Chapter 23
LIESL
The morning of the meeting arrives, pale sunlight filtering through the barred windows of the safe house. I've been awake for hours, watching the light change from black to gray to gold that does nothing to make me feel warmer inside.
Andrei is in the main room with his men, going over the plan for what feels like the hundredth time.
I can hear his voice through the door, issuing commands.
For the last two days, he's been distant when we're not alone, focused on planning.
And I understand why. His men have been questioning him, the frequency growing the longer I'm here, questioning whether I'm worth the trouble, whether keeping me alive is making him weak.
He has to prove he's still in control, still the ruthless pakhan they need him to be.
But at night, when he comes to bed, he holds me like I'm the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.
Like if he lets go, he'll drift away and never find his way back.
It feels like a strange, in-between liminal state, where we're playing at romance without ever really saying that's what this is.
Knowing it could end so quickly, if things go wrong.
I get up and dress in jeans and a t-shirt and Docs, simple clothes that I can move quickly in if something goes wrong.
I hate that I'm thinking like this now, that a meeting with my father has to be considered tactically.
I don't feel like myself anymore. This isn't the life I tried to create for myself—one where I'm hiding, afraid of my own family, thinking about the possibility that if something goes wrong, I might not see another sunrise like the one I watched this morning.
Things won't go wrong, I tell myself. My father will listen. He'll see reason. He'll understand that this war is destroying us and that the only way forward is peace.
I want to believe it. I need to believe it.
But there's a voice in the back of my mind—small and insistent—that whispers I'm being naive.
That my father didn't become a billionaire by prioritizing his daughter's happiness over business opportunities.
That the man who refused to pay my ransom might not be the man I thought I knew.
I push the thought away and focus on braiding my hair. My hands are shaking slightly, and it takes three tries to get the braid right. When I'm done, I stare at my reflection in the small mirror above the dresser.
I look pale. Scared. Young. I look like someone who has no business negotiating peace between criminal organizations. But this has to work. My father keeps escalating, keeps arming Andrei's enemies, keeps pushing this toward total war.
Maybe I can reach him this time. Maybe he'll listen.
The door opens and Andrei steps inside. He's dressed in all black—tactical pants, a fitted shirt that shows the lines of his shoulders and chest, and boots.
He's armed; I can see the bulge of a gun at his hip.
His face is hard and expressionless. But when he looks at me, something softens in his eyes, just for a moment.
"Ready?" he asks.
"No." The honest answer comes out before I can stop it. "But I don't think I'll ever be ready for this."
He crosses the room and cups my face in his hands. His palms are warm, familiar now. "You don't have to do this, ptitsa. I can call it off. We can find another way."
"No." I shake my head. "I have to try again."
"Your father might not listen."
"I know." My throat tightens. "But I have to try."
He studies my face for a long moment, and I can see him wrestling with the decision.
Finally, he nods. "Okay. But you stay close to me. And if anything goes wrong—anything at all—you run. You understand?"
"Andrei—"
"Promise me, Liesl." His grip on my face tightens slightly.
"I promise," I whisper.
He kisses me then, like he's memorizing the taste of me. Like he thinks this might be the last time.
It could be. If my father agrees to everything, if he stands down… he might take me back with him. This might be Andrei and my last moments together, alone.
My chest seizes at the thought. But I can't possibly think that I'd rather stay here, in this chaos and violence, than go back to my life. Can I? I talked to Andrei about a future last night, the barest glimpse of it, but that feels very far away now. How can we ever make this work?
And then he pulls me against his chest and holds me so tightly I can barely breathe. "We're going to survive this," he says into my hair. "Both of us. We're going to end this war and then we're going to figure out what the fuck we are to each other. Okay?"
I feel tears burn behind my eyes. "Okay," I whisper, even though I don't know how that possibly works. We're so different. Our worlds are so different. I don't see how we walk away from this tonight together.
I cling to him for a moment, trying to memorize the feel of his arms around me, the steady beat of his heart against my cheek, the scent of him that's become as familiar as my own.
A knock on the door interrupts us, and Viktor's voice comes through. "It's time, pakhan."
Andrei releases me slowly, reluctantly. "Let's go."
—
The meeting location is a small cabin fifteen miles from the safe house where I've been staying, an old hunting cabin on property Andrei owns. It's isolated, far from anywhere that gunfire would draw attention. The thought makes my stomach churn.
We arrive in a convoy of three vehicles.
Andrei's in the lead car with me, Viktor driving.
Two more cars follow with armed men—insurance, Andrei called it.
Men positioned to respond if things go wrong.
My father won't see them unless something goes very badly.
I tried to argue, but he told me that my father will almost certainly do the same thing.
I don't know if that's true, but he seemed very sure of it. I've always thought my father was a man of his word—that if we said to come alone and he agreed, he would. But these last weeks have shown me that I don't know him as well as I thought I did.
The cabin comes into view as we turn down a potholed access road.
It's exactly what I expected—small and nondescript, a bit run down.
Viktor pulls the car to a stop about fifty yards from the main entrance.
The other vehicles disappeared from view a while ago, taking whatever positions they were ordered to.
"He's not here yet," Viktor says, checking his phone. "We're five minutes early."
Andrei nods. His hand finds mine in the space between us and squeezes once. "Remember what I said. You stay close. You run if I tell you to run."
"I remember."
We wait. The minutes stretch out, each one feeling like an hour. I watch the entrance to the cabin, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. My palms are sweating. My mouth is dry.
Please let this work. Please let him listen. Please let this end.
A car appears at the far end of the access road. Then another. And another. My stomach drops. "That's more than one car," I say quietly.
Andrei's jaw clenches. "I see it."
The cars approach slowly. They're expensive—black Mercedes SUVs with tinted windows. They pull up to the cabin entrance and stop.
Doors open, and men emerge. Lots of men. Armed men in tactical gear, moving with military precision to form a protective perimeter around the vehicles.
"Fuck," Viktor mutters. "That's at least fifteen men."
"He wasn't supposed to bring anyone," I say, my voice rising with panic. "The agreement was just him and Andrei and I. No guards. No—"
The rear door of the center SUV opens and my father steps out.
Even from this distance, I recognize him. Alexander Baumann, billionaire businessman, my father. He's dressed in an expensive suit, his silver hair perfectly styled, his posture radiating the confidence of a man who's used to getting exactly what he wants. But he's not alone.
Another man emerges from the same vehicle–older, maybe sixty, with a hard face and cold eyes.
He's dressed similarly to my father—expensive suit, polished shoes—but there's something about him that screams danger.
Something that says this man has killed people and will kill again without hesitation.
"Who is that?" I whisper.
Andrei's face has gone completely blank. "Dmitri Volkov," he says quietly. "Head of the Volkov family."
The name means nothing to me, but the way Andrei says it tells me everything I need to know.
This is bad. This is very, very bad.
"He brought another pakhan," Viktor says, his hand moving to his weapon. "This is a setup."
"No." I grab Andrei's arm. "No, maybe my father just—maybe he thought if he brought Volkov, then we could all negotiate together. Maybe—"
"Liesl." Andrei turns to look at me, and the expression on his face breaks my heart. "Your father didn't come here to negotiate. He came here to end this."
"You don't know that."
"Yes I do." He reaches up and cups my face, his thumb stroking across my cheekbone. "But we're going to try anyway. Because I promised you. And you need to see for yourself what kind of man your father is."
Before I can respond, he's opening the car door and stepping out. I follow, my legs shaking, my heart racing so fast I feel dizzy.
The space between our vehicles and theirs feels impossibly wide, like a battlefield. My father sees me and his expression shifts—first surprise and then relief, before it hardens again into a calculated coldness.
"Liesl," he calls out. His voice carries across the empty space,. "Thank God. Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine." My voice sounds steadier than I feel. "But this wasn't what we agreed to, Dad. You were supposed to come alone."
He spreads his hands in a gesture that's meant to be apologetic, but it comes across as dismissive. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. But you have to understand—I couldn't walk into a meeting with a man like Andrei Petrov without protection. Surely you can see that."