“You know, those shoes saved my life once,” Aida says, cryptically. “Or at least, one of them did . . .”

“They must be lucky then,” I say. “I had a close scrape myself today.”

“Lucky,” Aida says. “But not your size.”

I’m limping along, my toes crushed together and jammed up against the front of the shoe.

“I’m a size ten,” I admit.

“Eight and a half,” Aida says.

We’ve reached Callum’s office. I hold the door for Aida so she can push the stroller through. The receptionist jumps up saying, “Good afternoon Mrs. Griffin! The Alderman just got back, he’s right in there . . .”

She trails off, catching sight of me. It’s a testament to her training that she only makes a baffled face for a moment, before inquiring, “Can I get a bottle of water for either of you?”

“Yes, please,” I say, eagerly.

In the aftermath of an adrenaline shock, you get intensely thirsty. My mouth feels dry as dust.

The secretary hurries off to get the water.

Meanwhile, Callum Griffin is already striding out of his office, having heard Aida’s voice.

He’s tall, dressed in an austere dark suit, his brown hair meticulously combed, and his cool blue eyes taking in the situation at a glance. He shows no surprise at the sight of me—just a quick, analyzing sweep of his eyes, and then the rapid ticking of his brain as he puts the pieces together at lightning speed.

The only emotion he betrays is a flicker of pleasure at the sight of his wife and son. He bends to kiss Aida on the cheek, then looks down at Miles in the stroller, his jaw tight with pride.

“How has he been today?” he asks Aida.

“An angel, of course,” Aida says.

Callum snorts, not believing that for a second.

“Well, he isn’t screaming now, so that’s something.”

“He likes getting out of the house.”

“Looks like someone else got out of the house, too,” Callum says, cocking an eyebrow at my outfit. “Yelena Yenina, I assume. Recently escaped from your husband?”

“Sort of,” I say. I can feel my face flushing under his cool, direct stare. “I’m not trying to escape—actually, I want to go back. I think Sebastian needs our help . . .”

“Our help?” Callum says, his tone even more frosty.

“Seb is taking on the Russians,” Aida says.

“Without much of a plan, sounds like.”

Aida looks him in the eye, her body tense. “Cal,” she says, quietly. “They killed my father.”

“I know that,” he says. “And I would do anything—ANYTHING—to bring him back to you, Aida. But that isn’t possible. Yenin wants a bloodbath. Sebastian seems determined to give it to him.”

He pauses, looking down at his wife. Now I can see that Callum isn’t as impassive as I thought. In fact, it’s clear that several impulses are fighting inside of him, all at once: his anger at this situation. His desire to give his wife what she wants. And his fear of what will happen if he does.

“Look, Aida,” he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Dante might be right. Revenge is for people who have only themselves to consider.”

He casts a meaningful look at Miles, who seems oblivious to the tension in the room—he’s finally stopped scowling and has fallen asleep in the stroller.

Aida bites her lip, torn between her loyalty to four different men: her husband and son on the one side, and her father and brother on the other.

For a moment I think she’s going to agree with her husband. Then she shakes her head hard.

“We can’t leave Seb alone in this,” she says. “You owe him Callum, you know you do. And so do I. The night that brought us together fucked him over. He’s never blamed me. He’s never complained. And besides that Cal, Alexei Yenin is a fucking psychopath—no offense, Yelena. He is coming after all of us. If we’re going to join World War Two, let’s do it now, and not after Pearl Harbor.”

Callum frowns. “Don’t use the History Channel against me, Aida.”

“CAL!”

“Alright, alright!” he holds up his hands. “We’ll help him. But we have to take Miles to my parents’ house—”

“Obviously.”

“And you’re wearing a vest. And we’re bringing men along with us.”

“Reasonable,” Aida says, trying to hide the fact that he agreed more quickly than she expected. She has the look of someone who had about eight more arguments ready to go if her first one failed.

The secretary comes hustling back into the room, carrying several different bottles of water.

“Sorry!” she pants. “We only had sparkling left in the fridge, so I ran down the hall to get some Evian as well . . .”

“Thanks,” I say, grabbing a bottle out of her overladen arms. “I’ll take it to go.”

31

Sebastian

I’m standing in the music room. Since my mother died, this has been the shrine in our house. The chapel, the most sacred space. But as I learned at the Russian Orthodox church, sacred spaces don’t mean much.

The last time I came in here was with Yelena.

Now I have her brother tied to a chair in the center of the room.

A few days ago he officiated my wedding. He put the ring on my finger, planning to put a bullet in my head only a few minutes later.

Life is endlessly surprising. For all of us.

I haven’t bothered to gag Adrian. I don’t care if he wants to talk. It won’t change anything.

He’s been stubbornly silent, watching me with those violet-colored eyes that are so disturbingly alike to his sister’s.

As the light begins to fade in the room, his skin looks pale and bleached, as if he’s already dead. He’s as still as a corpse. Only his eyes move, as he follows my progress back and forth across the room.

The two-hour window in which I was supposed to meet his father on the prairie has almost passed. Yenin hasn’t called or texted Vale’s phone. I don’t expect him to. I don’t believe for a second that he’s driving out of the city right now. In fact, I think that any moment Mikolaj will call to tell me that Yenin’s armored car is heading down my street.

I’m not really thinking about Yenin, though.

It’s Yelena who’s on my mind.

Where did she go, when she left my house? Why did she run? Did she think I was going to hurt her?

She gave herself to me last night, fully and completely. I think it was as cathartic for her as it was for me.

But maybe she changed her mind this morning.

Or maybe she thought I did.

I should have talked to her before I left.

The problem is this impossible dilemma that neither she nor I have been able to successfully navigate. The survival of each of our families depends on destroying the people that the other loves. No amount of conversation can change that. And the more time I spend next to Yelena, the more I can’t bear to do what has to be done.

I wish I ran away with her the day I met her.

In a game of winners and losers, the only happy ending was not to play at all.