Chapter 21
ALINA
The shower feels almost unreal. Hot water pours over my shoulders in steady sheets, steam curling thick against the ceiling, the scent of my own shampoo rising around me like something from another life.
I stand there far longer than I should, eyes closed, palms braced lightly against the tile, letting the heat soak into muscles that have been tight for weeks.
Maybe longer than that. Long enough that I’d forgotten what it feels like to simply exist in my own body without fear humming underneath everything.
The illusion doesn’t last, of course. Reality waits patiently at the edges of every peaceful moment now, ready to slide back in the second I remember what’s happening in my life.
So, I let myself forget for as long as I can. I take my time, luxuriating in the heat until my fingers are prune-y and the air is so humid that I can barely breathe.
When I finally step out, I wrap myself in a soft, fluffy towel I bought three years ago and had to convince myself to get. They were so much money, and felt so needlessly expensive, but a friend convinced me that I deserved luxury. I’m grateful for it now.
I press it to my face for a second longer than necessary, breathing in the clean, familiar scent, and feel my body starting to relax.
I lather myself in my favorite lotion and put on a set of loungewear, even though I’ll have to change before I go to back to Andrei’s house.
It’s just a small thing. A moment to feel like myself, like a girl who knows how to relax and take care of herself.
This is what normal feels like. I almost forgot.
I know I should keep packing, but instead, I go into my living room and turn on my TV.
I don’t know if this is allowed, so I play it quietly so the guards don’t hear.
Andrei’s apparently taken care of my internet bill too, because I’m able to get on a streaming app and spend a mindless half hour watching some pointless reality show.
When it’s over, I realize I’m starving. I also realize that, of course, I have no food in my apartment. I open the fridge, and nearly gag at the takeout containers that need to be tossed. I ask one of the guards to come in and empty it out, pretending that I just think it’s too gross for me to do.
When he’s done, I ask if he or one of the other guards can run down to my favorite takeout place at the end of the block and get my usual order. He looks annoyed, but promises someone will be back with it in a few minutes.
In the meantime, I scavenge the cabinets to see if there’s anything to munch on. I find my favorite crackers, and hold them to my chest like they’re gold. I eat nearly the whole box before a guard comes back with my order.
We haven’t had takeout while we’ve been in hiding. We have groceries delivered, which is nice enough, but they’ve been mostly microwave meals or cold cuts. Nothing as substantial as my favorite Chinese dish.
I eat all of it in twenty minutes, not realizing how famished I actually was.
When I’ve stalled as long as I can, I get back to packing. I throw in all my favorite toiletries and my toothbrush. I also throw in my lotion and some headphones, in case Andrei decides to finally let me have some form of entertainment.
The fluffy blanket from my bed goes in last. It smells like my favorite laundry detergent and something so undeniably homey. I press it down into the bag until the zipper barely closes.
When I’m done, the room looks almost untouched. Like I was never here at all. That’s how it’ll be from now on, I guess. Until this is all over, I won’t be coming back, and my apartment will continue to sit empty, like I don’t exist.
I need something to distract me from the sadness. I vaguely remember that there’s a load of towels in my dryer, and open it to find the abandoned cloths. I take my time folding them, drenching myself in the scent. I wonder if Andrei can get me my favorite detergent at his place.
Then, I wonder if he even does laundry at his place. More likely, he has a full-time maid, or sends all his clothes out for dry-cleaning. His amount of wealth is incomprehensible. I have no idea what I’m in for.
I’m halfway through folding the stack of towels when a sound cuts through the silence. A soft tap, tap, tap. I freeze. For a second, I think I imagined it. The building makes noises sometimes. Old pipes. Wind against the glass. Nothing unusual.
Then it comes again. Tap. Tap Tap.
My heart drops straight into my stomach.
Slowly, carefully, I turn toward the window, where I see Kostya standing on the fire escape.
I nearly scream, but stop myself, knowing it will alert the guards outside.
I know what I promised Andrei, but I still refuse to believe that Kostya is some cold-blooded killer. He’s just an idiot.
I move to the window and slowly open the lock, pulling the pane up to let him in. I think about all the times he’s done this before. I would complain that I have a front door and he should use it, but he would tell me that climbing up the fire escape was romantic.
I was so stupid to believe him. I fell for his bullshit—hook, line, and sinker.
Cold air rushes in as he climbs through my window, smiling and coming toward me with his arms open, ready for a hug.
I push him away quickly, disgusted by the idea of him touching me. How dare he think he has any right to my body after what he did?
“Alina,” he says immediately, voice low and urgent. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
I don’t answer. I just stand there, the distance between us suddenly enormous despite the smallness of my living room. There’s a hurt edge in his voice, and I know he’s upset that I rejected him, but I don’t care. It makes me feel almost powerful.
“Of course I’m here,” I deadpan. “This is my apartment. The better question is, why are you here?”
“Alina,” he says softly, like saying my name alone should fix everything. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You disappeared after the party and you haven’t been home in ages. I thought… well, I won’t tell you what I thought.”
I make him continue, though, curious what lies he’s going to spew.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he continues, voice tightening. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?”
“Why is it dangerous?” I ask him skeptically. Maybe, I just want to hear him incriminate himself.
“Look, Alina,” he says, running his hand through his hair like he does when he’s nervous. “There are things about my family that I never told you. Things I couldn’t tell you because I wanted to keep you safe.”
I cross my arms and quirk my eyebrow at him, willing him to explain.
“There’s this man—Andrei Markov. He’s a dangerous crime lord that wants to destroy my family. When you disappeared, I was sure he had you.”
I bristle at his words. I know exactly who Andrei is, so his “confession” doesn’t scare me. If anything, it annoys me to hear him talk about Andrei at all.
“He’s a monster, Alina,” he continues. “He’d kill you just because of your connection to me. Let me take you away from here and keep you safe.”
He reaches for me, but I pull away, glaring at him.
“You want to keep me safe?” I shoot back. “That’s rich, Kostya. Did you want to keep me safe when you screwed a waitress at our engagement party? Was that you protecting me?”
His face darkens and he takes a step back, like I slapped him.
“I made a mistake, Alina,” he seethes. “Everyone makes mistakes. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. That man is a killer. He will destroy your family like he’s tried to destroy mine. He’s already holding your father captive.”
I know Andrei has had my father in a safe location since the engagement party. He told me when we were at the fourth safehouse. He assured me it was just a precaution, but the thought of my dad in any kind of danger still unsettles me. I know that’s exactly what Kostya’s counting on though.
“I’ve spoken to my father. He’s just fine. I’m fine too,” I say, gesturing to my empty apartment. “There are no boogeymen here. No one’s trying to destroy me, except for you.”
His face hardens, and there’s a dangerous glint in his eye. For the first time, I can see what Andrei means. Maybe Kostya is more dangerous than I thought.
“You’re not,” he insists, stepping closer into my space, his voice as cold as ice. “You’re trapped by that man, and you don’t even realize it. He’s manipulating you. I can get you out of this, Alina. I can protect you. I can fix everything.”
He tries to take my hands again. Again, I pull them away from disgust. His mask has finally dropped completely, and I see him for who he’s always been. How could I have been so blind before? How could I think that such a psychopath could ever be someone I should marry?
His jaw tightens in frustration, and he towers over me, making himself more physically intimidating. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt afraid of him.
“I still love you,” he says, though his voice is threatening. “None of this changes that. We belong together. You know we do.”
My ears roar and I swallow hard, staring at his chest rather than meeting his gaze. He forces me to look up at him, so I glare with all the rage I can muster.
“I could even help your father,” he adds, his voice softer but somehow more dangerous. “But I need to know you’re with me. Truly with me. Because without that, I can’t guarantee his safety.”
He’s threatening me and pretending that it’s love.
This is who he is. Probably who he always was.
A shiver runs through me, and I resist the urge to punch him in the face.
I realize suddenly that I hate him. Not because of what he did, but because of who he is.
He’s a horrible, manipulative person, and always was.
For a moment, the weight of that thought presses down hard enough that I almost can’t breathe. I know my dad is safe for now, but if Kostya has worked this hard to get to Andrei, who’s to say that he can’t get to my dad?
Fear curls low in my stomach, but beneath it, something steadier holds. I know the truth now, and I’m not alone. I slip my hand into my pocket and press the alarm. Footsteps echo faintly from somewhere behind me.
Kostya doesn’t notice yet. He’s too busy watching my face, waiting for me to give him what he wants.
“I’m not coming back,” I say firmly. “I never would. You’re a piece of shit and you always were.”
The words feel final the second they leave my mouth. His expression fractures.
“You don’t mean that,” he says through clenched teeth. He’s angry with me.
“I do.”
Silence stretches between us, cold and thin and irreversible.
“You’d better go,” I add softly. “Before this gets worse.”
For a second, I see something ugly flicker in his eyes. Anger. Calculation. The real man beneath the charm. Then it’s gone, replaced by something wounded and pleading. His mask is back on, but it’s too late.
I’ve already seen behind the curtain. I know the truth. He disgusts me.