Page 69 of 10 Days to Ruin

Zoya’s hand settles on my back, light as a sparrow. “Sasha…”

I whirl on her. “What do you want from me? A confession? Fine. She’s… infuriating. Reckless. Stubborn. She looks at me like I’m some broken thing she’s determined to piece back together, even if it cuts her hands to shreds.” Snarling, I turn back around so she can’t see my face. “And I can’t—fuck—I can’t stop thinking about her. About what happens when the ten days are up. When the deal’s done. When she realizes…”

“Realizes what?”

“That I’m exactly what she thinks I am.” The admission hangs in the air, ugly and raw. “A monster. A killer. My father’s son.”

Zoya sighs, cupping my face. Her palms are rough, calloused from decades in this kitchen. “You listen to me, Sashenka. You are Nataliya’s son. Her heart. Her kindness.” Her thumb brushes the scar on my throat—the gift from Yakov that keeps on giving. “But kindness isn’t a cage. It’s a choice. Every day, you choose: armor or mercy. You’ve worn the armor long enough.”

I pull away, throat tight. “Mercy gets you killed.”

“So does loneliness.” She grabs my arm, forcing me to meet her gaze. “Your mother chose love, even when it cost her everything. You think she’d want you to waste your life building walls instead of bridges?”

The old clock above the stove ticks. Somewhere, a pipe clangs.

“She’d want me to survive,” I mutter.

“Survive?” Zoya snorts. “You’re not surviving. You’re hiding.”

I pick up a knife from the butcher’s block and start flipping back and forth in my hand. Every revolution in the air, it catches the light and seems to glow for a moment. “The Serbians are circling. Leander’s commitment is wobbling. If I show weakness now?—”

She smacks my shoulder and the knife goes clattering to the kitchen floor. “Since when is love weakness?Bozhe moi, you’re dense.” Zoya rummages in a nearby drawer, then pulls something out and slams it onto the counter: a rolling pin, chipped and aged. I recognize it immediately. “Your mother loved fiercely. Protected you. Protected me. Even when thatsvolochYakov took his pound of flesh to dissuade her from trying.” Her voice cracks. “You think her love made her weak? No. It made her dangerous. The kind of dangerous that outlives bullets and bastards alike.”

The rolling pin is the one my mother used—handle worn smooth by decades of fingerprints. Zoya shoves it into my hands. “You want to honor her? Then stop fighting your own heart. Let someone in before it’s too late.”

I stare at the rolling pin, at the ghost of my mother’s grip.Let someone in. Let Ariel in.

It’s fucking ludicrous.

Zoya pats my cheek. “Go. Before I start charging you rent.”

23

SASHA

My sleep that night is broken. Studded with dreams I can’t shake away.

“Mommy!” A child runs up to a woman in a sweater dress, hugging her knees.

The woman laughs joyfully. “There’s my little boy!” She lifts him up, groaning at the weight. “How was school?”

“Boring. I hate it.”

“How about your classmates? Did you make friends today?”

“No.” The child pouts, unhappy. And why wouldn’t he? He’s eight years old and thinks he knows what unhappiness looks like: a bad day at school, no one to play with. What could possibly be worse? “They all hate me. They say I’m dangerous.”

The mother pauses. Despite knowing unhappiness far more intimately than her child, she still takes his feelings seriously. Always has, always will.

She sets him down and looks him in the eye. Her hand moves across his hair in a caress, so slow and sweet that no hug could ever compare. In time, the child will grow, but no one will ever touch him like this again. With kindness. Without expecting anything in return.

“You’re my sweet boy. You could never hurt your friends.”

“Easy for you to say. I don’t have any.”

She chuckles. “One day, you’ll make so many friends. You’ll find people who care about you, who love you for who you are.”

“Will they want to play with me?”

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