5
IVAN
I watch Francia talk on the phone. Her voice is an annoying drone, like a mosquito’s. She isn’t saying anything useful.
The deal is done.
You know what to do.
As we agreed…
All I can think about is how close I am to Cora. She’s one phone call away. Right there, on the other end of this line. This is the closest I’ve been to her in days and I still can’t touch her. Can’t see her.
Is she conscious? Is she alive? I don’t fucking know.
The wrongness of not being with her settles in my veins. Especially as Francia hands me the phone.
Her lips are pursed. She’s smug in her success, however temporary I intend for it to be. She wouldn’t look so pleased if she knew all the sick fantasies swirling in my head. Most of them end with her in several distinct pieces.
I snatch the phone away without touching her hand and press it to my ear.
At first, there is no sound. No distinguishing background noise to clue me into where they might be holding Cora. I press the phone harder to my ear, desperate to hear anything. I’m about to reveal exactly how desperate I am and call out Cora’s name…
Then I hear something.
Shuffling. A struggle. Chains rattle and feet skid across a hard floor. But all of that is background noise to the main event.
Cora’s scream.
I know Francia can hear it through the speaker. She’s watching me carefully, but I keep my pakhan mask on and up even as I want nothing more than to rip it off and howl in rage. I’d smash Francia’s fragile skull against the wall if I thought it would help. But whoever she’s working for would kill Cora regardless. Francia has planned for that contingency. She is crazy enough that she’s willing to die before this mission fails.
I’m not willing to let Cora suffer the same fate.
So I bite my tongue and listen to her scream.
When she stops, she’s panting. Another voice comes over the line. A sneering voice I recognize all too well. “How is that for proof of life?” Mikhail Sokolov asks.
This “proof of life” just secured Mikhail’s painful death. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll make him pay for hurting her. He’ll regret touching Cora for the rest of his short, miserable existence. I’m going to make sure of it.
Francia’s dark eyes are narrowed on me. I can’t tell if this was part of her plan or not. It wouldn’t surprise me if Mikhail was going off-book. He has never been one to follow strict orders. Growing up the spoiled only son of a maniac will do that to you. But Francia is inscrutable.
It doesn’t matter. She’ll die either way. Just like him.
I meet her eyes as I speak to Mikhail, my words slow and even. “I’m going to say this once, so you better listen.”
“God, you really think you control us all, don’t you?” he snarks. “You are not my—”
“If Cora screams like that again at any point between now and the end of time, I am going to burn your world to the ground.”
Mikhail has gone quiet. Francia’s lips purse, but she refuses to break eye contact with me. She knows as well as I do that the power balance between us is in flux. She has the upper hand now, but she’ll have to maintain it.
And I plan to make her fucking work for it.
“She isn’t yours anymore,” Francia spits, a hard edge to her voice.
“I’m not saying this because she’s mine,” I explain to them both. “This is because you made me an oath. Cora lives. Period. If you fail to fulfill your promise, I’ll kill you both.”
She arches a brow. “I guess you’ve always been a softie for women suffering, haven’t you? Your sister, Katerina…”
I don’t react. Tossing out Katerina’s name is her way of pushing me off-balance. But I’m immovable.
Soon enough, I’ll kill her and Mikhail. I’ll wipe every last Sokolov off the face of the earth. I’ll get Cora back and I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to her.
Until then, the game is on.
Francia blows out a casual breath. “Well, I guess we’re all done here. Unless there’s anything left you want to discuss…?”
I don’t respond, but she carries on anyway.
“I’ll take your silence as a ‘no.’ So that’s that. I’ll be at your place in”—she checks her watch—“an hour? I guess it’s our place now, isn’t it?”
Fuck, no. Never.
“That will take some getting used to.” She smiles and reaches out. Her hand strokes the air over my arm, not comfortable enough to touch me just yet. “For both of us.”
I step back, putting more space between us. “Don’t forget the details of our arrangement. You’ll have your wing. I’ll have mine.”
She rolls her eyes, but keeps a fake smile on her face. “I’ll be home in an hour. I have a few things to pack up first. Are you going to be there to carry your new bride over the threshold?”
“I’ll be there to watch,” I say flatly. “And unless you manage to break both your legs in the next hour, I’m sure you can walk in by yourself.”
Francia’s face is tight, but she forces out a laugh. “See you soon, darling.”
“Too soon,” I mutter.
If she hears me, she doesn’t show it. She sashays down the hallway and leaves me alone, my knuckles white around her phone.