Page 96 of Stricken

"You heard?"

"Yes."

I inhale him. "Mmm, I didn't want to wake you." My hand caresses his warm skin, soothing the tension from his muscles. "The Arellanos have a new lead on Shtyk. But the man isn't talking."

Nico's next words chill me to the bone. "I'm coming with you."

I freeze, lifting my head to stare at him. "No, Nico. It's too dangerous. Besides, you need to be here. You have problems of your own."

"I don't care," he says stubbornly, turning to face me, his eyes blazing with defiance and I can see that defiance even in the low light. "I won't stay here and wonder if this is the last time I'll see you."

My stomach bottoms out and my chest tightens at his declaration. I swallow hard to try and will my voice to sound normal. "It's going to be fine." But I don't recognize myself as I speak. "I know better how to protect myself in that place if it comes to that. But the Arellanos reassured me that nothing will happen. Ivan will be there."

Nico releases a sharp exhale, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Sorry," I murmur, stroking his hair. "I don't want to worry you but I need to go. You understand why, right?"

He tips his chin, a small nod that tells me he'll go along with my decision but he doesn't like it one bit.

"I understand," he supplies quietly. "I won't stop you from doing what you think you need to do to lay your mother to rest, but trust me they don't care about vengeance. They are no longer in this world. What they do care is that we live our lives to the fullest, worthy lives. Lives filled with good things—" he kisses me then, gently, on the lips "—Like this." Pause. "This revenge you desire, it's making you reckless, Vlad."

"I can't breathe if I try to let go, Nico," he utters in a broken voice. "I tried before. I tried to forget. I can't. It's not for my mother. It's in her honor but for people who Shtyk has yet to kill, torture, and ruin. Because if he is not stopped, blood will keep on flowing and I'm tired. I'm tired of walking knee-deep in this river of red. I need to break the cycle once and for all, for all the families. For mine too."

It's silent for a while as he keeps looking at me with those hypnotic blue eyes. And suddenly, I imagine myself back in Russia, in my mother's family home just outside Saint Petersburg. It's winter. Late December. And the snow is still fresh and crisp and shiny, not marred by the dirt of time. Blanketing everything like a fluffy, sparkling white coat. And I'm on the lake, skates on, my legs wobbling from fighting the gravity, and as I look down at the translucent surface, I can see the water underneath the thick layer of ice. Dangerous, cold water that would drown me in seconds if the ice cracked.

"Ne perezhivai, Vladik," my mother reassures beside me. Her warmth wraps around more than just my hand as she gently leads me away from the clear patch in the center. "The ice is strong this time of the year. Let's go get somepirozkifirst.Podkrepitsia nado zhe snachala. Na pustoi zeludok nikto ne kataetsia." And there, out on the bank, my aunt Irina is cradling my little brother, waiting for us, cheeks all red from the frost, coat dusted by the white flakes.

And I get this strange feeling, this sensation in my gut that I've been doing it all wrong and this—the present with Nico—is my only chance at redemption. My only chance to erase the darkness from my life.

"I don't think you should go," he murmurs, touching my face, fingertips dancing along my jaw. "And I can't stop you, can I? But do you trust these people? The Arellanos?"

"As much as you can trust the cartel," I confess.

One last thing left to do, the voice in my head hisses.Kill Shtyk.

And as a payback-driven fool I am who has everything he needs in his arms right now, I fall into the temptation.

CHAPTER32

NICO

The heavy church doors creak open like a somber herald to my entrance. My footsteps against worn stone sound too loud in my ear as if I'm invading the hushed sanctuary. Incense hangs thick in the air, cloying and bittersweet, like the memories that plague me. My father used to be a man of God.

What good did it do him?

He is six feet beneath the ground.

I stopped going when the news of his death arrived.

I'm more of an occasional visitor now instead of a parishioner.

I scan the pews, searching for the familiar silhouette. My mind is a vortex of fears and contingencies. What if she refuses? What if Tony's word is truly final? The stakes crush me, a weight heavier than any sin I've committed.

Vlad's absence is like a phantom limb I can't shake. Mexico feels worlds away, and I ache to hear his voice, to feel the solid warmth of his presence beside me.

Is he safe?

Is he thinking of me too?

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