Page 64 of One of Them

Words weren’t registering with his thick fucking head, I could tell. He was dead set.

Still, his expression didn’t stop me from pleading one last time. To stop this madness. In self-preservation or a pathetic attempt to maintain the peace we once had.

“Don’t make me do this. Think of your people.” Alisa. Your fellow members. I silently repeated the names.

What I could never let him find out was that I had a longer list of people to protect, to lose. Which meant I’d have to be two steps ahead of them.

“It’s you who should be thinking of them,” Ilya stuck with the guilt.

I physically cringed at his words. How could he turn this to me? What sort of twisted psychological game was he trying to play?

“I want you to know that this didn’t have to happen.” If only he looked beyond his greed. “If you told me what was going on, we would have found a way together. But you sided with Malek instead.”

There wasn’t more to be said.

With a glance at Maxim, not wanting to raise suspicions about our involvement, I discreetly winked, using a move out of his textbook, before I bolted out of the room.

In another life, I thought, as my legs carried me out of the cage they tried to entrap me in.

Nobody followed me out. The compound was oddly quiet thanks to the early hours, or the fact that Ilya’s security was already stationed at the wedding venue.

Maxim’s car was still parked in the driveway, the keys in the ignition. A wave of relief hit me. I inhaled deeply, finding comfort in the familiar scent of spiced liquor laced with tobacco and leather within the vehicle’s safety.

The stereo turned on along with the engine, and Maxim’s Russian rap playlist filled the car. It hit differently when you understood the lyrics.

I desperately wanted to laugh, but the sound died in my throat. The seriousness of the situation prevented me so I focused on the drive instead.

I felt a strange sense of responsibility when it came to Maxim’s belongings.

A brief search through the frequently used searches revealed his address. I drove the vehicle to one of the Galkin-owned residences in the city, knowing I had a comfortable lead.

His black jacket lay in the back seat, and I reached for the leather, moving the clothing to the front while I debated how clingy it would make me if I kept it. As if any of it mattered.

With the car parked safely within the complex, I headed toward the closest subway station. On high alert, I stared down at anybody who dared to look my way. Nobody stood out of the ordinary. People commuted to work, trying to beat the rush hour. Many returned home from night shifts or parties.

I rode the train for a good thirty minutes, heading toward Brooklyn.

Despite the alliance, the Russians won’t enter Italian territory without a heads-up. By then, I’ll be gone.

The backup phone wouldn’t stop ringing in my pocket when I resurfaced back on the street, picking up service.

Without looking, I knew who would be reckless enough to call me, or even have this number.

“Maxim,” his name left my mouth.

“Tell me where you’re headed.”

I couldn’t think. Couldn’t even focus.

“Why? So you can send Ilya right to me?” I barked back.

His voice carried a hint of hurt. “You know I wouldn’t do that.”

Did I, though? Regardless, I didn’t have a plan, merely an idea.

“Your sister is marrying him. You work for both now. It’s exactly what you should do.”

Heavy breaths bounced off my ear. Worried he could be holding me on the line purposely to trace the signal, I set on ending this conversation.

---