Page 15

RUTHIE

“I literally feel like I’m on a TV show. This is fucking awesome ,” I tell him.

He gives me a mock serious look, but even mocking, Vadka all stern makes my heart beat faster. “It is not awesome . We are on the run from people who want to kill you.”

“Wait, I thought they wanted to kill you ? Why do they give two shits about me?”

“They know that killing you is the best way to get to me, so that’s their plan.”

I give him a sidelong look and don’t reply because I need a minute. He just freely admitted that it would hurt him to lose me. Of course it would—because I’m like his sister, right?

But I’m not his sister. And he’s not my brother.

We had a relationship that was different when my sister was here. But she isn’t anymore.

No. I can’t think like that.

“You’re going to have to lock your phone in a safe box.” And then he turns to look at me, as serious as I’ve ever seen him.

I stand up straighter.

“What?” I kind of snap, trying to protect myself. It doesn’t work.

“You have to follow the rules here. No fucking around. If Rafail tells you to hide, you hide. If he tells you to run, you run. If he tells you to put on a clown wig and go into Central Square and pretend you’re entertaining a group of kids at a birthday party, you do it. Got it?”

“Or what?” I ask. “Put on a clown wig? Really? Remember that I’m not in the Bratva. Remember that I’m not your wife , Vadka.” My voice wobbles. “Remember that I’m not obedient to Rafail.”

I’m not someone who hands over my autonomy so easily. Hell, I gave up my virginity easier than that.

He takes a step closer. Our toes touch. He anchors his hands on his hips and does something that makes my brain short-circuit—he reaches for my chin and holds my gaze with his.

I can’t look away, not now, not for anything. I’m mesmerized, engulfed in his gaze, unable to do anything but stare back.

“I lost my wife,” he says, and I don’t know how he keeps his voice steady because I don’t even trust myself to speak right now. He pauses, then says softly, “Do you really need to let your stubbornness threaten us losing each other now?”

I expected him to lecture. I expected him to get all stern and bossy, which is how he normally is—but this plea undoes me in a way that sternness wouldn’t.

I shake my head, and when I blink, hot, fat tears roll down my cheeks.

“No, of course not.”

“Do it for Luka,” he says quietly, and I nod. But I’m not sure what I’m doing for Luka or what I’m agreeing to.

“So I need to know, Ruthie… Are you going to behave, or are we going to have a problem here?”

My heart. Goddammit, I think I might be ovulating because I am suddenly, instantly turned on.

I scoff. “Whatever. I’m not a good girl , Vadka. Not like Mariah was.” She played by the rules.

He’s leaning in too close. He smells too good. His eyes flash with something I don’t understand, and the corner of his lips quirks.

“Don’t I know it.”

Something hangs in the air between us—something neither of us wants to name.

And then he pulls away, and I turn my head.

The worst possible solution to losing my sister is flirting with a man who doesn’t want me, who I can’t have .

What’s left of my broken heart would be shattered.

I can’t allow that to happen.

“Be a good girl, Ruthie, just this once,” he says softly and hooks his pinky finger with mine.

I don’t know if this is supposed to feel big-brotherly, but it absolutely doesn’t.

“You say that to all the girls, don’t you,” I whisper, not trusting my voice.

Oh my god .

I squirm uncomfortably and nod.

“Tell me, Ruthie,” he says, in that same tone he uses when Luka refuses to go to bed, the tone that brooks no argument. “Tell me you’ll be a good girl this time.”

I nod and swallow hard.

“Fine. I’ll behave.” But I tack on at the end, “For now. If I give Rafail shit, will it reflect poorly on you? Are they going to expect you to… keep me in line, or whatever?”

His lips press together, and his jaw ticks. “Absolutely.”

All right, all right, fine . I’ll do whatever the fuck they tell me.

I don’t say that out loud though. I nod and shrug one shoulder. “Fine.”

He draws in a breath and releases it through his nostrils, then jerks his head toward the door.

Two uniformed men appear almost out of thin air. They nod and almost bow toward Vadka in a gesture of respect .

I forget how high-ranking he is. How powerful.

To me, he’s just… Vadka. The guy I’ve always looked up to. The only one I ever trusted to take care of my sister.

Fuck. My eyes are getting watery again.

One of the men takes a tiny device out of his pocket, scans Vadka’s eyes, and then shows him something to imprint his fingers. I do the same, following suit.

Then we’re in a steel cage that might look like an elevator shaft if it wasn’t so small and so tight. The walls around us are made of cement.

If I were claustrophobic, I’d be having a fucking heart attack right now.

We’re going down. Down.

My belly plunges to my toes, and suddenly I realize… maybe I am claustrophobic. I just never challenged it before.

I’ve never been in something that resembled a tomb encased in concrete, sinking down into the center of the earth.

Dramatic, maybe, but that’s what it fucking feels like.

Jesus .

I keep going, and then I realize I’m holding my breath. My vision’s a little dizzy.

Vadka is talking with the men, then he turns to me, and it seems he knows right away I’m not okay.

“Hey. Ruthie,” he says, his voice laced with concern, gentle, as if he might be coaxing a child to bed. “Are you okay? ”

I open my mouth to tell him yes, to lie through my fear, but instead, I shake my head. I close my eyes and try to remember how to get air in my lungs.

“Breathe,” he says in my ear.

But it does nothing.

He might as well tell me to stop anything—stop my heart, stop existing—because I can’t breathe, and it scares the life out of me. I’m drowning, and there’s no water in sight.

And then… his forehead presses to mine.

He smells so fucking good. He’s so warm. His hand laces with mine, palm to palm, finger to finger, and right then, I forget how to breathe in a totally different way . I wish I could hit the pause button because I’ve never felt so safe in my life.

“Breathe with me, sweetheart,” he says quietly.

Maybe?

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean that.”

That breaks my heart a little. I don’t want him to take it back.

“No,” I whisper. “I liked that. I like it a lot.”

“Deep breath,” he says again, this time a little firmer. “Together. Breathe with me, Ruthie. Just like this.”

He takes a big, dramatic breath. His chest expands, and his shoulders pull back. I mimic him, and the dizzy feeling dulls just a little. It still feels like there’s a weight sitting on my chest, but his fingers are tight around mine, grounding.

“You can do this,” he murmurs. “Just like that. Good girl. Breathe.”

Maybe I should pretend I’m panicking more often…

“And exhale…”

We come to a stop, and the two uniformed men, still staring straight ahead, push a button. Vadka is still holding my hands. Whoever’s on the other side of the door is going to see us like this—forehead to forehead, palm to palm.

He doesn’t seem to care.

Of course he doesn’t.

He’s never changed anything about himself for anyone.

“You made it,” he says finally. “We’re here.”

“We need a minute,” he says to someone. His voice is steady but low, and I can hear the strain in it.

I blink, and it feels like waking up.

“Understood. Ruthie, are you okay?”

I take a breath. I let it out again and give Rafail a watery smile.

“Yeah. Turns out I have claustrophobia when I’m in a small enclosed space that resembles a tomb.”

“Understood,” he says again. My cheeks heat, and I half expect someone else to be in the room with us, but it looks like we’re in a small, enclosed entryway. Shoes and coats are stacked neatly along the wall. There’s a cabinet for hats. It’s quiet .

“Phone goes in here.” Rafail gestures to a safe. “You’ll have to clean up here. We’re doing our best to keep the place sanitized. It’s tight quarters.”

“Understood.” Everything feels surreal.

“Who else is here?” Vadka asks.

“Rodion and Ember. You. Luka. Everyone else is at the secondary house. The kids are with Polina’s mom.”

Polina’s mom is none other than Ekaterina Romanova. They’re safe.

“I wouldn’t know what we’d do with them in a place like this,” Rafail admits.

Vadka smiles, the warmth coming off him like the glow of a dying fire that still has heat.

“I need to see Luka,” Vadka says. “Can we see him without waking him up?”

“Of course,” Rafail replies. He leads us down the short corridor, tapping on a door. A few seconds later, we hear rustling on the other side.

The house is surprisingly homey, given the starkness of the situation. The walls are painted soft neutral tones, the lighting warm and low. There's a lived-in feel—blankets draped over the couch, half-empty cups on a shelf, books stacked on the end table. It’s tight quarters but not cold.

Zoya opens the door and puts a finger to her lips. She wiggles her fingers in greeting, then gestures toward the bed where Luka is fast asleep.

My heart melts.

“How was he?” Vadka asks softly.

“Great,” she replies just as quietly. “I made him some warm milk and got him good and sleepy, but Rodion wore him out playing outside today, so he was exhausted. He fell asleep at dinner.”

I love this. I love them. I love that Luka doesn’t just have Vadka and me, both half human from our own grief, but others too. A whole little village helping raise him.

“I read him stories until he was dead asleep,” Zoya adds, her voice warm. “He was so cute; his head was on my shoulder.”

Vadka smiles and says softly, almost to himself, “He loves when we read to him.”

Then he crosses the room, lowering himself to his knees beside the bed. His face softens as he runs one large, calloused hand over his boy’s head. Gently, he strokes the damp hair back from Luka’s forehead.

He says something in Russian, something I don’t quite catch. Something about sweet dreams.

Zoya’s eyes are shining. Mine are too. Good. It’s not just me, then.

I kneel on the other side of the bed, looking down at the small, angelic form of my little nephew.

There’s something about sleeping children that pulls on the heartstrings like nothing else.

His cheeks are flushed rosy red. He’s wearing Superman pajamas that are already a little too tight, stretched over that still-round little belly .

Vadka and I both bend to kiss his forehead at the same time—and freeze, noses nearly touching.

I pull back first and lift Luka’s little hand and kiss each sweet knuckle. Then I arrange the blanket around him and push to my feet. Something about seeing him safe, breathing easy, at rest… it makes my heart rest too.

Then he stirs and rolls over. One sleepy eye opens.

“Papa,” he says quietly and then looks at me. His eyes flutter shut again, and he snuggles deeper beneath the blanket with a sleepy smile.

When Vadka gets to his feet, his eyes are shining too.

Why did we ever teach men that it’s wrong to cry?

If I ever have a son, I will make sure he knows that emotions are strength. That good men cry. That everyone cries.

Everyone.

When we leave the room, Vadka sighs heavily. I stifle a yawn. I’m so damn ready for bed.

Rafail meets us on the other side.

“So… there’s only one problem,” Rafail says, clearing his throat. He tucks his hands into his pockets, and I think this may very well be the first time I’ve ever seen Rafail look sheepish.

“These bunkers were built for couples. Rodion and Ember are in one room. Polina and I are in another. Luka’s with Zoya, and there’s only one room left.”

He looks away .

Oh god.

Oh no.

I know exactly what he’s going to say before he says it.

“That means you have this room, and it’s kind of tight quarters,” he says apologetically. “And there’s only one bed.”