Page 122 of 10 Days to Ruin

There are a million reasons why the answer might be yes. I could be a bad person because I let a bad man do very bad things to me in a public place. I could be a bad person because I’m still holding out hope that that bad man isn’t such a bad man after all. I could be a bad person because I’m bringing him to this place, Safe Harbor Women’s Shelter, where bad-luck women go to escape bad situations in a world that’s too bad to be kind to them elsewhere.

But I want so badly to be good.

And I want so badly to believe that Sasha can be good, too.

I keep looking up and down the street, waiting for one of Sasha’s numerous blacked-out town cars to pull up and spit him out. No dice so far. But I shriek in surprise when I feel a gloved finger tap my shoulder.

My first thought is that Dragan is back for more. Instead, I spin around to see?—

“Do noteversneak up on me like that again!” I scold, smacking Sasha.

He laughs. “Good to see you, too.” Then he grabs me and kisses me, and just like that, I already feel my sandcastle resolve start to crumble.

“I have to make a quick call,” he informs me. “Go inside; I’ll be right there.” I don’t miss how his eyes dart to the corner, the alley, and the nearby roofs in quick succession. I wonder, not for the first time, what it’s like to be him. I’ve always run from stuff that hides in the shadows. Sasha? He shoots it.

But, with a sigh, I turn and do as he says.

The shelter’s front door sticks when I push it, the bell jingling like a nervous laugh. It’s a quiet space, but clean, with a cheerful plotted plant in one corner and a faded pink armchair across from a desk.

No one is behind the desk, though. I step up and crane my head around, trying to see if I can spy someone in the office beyond. “Hello?” I call. “Hi, is anyone there?”

I hear shuffling, a cough, and then a woman emerges from the office. She’s got the sturdy build of someone who’s spent a lifetime hoisting donation boxes and broken women. Her silver-streaked hair is twisted into a knot that defies gravity.

“You’re early,” she says—not rudely, but flat, straight, unvarnished. “Volunteer orientation isn’t for another thirty minutes.” Something about her face is still guarded, like she doesn’t trust me.

Guilt curdles in my stomach. It’s as if she can see my thoughts from when I was pacing outside.Maybe Iama bad person. Maybe she sees it. Maybe I should just be straight up about the real reason why I’m here tonight: ‘Hi, I’m using this place as a litmus test for my mobster fiancé’s humanity. Please grade his performance on a curve.’

Then she sighs, wipes her hands on her slacks, and offers one to me to shake. “I’m Elena Petrova. It’s nice to meet you. We’ll always welcome help here at Safe Harbor.”

“Ariel.” I smile back as I shake her hand. “It’s really nice to meet you, too, Elena.”

The front door bangs open while our hands are still entangled. Cold air sweeps in first, then Sasha. He fills the cramped doorway and my thoughts go loopy like they always do when I see him. Black overcoat swallowing his frame, leather gloves flexing as he adjusts the collar. He’s a razor blade in a world of butter knives.

But is he a good one?screams the voice in my head. I tell it to STFU.

Sasha’s gaze sweeps over the peelingEMPOWERMENT STARTS HEREposter taped to the wall before landing on me. When it does, he breaks into a crooked smile. “Hope I’m not too late.”

“You’re—”

“—exactly on time as always, Sashenka.”

Ariel.exe has stopped working.

Because Elena is hugging him. Actuallyhugginghim, her chapped lips pressing to his scarred cheek. “What a lovely surprise. Our guardian angel returneth.”

They start jabbering back and forth in Russian. Meanwhile, my mind is short-circuiting. Guardian angel. Guardianangel. Guardianangel.

“Wh…what is happening?” I stammer.

The two of them turn to look at me. “You didn’t tell her?” Elena arches a brow at Sasha as he shrugs out of his overcoat and hangs it up on the coat rack, as comfortable and familiar with the place as he is with his own home.

“Tell mewhat?” My voice comes out strangled.

Sasha grins as he rolls his cuffs up. “I help out here from time to time.”

Elena snorts. “Don’t let him sell you short. He funded the security system, the plumbing, the after-school program, and the dormitory remodel—and this wasn’t just writing checks. I came in one night because I thought there was a robber—but it was just Sasha, slapping up drywall at 3 A.M.” She plucks a pink onesie from an overstuffed donation box at her side and folds it gently. “He was in here last week, actually, paying for a woman’s dental work after her husband knocked her teeth out.”

Something fragile breaks in my chest. “Why?”

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