Chapter 15 （continued）
Valerie
As I get ready for bed, the burner phone vibrates, and it's a twenty-three-second video of Ethan. Tied to a chair in that same basement. Two men holding him while a third takes a baseball bat to his ribs. The crack of bones breaking. His screams. Blood streaming from his nose, his mouth, his ears.
And Patrick's voice in the background, calm and clinical: "You have seventy-two hours to give me Lev Volkov's itinerary and full schedule, or your brother will die screaming, and his blood will be on your hands."
The phone vibrates again, and I pick it up with trembling hands.
Tick tock, Valerie.
Your brother is running out of time.
72 hours. Don't make me send you pieces.
I stare at the phone until my vision blurs.
Ethan or Lev. My brother or the man I'm falling for. My blood family or the family I've chosen.
There's no right answer. No solution where everyone lives.
I have to choose.
The thought makes me want to vomit.
I can't sleep. I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, my mind churning through scenarios that all end in blood.
Send Patrick the information: Lev dies. Probably Mila too. I live with that guilt forever.
Don't send it: Ethan dies. Screaming. In pieces. And I live with that guilt forever.
Tell Lev the truth: He kills me. Maybe kills my family too for good measure. Problem solved, no guilt required because I'll be dead.
Run: Patrick finds me. Kills everyone I love. I end up dead anyway.
There's no way out.
At midnight, I give up on sleep. Slip out of my room in pajamas and bare feet, needing to move, needing to do something other than lie there spiraling.
I end up at Mila's door.
It's cracked open since she doesn't like it completely closed since the nightmares started. I push it wider, just enough to see inside.
She's sleeping peacefully. Curled on her side, clutching the stuffed bear Lev got her last week. Her face is relaxed, no trace of the terror that haunts her dreams.
She looks safe. Happy. Healing.
And I'm about to destroy that.
If I send Patrick what he wants, Mila wakes up to find her father dead. Maybe dies herself if Patrick's team is thorough. Relives the worst trauma of her life all over again.
Because of me.
My chest tightens so hard I can't breathe.
I close her door quietly and keep walking.
Past the guest rooms. Past the stairs. To Lev's bedroom.
His door is open too. I stand in the doorway watching him sleep.
He's on his back, one arm thrown over his head, face relaxed in a way it never is when he's awake. He looks younger like this. Less dangerous. Almost peaceful.
I memorize his features. The scar through his eyebrow. The sharp line of his jaw. The way his chest rises and falls with steady breaths.
This might be the last time I see him like this. Peaceful. Trusting. Alive.
The thought makes my eyes burn.
I love him.
The shock of this realization nearly brings me to my knees.
Not just lust. Not just obsession, not just attraction, or the twisted chemistry between us.
I actually love Lev Volkov.
Love the way he is with Mila, awkward and trying so hard. Love his darkness and his violence and the way he protects what's his. Love that he trusted me despite every red flag. Love that he looks at me like I'm something precious instead of a weapon.
And I'm going to destroy him.
My phone buzzes. 3 AM exactly.
Patrick calling.
I step back from Lev's door, move down the hallway far enough that the sound won't wake him, and pull out the burner.
Let it ring. And ring. And ring.
I don't answer.
It goes to voicemail. Thirty seconds later, a text appears.
A photo.
Ethan's hand. Four fingers clearly broken, bent at wrong angles, swollen, and purple.
And a message: Just sending an incentive.
I stare at the image until it blurs, and know that I must make a choice.
Brother or lover. Blood family or chosen family.
Ethan's broken fingers or Mila's trauma.
My salvation or my damnation.
I slide down the wall and sit there in the dark hallway, phone clutched in shaking hands, and weep.
I don’t know how long I stay there crying, but I realize I no longer have any choice but to tell Lev the truth.
Without a second thought, I force my feet to start moving towards Lev’s room. When I slip in, I allow my eyes to rake through his beautiful form, knowing this may be the last time I will see him this peaceful.
"Lev." My voice barely above a whisper.
He opens his eyes and looks at me, confused, then quickly sits up. “Is Mila okay? Did she have another nightmare?”
"No, no, Mila is fine. But I need to tell you something."
Relief washes over him, and then he mutters, "tomorrow."
"It can't wait until tomorrow."
Silence.
Then he rolls over to face me. His expression is blank. Unreadable. "What is it?"
This is it. No going back.
My hands are shaking so badly that I have to clasp them together. "I need to tell you the truth. About everything. About why I'm really here."
His eyes narrow slightly. "Go on."
"My father… Viktor Novak, he didn't just owe money to criminals." The words tumble out faster now, unstoppable. "He was an informant. Working for Patrick O'Rourke. Feeding him information on Bratva operations. On you."
Lev goes completely still.
Well, shit, here goes.
"Patrick killed him right in front of my family and me.
Shot him in the head because he gave bad intel that cost Patrick men and money.
" I'm crying now, can't help it. "And then Patrick said my father's debts were transferred to the family.
Said if I didn't finish what my father started, he'd kill my mom and my brother. "
"Finish it?" Lev's voice is dangerously quiet.
"Yes, by spying on you." The confession tears out. "He got me the job through Marina Petrov's agency. Told me to gather intel, schedules, locations, security protocols, anything I could find. Said every piece of information was worth my brother and mother’s life."
I pull out the burner phone with shaking hands. Show him the messages. The photos of Ethan beaten and bloody. Patrick's threats in stark black text.
"He has my brother. Has been torturing him for weeks because I stopped sending information. Because I—" My voice breaks completely. "Because I fell for you. Because I couldn't keep betraying you. Because Mila deserves better and you deserve better and I'm so fucking sorry…"
Lev doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Just stares at the phone in my hands.
I keep talking, desperate to fill the silence.
"I know this is unforgivable. I know you should kill me for this.
I know I don't deserve mercy or help or anything except a bullet.
But please—" I grab his hand, hold it tight.
"Please, Lev, I need you to save my brother.
He's seventeen. He didn't do anything wrong.
This isn't his fault. Patrick's going to kill him if I don't send updated information, and I can't—I can't do that to you, can't get you killed, can't hurt Mila like that. "
Nothing. He says nothing.
His hand in mine is rigid. Every muscle locked tight. His jaw is clenched so hard I can see it working. His eyes are flat. Dead. Cold as winter.
But he's not moving. Not speaking. Not reacting.
Just sitting there like a statue while I confess everything.
"Please say something." My voice breaks. "Yell at me. Hit me. Kill me. Just please say something—"
He pulls his hand away.
Stands.
Walks to the window and stares out at the darkness.
His shoulders are so tense they're nearly at his ears. His hands are fists at his sides. I can see him shaking with rage so profound it's making his whole body vibrate.
He's going to kill me.
The certainty settles over me like ice water.
This is how I die. In Lev Volkov's bedroom. At the hands of the man I fell in love with. Because I betrayed him.
"Lev—" I stand on shaking legs. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know it doesn't—"
"Get out." His voice is barely above a whisper. Controlled. Too controlled.
"W-What?"
"Get. Out." Each word is clipped. Precise. "Before I do something we'll both regret."
"But Ethan—"
"OUT!"
The word explodes out of him, and I run.
Out the door, down the hallway, into my room, where I lock the door and collapse against it.
My whole body is shaking. Trembling so hard my teeth chatter.
He's going to kill me. Or he's going to let Patrick kill Ethan. Or both.
I told him the truth, and now everything is going to burn.
Through the wall, I hear movement. Heavy footsteps. Something crashes—glass shattering. His voice in Russian, words I don't understand but the rage in them is crystal clear.
Then silence.
Terrible, deafening silence.
I slide down to the floor, pull my knees to my chest, and wait.
Wait for him to come through that door.
Wait for the bullet or the hands around my throat or whatever method he chooses.
Wait for the end I just guaranteed by confessing everything.
The burner phone buzzes in my pocket.
Patrick's deadline is here.
But I can't move. Can't think. Can't do anything except sit on my floor and shake and pray that if Lev kills me, at least it'll be quick.
At least Mila won't have to watch.
At least I'll die knowing I tried to tell the truth.
The silence stretches.
And I wait for death.