Page 92 of Luka

Tingles spread across my arms as the world sways. I stumble but catch myself and start for the door. “Luka!”

Vitaly grabs me and pulls me back.

“Let go of me!” I shriek. “Luka!”

“He thought he’d need your father’s backup,” Vitaly says, his voice low and close to my ear. “This was his decision. It’s already been made.”

“He called him?” I cry, my attempts at breaking away from Vitaly weakening.

“Yes.”

“And he… Hetoldhim?”

“Not everything. But enough.”

“No!” I sob and sink to the floor. Vitaly’s hold gently releases until I’m in a heap on the carpet. A minute passes while I grieve something that hasn’t even happened. But maybe that makes itworse. Maybe it’s the hopelessness of the situation. The knowing without being about to stop it.

Vitaly crouches behind me, his energy wrapping me in a calmness that doesn’t feel right. Not here. Not now.

“It’s time to go, Lucia,” Vitaly says, his voice holding so much understanding I wish he’d hug me. But I don’t ask. It wouldn’t help.

I close my eyes and breathe, my hands clenching into fists while I compose myself.

Tears don’t help. Hugs don’t help.

It’s unlikely Papá will listen to a single thing I have to say, but I would be a coward not to try.

Luka needs me. Ihaveto try.

Opening my eyes, I stand. I take one step toward the door, but Mario’s whimper stops me. I turn back around just as Vitaly brings Mendoza to his feet. Mario’s destroyed hand is coddled against his chest, and he shakes with fear that makes me pity what lies ahead for him.

When Vitaly forces them to walk toward the door, I hold up a hand. “Wait.”

They stare at me expectantly while I walk to where Mario choked me. I search the ground for his knife and snatch it up.

When I return to him, he narrows his eyes and tries to control his trembling lip.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice full of contempt that sounds forced now.

With a quick jab, I stab the knife into his neck and watch as he grabs the knife with his good hand. His eyes are burst wide as they stare at me with youth I thought I saw when he held me behind my father’s secure walls.

When he crumbles, I stand over him and watch him struggle for a breath that will never come.

“Granting you mercy.”

30

LUKA

Lucia’s father isn’t quite what I imagined.

At least twenty guns aim at me as I step toward the waiting army, one man in front of the rest. He’s the only one without a weapon in sight, and I can only guess he’s Ricardo Valdez.

I pictured him taller. And older. His hair is as black as Lucia’s without a gray hair in sight, and his clean-shaven face must make him appear youthful because I wouldn’t guess he was a day over fifty.

I tower over him as I approach and give a nod I hope is respectful instead of curt. “Señor Valdez, I presume?” When he says nothing, I hold out my hand. “Luka Alekseev. We spoke on the phone.”

His eyes dip to my hand before meeting my face. “The other one assured me he was retrieving my daughter.”

---