Chapter 19 #3
“Because that is who she is. That’s who all of the Costas are,” Ilya answers when Emily is silent. Finally, I break her gaze, looking up at my fiancé. He looks victorious.
I let the silence linger between us for a few more heartbeats, partly for Ilya’s benefit, and partly because my mind is still trying to process the woman in front of me.
Did she really come here to capture me on behalf of her family?
If she did, what did she mean when she said she was doing her best not to be dangerous to me?
“How can I fix this, my husband?” I ask, bile rising in the back of my throat as I repeat the words he fed me. The gloating look on his face doesn’t make it any better. Neither does Emily’s soft Alice.
“See, I knew you’d see reason,” Ilya patronizes, his praise so different from that Emily showered on me.
He turns the barrel of his gun toward me for a moment before re-engaging the safety and slipping it back into his waistband.
“First, you’ll kill her. I don’t like the idea of anyone alive having touched what I own. ”
I shake, because he expects me to. Because the thought of being the one to pull the trigger should be repugnant to Konstantin’s sheltered daughter.
And honestly, I don’t have a bloodlust for anyone except my father and the man standing in front of me.
Not even Emily, no matter how betrayed I feel right now.
“You’ll endure a bit of pain, to prove how apologetic you are.
And to show your father how ruthless the Costas can be.
Why we should redouble our efforts to eliminate them.
” Nothing in his expression suggests he gets pleasure from causing pain, the way Lev did.
“And then you will silently and obediently become my wife. This time, without complaints and mindless requests for accommodation.”
“I don’t want to get hurt again,” I reply meekly, rounding my shoulders and letting my face fall.
The memory of Ilya’s causal, indifferent cruelty, the way he struck me and threw me against the wall without a shred of emotion, blankets my memory.
I had come to him to ask for something—to go to an orchestral performance, if I remember correctly—and had argued when he denied me without explanation.
“I’m sorry for last time. Please, I don’t want to die. I won’t argue, I promise.”
Pathetic. Juvenile. Helpless.
Quiet. Subservient. Ornamental.
A needless object he can use to get what he wants, manipulate to ensure his legacy, and dispose of at his will. Just the type of wife Ilya wants. What he thinks he deserves.
I can’t look at Emily. I could say it’s because she lied to me, but I knew that was true before I got on that boat with her last night.
Or because she was going to use me like Ilya is, a pawn in her own twisted, horrible plan.
But I think it’s because I can’t witness her reaction to what comes next.
Ilya’s fingers grasp my chin, pulling my gaze up to meet his. He scans each inch of my face, looking for deception or hesitation. But I don’t have to fake the desperation seeping from every pore.
“If you lie to me, or try to escape, or tell anyone the truth, or anger me in any way, I will do worse than kill you,” he swears, the grip on my face bruising, his nails cutting into my skin.
“I will find every person you’ve spoken to in the last five years, every single one who helped you, knowingly or not.
And I will skin them alive in front of you.
So you can witness over and over again, the slow, painful death that awaits you for defying me. Do you understand?”
I think of Luanne and Jimmy and Alan. The rest of my mother’s family, who I’ve never met but I know helped Дядя Mikhail coordinate my logistics in the States.
The roommates in Portland, the woman who picked me up while hitchhiking in eastern Washington.
Dozens of people who showed me an ounce of kindness.
I imagine them dead at my feet, because of me.
I promised myself that people would stop dying to keep me alive. And I’m going to keep that promise.
“I understand,” I say, my voice shaking with determination that Ilya reads as terror.
“Good,” he says, clearly pleased at my easy compliance. “Now show the snake that she is not special. That you’ll hand your mouth over to anyone.”
I wonder how long he was watching Emily and me. If he somehow saw us on the research boat or in her motel. Or if he assumed our intimacy based on the way he found us.
I look at her one last time, sitting back on her heels with chest caved in, tear tracks carving paths through the dirt on her face.
For a fleeting moment, I let something other than fear fill my eyes.
I try to tell her without words that she’s the only person I’ve ever wanted.
That tracing my mouth over her entire body is lightyears away from what I’m about to do.
That even if I hate her now, I will always want her in a way I never wanted him.
I turn back to Ilya, all those feelings vanquished from my eyes, and let him seal his lips to mine.