching the situation, like I’m a possession he needs to protect.
I push the thought aside.
Roman places his hand on the small of my back. I hate that it feels so good, so reassuring. “Come.”
He leads me down the hallway. When we step out into the mall, part of me worries that Max is somewhere, waiting, watching. But upon a quick glance around, I don’t see him.
Andrei is still posted. Sasha’s seated at a nearby table, holding a big pretzel with two hands, a lemonade close.
Roman approaches, ruffling Sasha’s hair, then placing a quick kiss on the top of his head.
That contrast, the speed with which Roman shifts from loving father to cold-blooded killer then back again, will never cease to amaze me.
I watch as he kneels, adjusting Sasha’s scarf, checking to make sure his mittens are still attached to his coat.
I step over to the pair slowly, Andrei following closely behind.
“We still have things to do,” Roman says as he stands.
“Things?”
“The Spring charity gala,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You need a dress.”
“The what?”
“Come.”
He pats Sasha, then nods to Andrei, who approaches and takes a seat.
“What are you talking about, Roman?” I ask.
“I’ll tell you on the way.”
A flash of total indignation runs through me. “I can handle my own dress.”
“I’m sure you can. But you won’t.”
He starts off, his massive figure moving toward the teeming crowd of shoppers. “Come,” he says again over his shoulder.
Sasha looks up at me, swallowing a bite of pretzel. “You’re coming to the Springtime party?”
I soften instantly. “Apparently.”
Andrei flicks his eyes up to me. “I’ll be here with the little man. You and Roman take your time.”
I watch Roman continue on. The way he carries himself leaves no doubt that he knows I’ll follow, that I’ll eventually step into line with him. And I do, moving quickly and closing the distance between us. I want to know more about this party.
But despite that, one thought keeps appearing, flashing in my mind’s eye as if it’s written in neon.
What the hell did Max really want?