Chapter 19
ALINA
When Andrei tells me I’m going home the next morning, I honestly think I misheard him.
“What?” I ask, blinking at him in confusion.
“I said,” he repeats slowly, “I thought it would be nice for you to go home for a few hours. Tend to your personal things.”
For a second I just stare at him from the couch, waiting for the correction, the clarification, the inevitable but. There’s always a but with him. A condition. A warning. A reason why whatever small piece of normal life I’m hoping for isn’t possible right now.
He doesn’t add one.
“You’ll have an escort,” he adds calmly, like this is obvious. “We don’t know how long this forced exile will last, and you’ve been very patient to subsist on borrowed clothes and books. You’ve earned a chance to go home and gather some of your things.”
My heart starts beating so fast it almost hurts. Home. My apartment. My shower. My plants that I’m almost certain are dead by now. The thought hits me all at once, bright and overwhelming, and I have to press my lips together to keep from squealing.
“Do I even have an apartment to go back to?” I ask, and I hate how small my voice sounds.
He chuckles lightly. “Yes,” he confirms. “Just to be safe, I made sure your rent was paid up for the next six months. I’ll continue to extend it if it seems like this is going to last longer.”
Two things occur to me at once. First off, I don’t know that I can stand this for another six months. I would definitely start to show by then, and that’s not something I can risk. I silently pray to any god that’s listening to make sure this is over before then.
The second thought is that he’s paid my rent. It’s an incredibly kind gesture, and a huge relief. I’ve tried my hardest not to consider such inconsequential things like rent when my life has been in danger, but it’s really nice to know that I don’t have to worry about it.
Something warm spreads through my chest, tangled up with relief so sharp it borders on painful.
I get to go home. I get to be in a familiar space I hadn’t realized how much I missed something so simple.
The safehouses have been clean and comfortable in a sterile way, but they aren’t mine.
Nothing smells right. Nothing feels familiar.
Every surface reminds me that my life isn’t my own right now.
“How long will I have?” I ask.
“A few hours,” he says. “We’ll play it by ear. I don’t want to leave you there too long.”
Of course not. Of course my freedom comes with a timer attached. Still, I’ll take it. It’s more than I could have hoped for.
“What happens after?” I ask quietly. “Will we be moving to a new safehouse?”
“Actually, no,” he says. “I’ve decided that I’m done hiding. Still, it isn’t safe to leave you alone, so you’ll be moving into my penthouse.”
That piece of information isn’t nearly as calming. It’s not shocking exactly. We’ve already been living together for a month. It’s been in a neutral space, though. The idea of being in his space, with his things, feels a little more overwhelming.
I think I already knew it was coming, though. The safehouses can’t last forever, and neither can this strange in-between where I belong nowhere. Even so, the news send a small ripple of nerves through me.
“Temporarily,” he adds, watching my face too closely. “Until this is resolved.”
“Moving in with you,” I repeat, trying to make it sound casual and failing. “That sounds intense.”
“It’ll be more secure,” he answers. “And far more comfortable. There’s a lot more space in my apartment. More for you to do.”
“Will I finally get a phone?” I ask hopefully.
He frowns. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says. “But you’ll have great views of the city, an in-home theater, and a private gym.”
“I always imagined you living in Elsa’s ice palace, or something like that.”
The joke slips out before I can stop it. For half a second I brace for that familiar wall of seriousness to drop back into place.
Instead, the corner of his mouth lifts. “No,” he says. “I have far more furniture, and my guard is much scarier than her ice monster.”
I stare at him with my mouth open. Not only is he teasing me, but he’s aware of the plot of Frozen. That’s not remotely what I expected. I can’t help the peals of laughter that burst out of me.
I haven’t laughed like that in days. Maybe weeks. The sound feels strange in my own throat, like something from another lifetime. His expression softens when he hears it. Just a little. So small I might have imagined it if I weren’t watching so carefully.
“That’s reassuring,” I say.
The air between us shifts, lighter than it’s been in what feels like forever.
It’s not safe exactly. Nothing about this situation is safe, but there’s a new easiness between us.
A new warmth. The tension breaks for just the smallest instance, and I imagine what our dynamic would be like if we weren’t constantly under the threat of death.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small and black, no bigger than a key fob. He holds it out to me, his expression serious again.
“You’ll keep this with you,” he tells me.
I take it carefully, turning it over in my palm. There’s a single recessed button on one side. It has no markings, and nothing happens when I press the button. Not in the room we’re in, anyway.
“What is it?” I ask.
“A silent alarm,” he says, watching me, before he pulls out his phone and sends a message. “It goes directly to my security team.”
My fingers still. Oops.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ve let them know it was a false alarm.”
I nod and slip the fob into my pocket. The knowledge of it burns into my skin. I can’t ignore it even if I want to, but it’s probably better if I don’t forget. I don’t want to think about how dangerous just going to my apartment for a few hours could be, but the fob doesn’t let me forget.
“If anyone contacts you,” he continues, “you press it. Immediately. Especially if it’s Kostya or anyone connected to him.”
The warmth from a moment ago cools a few degrees. Reality always finds its way back in.
“Kostya isn’t dangerous,” I say automatically, almost petulantly. “He’s just ambitious and selfish. And apparently terrible at monogamy. But he isn’t dangerous. Not to me anyway.”
Andrei’s gaze doesn’t change, but something behind it hardens.
“I’m not as sure about that. I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“He’s not a criminal mastermind,” I insist. “He’s a spoiled rich prick who makes bad choices.”
“Men like that can still be dangerous,” he says quietly.
There’s no drama in his voice. No exaggeration. Just certainty. It makes it harder to argue, even though I want to.
“I know him better than you do,” I remind him.
“You knew him,” he corrects. “And even then, there were a lot of missing details. This isn’t up for debate.”
He’s right, of course, even if I slightly resent him for it. I knew the version of Kostya that he wanted me to know. I thought he was a restaurateur with a kooky family. I had no idea he had any connections to the Russian mafia, and I certainly never suspected he’d hurt me the way he did.
“I’ll use the alarm if I need it,” I promise. “But I still think you’re overestimating Kostya.”
“Maybe,” Andrei says. “But maybe you’re underestimating him.”
After that, he ushers me out of the apartment and toward the car. I feel almost giddy as he closes the door for the last time and leads me away. Even if this nightmare isn’t over, at least we’re done hiding in the shadows.
The drive home feels surreal. We’ve been on the outskirts of the city for so long, it feels amazing to be back in Manhattan.
It’s the same as it always was. The traffic is just as horrendous, and the people are just as self-obsessed and unaware as ever.
No one knows that my entire life has tilted sideways.
No one would guess I’m surrounded by armed men in unmarked cars, being escorted like something fragile or valuable or both.
I press my forehead lightly to the window and watch everything blur past, trying to memorize it. The ordinary. The boring. The safe.
By the time we pull up to my building, I think happiness might explode out of my chest. I’m home.
One of Andrei’s men opens the door before I can reach for the handle. I step out slowly, half expecting something to feel different, but it doesn’t.
The lobby smells like the same overpowering lemon cleaner and the faint burnt scent from the old coffee machine near the mailboxes. Exactly the same. Comfortingly dull.
My throat tightens. I didn’t realize how much I missed the normalcy of it all. Unfortunately, though, in my new state, the smell brings up a new round of nausea. I’m even more desperate to get to my apartment.
When the door swings open, the familiar feeling of my space wraps around me instantly. I’m glad I thought to leave it clean. I didn’t realize I wouldn’t be coming back for a month, but I knew I didn’t want to spend the day after my engagement party doing chores.
There are no dishes in the sink, the bed is made, and besides a little bit of extra dust, it’s exactly the same as I left it. I almost cry.
I step inside slowly, like I’m afraid the moment will disappear if I move too fast. Everything is exactly where I left it. The blanket folded over the arm of the couch. The book on the coffee table with the receipt still marking my place. My shoes by the door.
My life. Frozen in time.
Behind me, the guards stay respectfully distant, giving me the illusion of privacy even though I know they’re watching everything.
I walk straight to the kitchen sink and turn on the faucet, filling a glass with tap water just because I can. It tastes normal. Slightly metallic. Perfect.
The plants are still alive. Barely. I water them carefully, whispering apologies to them.
For a few minutes, I get to pretend I’m just a woman in her apartment on a quiet afternoon. Then I realize, ridiculously, that I can’t even remember what day it is. Time has moved so differently inside the safehouses. What I do know, though, is that I want to be surrounded by my own luxuries again.
I go to my closet and pull out the new set of luggage Kostya bought me as an engagement present. He said we could use it on our honeymoon. What a joke.
Then I’m left with a conundrum. What do you bring when you don’t know how long you’ll be gone? When nothing about your future feels certain?
I start grabbing anything and everything I can.
Thankfully, it’s a big suitcase. I include my favorite sweaters and pajamas and t-shirts.
I throw in face masks and makeup and a curling iron.
I grab my favorite tennis shoes because I’ve been wearing an uncomfortable pair that one of Andrei’s men bought me at a mall.
When the suitcase is almost completely filled up, I throw in a few of my sketchbooks and my favorite pencils.
I grab a small, framed photo of my mom, and her perfume bottle that I’ve kept all these years.
I don’t know what the next phase in this strange new reality will hold, but I want to have a piece of her with me.