Page 44 of Waters that Drown Us

“That is not what you should be concerned about,” he replies, his hands in his pockets so casually, like this whole situation is no more than an irritating errand.

“Ilya, I’m sorry, please don’t—” I start, feeling false tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I was worried my acting wouldn’t be convincing, but so far I’m doing a pretty good job, if I say so myself.

“Your death was inconvenient, Alisa,” he says, speaking over me. I clamp my mouth shut, annoyance cutting through my fabricated fear before I shove it back down. “Our union made the succession of your father’s empire easy, smooth. No one would dare challenge his decision to pass the torch if I was his son-in-law. But with you dead, I’ve had to maintain a very delicate balance to ensure I stay in his good graces.”

He squats in front of me, resting his forearms on his knees and staring into my eyes. There’s a new-to-me burn scar on his hand, covering most of his pinky and ring finger and traveling past his wrist. His hair is so short now it’s barely a shadow on his pale head. But those pale green eyes are the same. Cold and distant and assessing. Critical and disengaged.

Cruel.

“Your absence opened the door for him to consider others. He thought merging with another enterprise might expand our network. Not only guns, but drugs. People. Information.” I fight the roiling in my stomach at Ilya’s words. I wonder, if I had gotten what I wanted as a teenager, would I have ever balked against my father’s operations, his evil greed? I hate that I don’t know the answer. “So you see, my wife, you should not be concerned about where you are. Your only question should behow can I fix this, my husband.”

“I don’t—I thought you’d kill me if you ever found me,” I reply, honestly surprised that he’s presenting me with the optiontoredeem myself in his eyes. My father always seemed so fond of him, I never imagined a world where my marriage to Ilya would be his anchor to our power. And even with that being the case, I’m shocked Ilya’s pride would allow him to take me back, no matter the conditions.

“I may still,” he replies, still emotionless, like my life means less than nothing to him. “But you could be more worthwhile to me alive. If I bring you home, Konstantin will be so grateful he will find me in favor again. And with our engagement still intact, perhaps he’ll have no choice but to name me his successor.”

Ilya stands back up, a rueful smile pulling at the corner of his mouth when I flinch at his movement. He must be as desperate as I am, because his plan is fundamentally flawed.

“My father would never let a traitor back in his stronghold,” I say, knowing the truth of it deep in my bones. He’s killed dozens,if not hundreds, for much lesser crimes. My mother, a woman I believed he once truly loved, likely died because he no longer wanted to tolerate her discontent. Being his daughter would not save me that wrath.

“A traitor?” Ilya asks, patronization soaking his tone. “What a horrible misunderstanding. No, Alisa Zakharov was kidnapped by her uncle, who began working for one of our enemies when his sister tragically drowned. She was a victim of one of the families who dares challenge us. But I found her, and she iseverso grateful to be home.”

Heisdesperate. I may have been obedient, but it’s not like I kept my growing discontent a secret from my father, especially where Ilya is concerned. And even if I played along with his story, my father is paranoid enough to demand evidence of its veracity. We have many enemies, but it wouldn’t make sense for one of them to kidnap me for half a decade and not use it against him.

“He’s never going to believe that,” I say, trying to make my tone less argumentative and more despondent. He’s already taught me what fighting with him will earn me, and I don’t want another permanent mark from him on my body, the scars on my hip already too many. If I seem desperate, he’ll feel in control, and that’s where I need him right now.

“He will. Because you’re going to convince him,” Ilya responds, brokering no argument. He pulls a switchblade from his back pocket, the movement so similar to Emily’s that I feel a pit open up in my stomach. But this time, Iamafraid. He is out of his mind, and every word I speak pulls tighter on the tripwire of his desperation. “You will be bruised and bloodied, have a few new scars, of course.” Ilya flips the handle so the tip of the knife is pointing directly at my heart. “But you will sob at his feet and tell him how grateful you are, how horrid your captors were, how youneeda hastened wedding to thank your ever-dedicatedfiancé for refusing to give up on you. For going to the ends of the Earth to bring you home. For killing his enemies in the faint hope that you were still out there.”

Ilya walks backward, his frame disappearing into the shadowed warehouse. Eventually, I can’t see him, but I can hear his footsteps stop. A shifting of something heavy, and then the sound of something being dragged across the concrete. For the first time since I woke up in this room, I feel the pure, undiluted terror Ilya was hoping to inspire in me.

“And of course, her head will be evidence enough.”

I know what I’ll see before the light shines on her.

Ilya drags Emily by the scruff of her shirt, her limp body barely twitching as he tosses her on the floor in front of me. Horror slices through me, my blood feeling like it's made of ice shards as it pumps faster and faster through my veins. I’m so consumed with the sight of her, alive and groaning and obviously hurt, that I don’t see where Ilya goes. But he comes back with a bucket in his hand, and a moment later he tosses the contents on her frame.

Emily gasps and chokes as what must be freezing water hits her skin. Her hands are bound behind her back, and her ankles together, but she rolls over to a sitting position as Ilya pulls a handgun from the small of his back and points it directly at her.

“Ilya, no, you don’t understand,” I say, my heart sinking with guilt over assuming she was in league with him. I didn’t even consider that she could be his victim too. That she could be scared and alone, confused and tied up and at the whims of his icy rage.

All those weeks I spent worrying that she would be collateral damage, just for her to end up exactly where I feared she would be.

“Oh, I understand very clearly,” he replies, with more emotion than I’ve ever seen from him. I don’t have time to unpack my confusion, to wonder why Emily angers him so.

“She’s a researcher. We were working together. She has nothing to do with this,” I beg, pleading for him to see the reason, even though I know he’s not capable of it. Ilya is calculated, but once he sets his mind on a path, he is not easily deterred. Certainly not by the pleas of his fiancée.

“A researcher?” he repeats, a laugh erupting from him that leaves me frozen solid in disbelief. I’ve never heard him laugh. It sounds hollow and empty, like it’s as unfamiliar to him as it is to me. “You know, for a moment I thought you had at least done something in your best interest. But you really are as stupid and useless as you look.”

The words don’t hurt the way they did last time, and I imagine the blows to come won’t either. What is unbearable, though, is the way he looks at Emily. Like he knows her.

And if she’s not working for him…

“Don’t speak to her like that,” Emily nearly growls, spitting at Ilya’s feet. He cocks his head to the side, examining her like a rare specimen.

“She really doesn’t know,” he says in disbelief that matches mine. My head swivels between the two of them, trying to make sense of the scene before me.

“She’s no one to me,” I lie, assuming that Ilya’s disdain for her stems from her touching what he considers his. “I didn’t tell her anything.”

“You know, I wish I could say I was impressed, but she threw herself at me like a common whore, so it doesn’t take much,” he says, ignoring me completely. Emily lunges, pulling against her restraints, pushing herself closer to the barrel Ilya extends toward her.