Page 72 of Rafi

“Where are you taking us?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intend, though there is an edge to it I can’t hide.

“Patience,Kotyonok,” Igor replies, the endearment rolling off his tongue like poisonous silk. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk when we get home.”

The wordhometwists in my gut. “Home?”

“Yes,” he says, his tone as calm as if we were discussing the weather. “We’re going home to Russia, where you belong. With your father.”

A chill sweeps over me, despite the warmth of the heated car. “I don’t want to go home,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. It feels strange, admitting it out loud. I sound like a little girl again, pleading to stay where I feel safe. “This is my home now.”

Igor lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head like a parent humoring a stubborn child. “This is not your home,Kotyonok. This willneverbe your home.”

The finality of his words sting, though I refuse to show it. My nails bite into the leather seat as I clench my fists. “Who says you get to decide where my home is?” I snap.

Igor ignores me, his gaze fixed ahead. He is as immovable as the trees outside the window, his authority as unyielding as steel.

Maxine sits across from me, the bomb belt still strapped to her waist like a cruel joke. Her hands rest on her lap, fidgeting nervously, and her wide eyes dart between me and Igor, then toward the passing forest. There is something distant in her gaze, a quiet desperation that makes my chest ache. Is she searching for an escape? A miracle? Or just saying goodbye?

“Is she coming, too?” I ask, nodding toward Maxine.

Igor’s cold eyes shift to her, then back to me. A slow smile spreads across his face, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yes,” he says, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. “You’ll need a friend where we’re going.”

“Let her go, Igor,” I say, my voice hardening. “She doesn’t need to come with us.”

He shakes his head, the faux sympathy in his expression making my blood boil. “I can’t do that.”

“This isn’t right,” I argue, my voice rising despite myself. “I can understand what you’re doing to me. But why drag her into this mess?”

“She’s leverage,” he says simply, leaning back into his seat. His tone is calm, calculated, like a teacher explaining a lesson. “You two are built the same. In your attempts to save each other, neither of you will step out of line. If I let her go, you’ll fight me like a kitten, won’t you, little one?”

The wordkittengrates on my nerves, its mockery stoking the fire of my defiance. My teeth clench as I glare at him, hatred burning in my chest.

Before I can respond, movement catches my eye. I turn just in time to see Maxine reaching for the door handle.

“No! Maxine, no!” I scream, lunging toward her.

The door swings open, letting in a burst of cold air and the roar of the road beneath us. Maxine manages to slide toward the edge, half her body hanging precariously out of the limousine before I can grab her. My heart seizes as I realize what she is doing.

She isn’t trying to save herself. She is trying to save me.

The truth hits me like a punch to the gut. If she jumps, the bomb will detonate, but she’d be far enough from the car to spare me. Tears blur my vision as I grab her arm, pulling with all my strength even as she struggles against me.

“Don’t!” I cry, my voice breaking. “You don’t get to do this, Maxine!”

Her eyes meet mine, filled with a heartbreaking mix of determination and sorrow. “I have to,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the wind.

“No, you don’t!” I shout, my grip tightening. My muscles scream in protest, but I won’t let her go. “Think of Mia!”

The car lurches to a sudden stop, throwing us forward. The driver climbs out, slamming his door with practiced efficiency. Within seconds, he is on Maxine’s side, yanking her roughly back into the car.

The door slams shut, and I hear the locks engage with a cold, metallic click. The driver returns to his seat, and we resume our journey as if nothing has happened.

Breathless and trembling, I sit back, staring at Maxine. She avoids my gaze, her hands shaking as she smooths the fabric of her sleeve where I’d grabbed her.

“Don’t do that again,” I snap, my voice harsher than I intended.

Maxine flinches, then gives me a sheepish look, her lips trembling as she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Igor’s laughter breaks the tense silence, low and cruel. “You see,malysh,” he says, his gaze flicking between us. “You were made for this world.”

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