4. Alina #2
His eyes flick over my face, and for a fraction of a second I think I see something human. Then it’s gone.
“You’ll call her tomorrow,” he says. “If you cooperate.”
I don’t like the condition, but I take it anyway. “Fine.”
Mikhail turns his head toward the door, then pauses. “If you lie to me,” he says, “your mother pays.”
My stomach drops, sharp and sick. “You said she was safe.”
“She is,” he replies. “Don’t change that.”
He opens the door and steps out.
I stand there after he leaves, staring at the empty space he took up.
My hands shake when I finally let them. It’s not because I’m weak. It’s because my entire world just got uglier.
Twice.
I sit on the edge of the bed again and press my palms against my eyes until I see sparks. My father’s voice runs through my head, too familiar, too casual.
Just a little more, Alya.
He said it for years.
And I believed him, because believing him made the days easier.
Now I’m in a mansion in Vienna wearing a ring that isn’t mine, and a man I barely know just told me my future was sold twice, and the only thing I can hold onto is that he doesn’t know who the second buyer is.
Which means I might get to move first.
By morning, I’m exhausted and wired at the same time. I shower, dress in the simple outfit someone left for me, and sit at the desk by the window with a blank piece of paper.
If I’m going to remember, I need to stop spinning and start sorting.
I write down every name I can think of that ever showed up around my father. Men from the bar. Men from the building. Men who shook his hand too hard. Men who called and hung up when I answered.
The list is pathetic.
It’s also a start.
A knock comes at the door mid-morning. I open it to a maid holding a tray. She keeps her gaze down, hands steady.
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it, because politeness is a tool too.
She hesitates, then nods and leaves quickly. The guards don’t speak. They don’t need to. Their presence says everything.
At noon, Enzo appears at the door with another man. Enzo’s face is unreadable, but his eyes take in my posture, the desk, the paper.
“You’re up,” he says.
“I didn’t sleep much,” I reply. “Is that allowed?”
Enzo doesn’t smile. “You were told you can walk the garden. Now.”
I glance past him, down the hall. “With guards.”
“Yes.”
I grab a coat from the chair and follow him.
Outside, the cold air clears my head a little, and the garden is almost insulting in its calm. Gravel crunches under my shoes. The trees are trimmed, the paths clean, the fountains running. It’s all meant to say order. Control. Wealth.
I walk anyway because movement helps me think.
Enzo stays a few paces behind. Two other men hang back farther.
“You’ve been here a long time,” I say, not turning around.
Enzo gives a quiet, “Yes.”
“I’m trying to understand what I married into,” I say, keeping my voice level. “Does Mikhail always handle everything himself?”
Enzo’s footsteps keep pace. “He handles what matters.”
“And what doesn’t matter?” I ask. “Who handles that?”
“People who want to keep their jobs,” Enzo replies.
It’s not warmth, but it’s an answer.
I glance at him over my shoulder. “When he says he’ll do something tomorrow, does he mean it?”
Enzo studies me. “He means what he says.”
“Even when it benefits him?” I press.
Enzo’s mouth tightens. “Especially then.”
I turn back to the path and keep walking. “If someone tried to claim me,” I say, letting the words land carefully, “would he treat that as an insult?”
Enzo doesn’t answer immediately.
Then, “Yes,” he says. “A fatal one.”
My pulse beats harder. “So if there is another man who thinks he owns me, he’s not only a threat to me.”
Enzo doesn’t respond this time, which is a response on its own.
We walk in silence for a while. I let my mind spin through memories again, but the memories don’t cooperate. My father kept his secrets too well. All I have are half-glimpses, the way he’d step outside to answer, the way he’d go tense when the phone rang at certain hours.
When we come back inside, I ask Enzo to stop before my door.
“I’m supposed to call my mother today,” I say.
Enzo’s face stays blank. “That’s between you and him.”
I nod once. “Then tell him I’m ready.”
Enzo studies me again, and I can tell he’s trying to decide whether I’m smart or dangerous.
Maybe both.
“I’ll tell him,” he says, and then he walks away.
The hours drag.
I pick at my food. I sit at the desk again. I add to the list, cross things out, rewrite them. I try to remember the men who came around after my father started sending me those messages that were always cheerful and always slightly too eager.
It’s getting better, Alya.
It’s almost done.
Later.
Always later.
At some point, I hear footsteps in the hall that don’t belong to guards.
My skin tightens before I even open the door.
Mikhail steps in without knocking, and I hate that part of me is relieved, because it means the day is moving, and moving means I’m not stuck alone with my thoughts.
He looks tired. Not weak-tired. Controlled-tired. The kind that comes from being awake for too long and refusing to show it.
His eyes flick to the paper on the desk. “You’ve been busy.”
“I’ve been thinking,” I reply.
Mikhail’s gaze stays on the paper for a beat, then returns to me. “Call.”
He holds out my phone.
My hands shake when I take it, and I hate that he sees it. I dial from memory, because I’ve dialed this number a thousand times. It rings once, twice.
No answer.
My stomach drops.
I call again. Same result.
My mouth goes dry. “Where is she?”
Mikhail’s face doesn’t change, but his eyes sharpen, and that scares me more than anger. He reaches for his own phone.
Before he can do anything, his device buzzes.
He looks at the screen, and something in him goes still. He answers. “Speak.”
I can’t hear the other voice, but I can see Mikhail listening. Then his gaze snaps to me, and for the first time since I’ve met him, I feel the room tilt.
He doesn’t soften. He doesn’t reach for me.
He says, “Where?”
A pause.
Then Mikhail’s jaw tightens until a muscle jumps near his cheek. He nods to himself and ends the call. He stares at me for a beat too long, then speaks, each word precise. “Your mother was shot,” he says. “Outside a grocery store.”