Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Regardless, he would protect her, maybe even more than I could. Maybe he’d see her fragility, her fire, and decide I didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her. I wasn’t ready to take that chance, so I told him, “It’s complicated.”
“Then, uncomplicate it.”
“Viktor.”
“Stop shutting me out and tell me what the fuck is going on.”
Every instinct screamed that keeping Alina secret was the only way to keep her safe, but another voice, one that was quieter and crueler, whispered that maybe I was keeping her hidden because I didn’t want to lose her.
My brother waited, unmoving and unrelenting, and for the first time in a very long time, I didn’t know what the hell to do.
14
ALINA
Iwoke up thinking it was going to be just another day. I had no reason to think otherwise. I’d heard Sergei moving around in the kitchen, and I was pretty sure I’d heard him talking with Bog. Just like they did every morning, I imagined they were having their coffee and planning out their day. I took a few minutes to shower and put on some fresh clothes, then I went to join them.
I’d barely made it down the hall when I spotted a gift on the kitchen table. Sergei was leaning against the kitchen counter with a smirk. I continued towards the table as I asked, “What’s this?”
“Something for you.”
“For me? Why? What is it?”
“Open it and see.”
My hands itched with curiosity as I stepped up to the table and started opening the package. The paper gave way with a soft rip, revealing a sketch pad, a set of pencils, a leather-bound journal, and, of all things, a laptop. For a moment, I just stood there, utterly confused. The items looked so ordinary and simple, but together, they felt like an intimate treasure that was meant just for me.
Sergei stepped up beside me as he said, “I remembered you used to like to draw and write poetry. I thought they might help you pass the time.”
He was right. There was a time when I loved wasting hours away with sketching and writing poetry. I was a moody teenager, and it was almost therapeutic to put my words and illustrations on paper. It helped me make sense of a world that often felt too heavy and dark. And when it grew too heavy and too dark, I set them aside, convincing myself that they had no place in a world like mine.
I blinked hard, trying my best to ease the sting at the corner of my eyes. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”
“It was nothing.”
“Even if you didn’t mean it to be, it was much more than that.” I brushed my fingers over the smooth cover of the sketchpad. “Thank you, Sergei. It was very thoughtful of you.”
His gaze softened in a way that made my throat tighten. “Glad you like them.”
I was flipping through the pages of the journal when Sergei reached for the computer and said, “There is something you should see.”
“Oh?”
Without saying anything more, he opened the laptop and began typing away. A few seconds later, he turned the screen to me and started playing a video of a popular news station in New York.
There was a young reporter standing in front of a blackened shell of a house and smoke was billowing behind her. It was difficult to see, but there was something oddly familiar about the area where she stood. I dropped the journal on the table, and as if I was in some kind of trance, I leaned in closer.
The camera spun back, revealing the home behind the news reporter.
And just like that, my heart stopped beating.
It was my house. It was once a large, beautiful estate, and now, it was nothing more than mortar and ash. I reached over and turned up the volume just in time to hear, “Trouble continues on the streets of New York. Another vicious attack occurred last night, and the remains of the estate leave little behind but questions. Sources confirm that Alek Morozov and his wife, Alina Morozov, are presumed dead, along with two of the Morozov guards who were on duty last night. Investigators are already pointing to a terrorist Albanian group as the likely culprits of the brutal attack.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It wasn’t possible. Alek seemed invincible and now he was dead. And even more surprising, they believed I was dead right along with him. I had no idea how any of this could’ve possibly happened, and then Sergei came up behind me. And just like that, it all fell into place.
I turned and looked up at him, and his expression was completely unreadable as I asked, “Did you do this?”
He didn’t confirm or deny. He just kept his eyes trained on the computer screen and said, “You don’t have to worry about Alek anymore.”