by LP Lovell
“That’s…” Sick. Twisted. Wrong on every level.
Another stab of pain, but it’s now all just blending, and I can’t feel the individual needle pricks, only the wall of agony.
“Nicholai took Una’s sister and her child. He tried to kill Nero. He would have never stopped,” Sasha says.
“You killed him?”
“She did.”
“And you remained loyal to her?”
“Of course. We were raised together. She’s like a sister to me.”
I can only imagine how deep that bond runs, raised without love or parents, only having each other. He finally ties off the thread, and I release a deep breath.
“So, are you like property to the bratva? Do they want you back?”
A troubled expression crosses his face. “No.”
There’s a beat of silence, and he picks up the bottle of whiskey, unscrewing the lid before he brings it toward me.
“No.” I back up and wince as the stitches pull in my shoulder.
“You’re being weak, Adelina.”
I still, glaring at him. “It fucking hurts!”
“You got shot. It’s supposed to.”
He pours the whiskey directly onto the stitched hole, and it’s all I can do not to scream. A low groan slips past my lips, and I swallow hard. When he’s done, he sticks a dressing over the wound. “Good. Now roll over.”
“What?”
“I’ve done the entrance wound. I need to do the exit.”
I shake my head. “Leave it. Just let me bleed.”
He scowls. “Don’t be such a baby.” He forcibly rolls me onto my side, and I really wish I hadn’t given him to okay to shoot me.
I can hear the low tones of Sasha’s voice through the fogginess of my mind.
“I told you, I can’t come back yet,” he says in a hushed whisper. There’s a pause and all I can hear is the background hum of the train gliding along the tracks. “You know where my loyalty lies, but I can’t leave her.” He must be on the phone. I know he’s talking about me, and I’m suddenly very awake, listening intently. “No, Una. I won’t. You don’t need me.” He hisses, and I can sense his agitation. “I’m sorry you think that. I’m just…doing what I need to right now.” There’s a beat of silence, and I can picture his serious expression. “Fine. I’ll let you know.”
I wait for more, but he doesn’t speak again for several minutes.
“Una wants you in New York,” I say into the darkness, hating the fact that I’m forming a wedge between Sasha and his only family.
I almost think he hasn’t heard me, but he releases a long breath. “Yes.”
“You should go.”
“No.”
I roll over, wincing. “Sasha, she’s your family.” He shouldn’t abandon them for me. I’m sure if Una wants him back, she has a good reason.
“Malyshka…”
“You need to take me to Enrique Bianchi.”
13
Sasha
“You need to take me to Enrique Bianchi.”
Everything in me rebels violently against the idea. I picture her with him. Tears on her face as sadness becomes her constant companion. I inhale deep breaths, staring at the dark ceiling. “No.”
“I can get close to him. I can kill him. You can’t even find him right now.”
“No.”
“You can go home, Sasha.”
Home. I’m not even sure where that is anymore, but it isn’t New York. I thought home was wherever Una is. Now I don’t know. “I won’t leave you.”
“I release you from protecting me.”
I fist the sheets on either side of my body, anger creeping over me. “You do not hold my contract.”
“Sasha—”
“He will not have you!” I bite down on the inside of my cheek, both surprised and horrified by my sudden outburst.
We both fall into silence, but the tension between is a visceral thing that could be sliced with a blade. There’s nothing else to say; she’s not going to him, and that’s it. After a while, her breaths even out, becoming slow and deep. And I lie there, listening to the gentle sound. It’s strangely soothing. Every time her breath hitches, so does mine, though I know she hasn’t lost enough blood for it to kill her.
She threw the only weapon in her reach because she thought she was saving me. I was a second away from breaking both his arms. In helping me, she left herself vulnerable. That woman could have snapped her neck before I had even raised my gun. I close my eyes, and I can see Adelina’s face, so fearless, so determined. Do it.
She knew exactly what I needed to do and was willing to take the bullet, anyway. My perception of her rapidly shifts. She was selfless for Gabriella, but no one has ever sacrificed themselves for me like that. Not even Una. We were trained to look after ourselves and trust that our comrades were skilled enough to take care of themselves as well. Adelina didn’t grow up in a military facility. Her emotions are exposed, worn like a jacket for all to see; they rule her. It makes her weak, but it also makes her brave, and it’s difficult not to hold her in high regard for that.
I try to rest. The gentle swaying of the train over the tracks eventually lulls me into a fitful sleep.
The woman looks at me, a twisted smile dancing over her lips. Her arm is wrapped firmly around Adelina’s neck.
“Do you think you can kill me before I kill her?” The Russian asks. I can. I know I can.
“Let them have me,” Adelina whispers.
“No!”
“Let them have me,” she repeats.
The pair of them move backward, and I try to follow, but my legs feel heavy.
“Adelina!” I lift my gun, but it’s in slow motion.
The woman adjusts her grip, and before I can pull the trigger, she twists Adelina’s head. I hear the sickening crunch of bone as she breaks her neck. I watch the life leave her eyes just as I have with so many before her, but this is different. My heart beats painfully in my chest and something inside me fractures.
“No!” No, no, no. I fire bullet after bullet, pouring them into the Russian woman, and she just laughs. But it makes no difference; Adelina is gone.
I blink my eyes open to amber light pouring through the window. Sweat clings to my skin, and my lungs feel starved of oxygen. Something touches my finger, and when I glance down, my arm is halfway across the cabin, my hand resting on the edge of Adelina’s bed. She’s rolled towards me with her fingers brushing against mine, as though she were reaching for me in turn.
The early morning light dances over her face, washing her hair in tones of mahogany and red. A tightening sensation forms in my chest, and I frown. Snatching my hand back, I throw my legs over the side of the small cot and sit up. Lifting the blinds, I check where we are.
The rising sun creeps between snow-capped mountains, painting the sky pink and purple. The Alps. Tugging the blinds back down, I push to my feet and lean over Adelina’s sleeping form. I gently tug her tank strap to the side, inspecting her shoulder. The dressing has bled through, but not enough to concern me. Her usual golden skin looks pale though, and her lips are tinged a strange shade of grey.
I press my fingers to the side of her throat, seeking out her pulse. As soon as I do, her eyes flash open. She stills, that deep blue gaze locking with mine. I should retract my hand, but I don’t.
“You look pale,” I offer as an explanation.
“Uh, thanks?”
Taking a step back, I grab my bag from under the bed, and she sits up, wincing. Her hair is a matted mess, and the ends are crusted in blood.
“You need to change your shirt,” I say, tugging my own shirt over my head. Something brushes my side, and instinctively, I lash out, my hand going to her throat. I manage to stop myself before my fingers close around her windpipe.
She looks up with wide eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says.
I release her. For the first time in my life, I’m ashamed of my reaction. “No. It’s…I’m…”
“It’s okay,” she says. Holding my gaze, she once again reaches out, slowly, bringing her fingers to my side, and I tense but don’t react. “You were burned.”
“It’s from training. Electric glove.” I tug a clean shirt over my head, and she retracts her hand. Ducking her chin, she hides her face from me.
Placing a finger beneath her chin, I lift her face, seeing a solitary tear clinging to her cheek.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she says.
“Why?”
She sniffs, shaking her head. “You don’t even see it, do you?” Her eyes lock with mine like she’s searching for something, unable to find it. “How wrong that is.”
“It made me strong.”
“If making someone strong means breaking them first, I’d rather be weak.”
I frown, unable to form a response. She looks at me like she would save me if she could, but I don’t need saving. She isn’t the hero in this story either.
She’s close, too close. I can feel the heat of her body, smell the lingering scent of her lemon shampoo mixed with the metallic hint of blood. Every cell in my body becomes aware of her all at once. It’s like…gravity.
Taking a concerted step away from her, I clear my throat. “I’m going to get food.”
She says nothing as I open the door and step outside into the narrow corridor. I relax as soon as the door closes behind me. I’d rather be weak. I am not broken; I’m strong. She’s just confusing my thoughts, making me doubt myself. Maybe she’s right. Perhaps I should leave her, for my own good.
I walk down the narrow corridor, heading towards the back of the train. The dining carriage is full of people, all starting their morning routine. I glance around, clocking and assessing each and every one of them. The one thing the Elite aren’t good at is blending in with ordinary people. We’re too rigid, too alert. It’s what always made Una so good. She came to training later, and she was able to tap into humanity more easily. She could blend in with the masses better than any of the other soldiers because she remembered what it was like to be one of them.
I see nothing out of the ordinary, though Enrique may very well have sent more than just the Elite after us. Everyone is a possible threat.
I grab a few croissant’s and two coffees from the food cart before making my way back to the room. I don’t want to leave Adelina for too long. She’s in a vulnerable state. Granted they couldn’t take her very far on a moving train, but I’m still not entirely sure that they don’t have the go-ahead to kill her if necessary.
When I get back to the room, Adelina is attempting to change. She stands facing away from the door, her bare back hunched over as she attempts to protect her shoulder.
“Just…give me a second,” she says on a strained breath.
I place the food and coffee down and step forward. “Stop.” I gently turn her to me.
Her cheeks flush a bright red, and she drops her gaze to the floor as she lets me help her. I make a concerted effort not to look at her chest. I manage to bend her elbow and stretch the material enough to get it on without moving her arm.
“Thanks,” she mumbles.
I take a croissant and a coffee, handing them to her. We both sit on our respective beds and eat in silence. I’m tense, uncomfortable, yet constantly aware of her. The space between the beds is so small that our knees almost touch. Something has changed, though I’m not sure how or why. I feel out of control, and it unsettles me.
“Why are we going to London?” she eventually asks.
“Why not?”
“Well, it’s kind of random. Taking a train across Europe… A flight would have been quicker.”
“Exactly. It’s random, no rationale to it.”
“Do you think there were more Elite at the station? They might have seen us get on this train.”
“I don’t think so. They seem to be spread thin.” I’m sure they knew we were in Rome, but not how we would leave. They probably scattered soldiers to every transport hub. I’ve yet to figure out why they’re going to such extremes for Adelina. Enrique Bianchi must be paying them a huge amount of money. And if they knew we were in Rome, he was likely there all along. “I think they were trying to flush us out.”
“Flush us out? How?”
“They blew up the apartment in Ischia.” I swipe a hand over my face. “I thought they had issued a kill order on you.”
“And we ran.”
“Yes, and they were waiting. I’m sorry, malyshka.”
“For what? Trying to keep me safe? You aren’t a mind reader, Sasha. You can’t possibly know what they’re going to do next.”
But I should. I was trained for this, honed. The year away has made me soft, unable to trust my own instincts. “They almost had you.”
“There’s a long way between almost and actually, but…” She hesitates, dropping her gaze to the paper coffee cup clutched in her hands. “When we first met I asked something of you.” Her eyes lift to mine. “I said that if they got me, then I wanted you to kill me.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t. Let them have me.”
“What?”
“You said they may have issued a kill order. If it’s between dying or getting close to that bastard, you know which one I want.”
“It won’t come to that.”
“If it does though, just…let me go.”
I lean forward on the bed, grabbing her jaw. I force her to look at me because I want her to hear loud and clear. “You want revenge. I understand, but do not let your emotions cloud your judgment.”
She swallows slowly, her eyes dropping to my mouth before flicking back up.
“All I have is emotion, Sasha. He took my father. I’m broken and angry, and it feels like nothing will ever be right again.”
“You’re too good to be treated like nothing more than livestock sold at market, Adelina. Even if you get close to him, he’ll watch you like a hawk. You’ll have to bide your time, build his trust…”
“I know,” she whispers. Her hand comes up and gently wraps around my wrist.
“You know what he’ll do to you.”
She nods. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I have nothing else.”
“You do.” I can feel desperation clawing up my throat like a rabid beast, and I don’t believe she wants this.
“The only family I have left is Gabi, and she betrayed me.” Deep down she knows that’s not true. She’s just angry. “My father is dead. There’s no one left to care.”
“I care.” The words leave my mouth in a rush, driven by a foreign fear. I care.
Her eyes lock with mine, the blue so intense, so captivating.
“He will not have you,” I vow, and I can feel the weight of the promise in the air. It suddenly feels important, vital even.
I’m aware of her in a way I haven’t been before. Every rise and fall of her chest, the thrumming of her pulse at her throat, the slight parting of her lips. My world zeros in for a moment, and it’s…nice. I no longer hear the train rattling over the tracks, the tinkling of cutlery in the dining carriage, the person coughing three rooms down… It’s just her, the gentle hiss of her inhaling and exhaling, the lemon scent of her hair, the traces of whiskey on her skin, the coffee on her breath. All I see is her. Blue eyes and chocolate hair. Full lips that seem to continually tilt in the hint of a smile, sinking a small dimple into her cheek. My world is always so broad, a constant strain on the senses, but for a moment—as I stare into the endless depths of her eyes—the world is tiny.
“Thank you,” she whispers, lifting my hand and placing it to her cheek.
Turning her head, she brushes her lips over the inside of my wrist. Electricity skitters up the length of my arm, and my pulse quickens. Then she releases me, and my hand falls away from her skin. The second our connection is broken, everything rushes back in, and it’s like waking from a dream. I frown and stand, taking an unsteady step back. She’s making me weak, vulnerable, and yet, I’m powerless
to stop it.
Sixteen hours after we left Rome, we arrive in London. The station is once again busy. Adelina is still weak, though she can support her own weight. I wrap an arm around her waist and keep her close to my side. I don’t expect the Elite to be here. It should take them a few hours to work out where we are, and by the time they do, we’ll be long gone. As soon as we step outside the train station, I spot the license plate that Nero texted to me. A man leans against the side of a black BMW, his gray hair slicked back, and a self-rolled cigarette hangs between his lips.
I approach him. “You work for Mr. Verdi?”
“Mr. Ivanov,” he greets me, his cockney accent particularly thick. He offers me a meaty hand, but I ignore it.
On a shrug, he takes the bags from me and puts them in the trunk. I open the back door and wait for Adelina to slide in before following her. The moment the car pulls away, I’m on high alert, constantly look around, watching for any cars that might be following. After ten minutes, I’ve seen none, and I settle back in my seat. Adelina holds her injured arm across her chest as she stares out the window. She looks pale again, and I know I need to find her some pain killers.
The drive is over an hour, and Adelina falls asleep. Her neck slumps at an award angle to the right. It’s not good for her to stretch the skin on her left shoulder, so I shift closer, allowing her to rest her head against me. I don’t want her to rip the stitches and bleed all over the car. The second I do, she presses closer to me until her breaths fan over my neck. Mostly, I’m uncomfortable, but there is a small, unidentified part of me that craves the intimacy. I don’t like to be touched. The only time I want anyone in close proximity is when I wish to end their life. Even my most predatory instincts know that she’s different.
She jolts awake when we stop, instantly flinching against the sudden movement. “Where are we?” Her eyes land on the small plane. “We’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Where are we going now?”
“New York.”
“Seriously?” She drags a hand through her hair. “It feels like we’ve been halfway around the globe, and we’re no better off.”