“Release my mom, and we’ll be even.”
“I don’t believe you,” Fedor says, drawing out the words, his eyes narrowed. “You were sobbing as you betrayed Molly, now you want me to believe you willingly betrayed Viktor?”
“I hate Viktor. I always have.” Hannah’s words are cold and harsh. I knew she and Viktor didn’t get along, but I never imagined she hated him this much. Enough to send him to his death. “He is a criminal and a monster, and he deserves whatever you have planned for him.”
“And Molly?” Fedor asks, turning to me, an eyebrow raised in amusement. Whatever Hannah is going to say, he wants me to hear it. This is what Fedor lives for. The emotional torment is as sweet to him as any physical torture.
Hannah sighs and the line goes quiet for a second while she thinks. “Molly brought all of this on herself when she kept your son from you. It is her fault you and your brother are fighting at all. She is my friend, but she is just as guilty as Viktor.”
Her words hit like a punch in the stomach, and the pain must register on my face because Fedor grins at me.
“So, do we have a deal?” Hannah asks. “Your brother in exchange for my mom?”
“Of course. Absolutely.” Fedor smiles at me and winks. “Now, where the fuck is my brother?”
Fedor is so excited about Hannah’s offer that he leaves the room without saying anything else, and I’m relieved. Because the moment he is gone, I bury my face in my hands and cry.
Is everything my fault?
On one hand, I know this is Fedor’s doing. He is criminally insane, and if he hadn’t raped me four years ago, none of this would be happening. However, Hannah’s theory makes a lot of sense, too.
What if I’d told Fedor about Theo? Would he have helped me raise him? Would he have given me money and a place to stay and taken care of us? Maybe Theo and I wouldn’t have been homeless.
Though, being homeless might have been preferable to living under Fedor’s thumb.
Multiple time lines spin out inside my head, stories where I took Theo and ran far away, leaving this city far behind. Stories where I told Fedor the truth and he took care of us, others where he had me killed before I could even give birth.
I try to stop the noise inside my head, but the words hit me in the chest again and again.
This is all my fault.
For years, I blamed myself for Fedor’s actions. I blamed myself for drinking when I was underage, for accepting a drink from a stranger, for wearing a tight dress. I found a thousand different ways that I was at fault, and it took me years to realize that all of the blame landed squarely on Fedor’s shoulders.
I can’t backtrack now. I can’t allow him to break me down and make me feel responsible for his heinous actions.
I swipe at my eyes and stand up.
This is all my fault.
No.
“No,” I whisper to the voice in my head. “It’s not. This is not your fault.”
I repeat the words over and over again until I believe them. Until the voice in my head gets quiet enough for me to think.
Viktor is in trouble. Fedor is headed to him right now, and I’m stuck in this room. Helpless. We are both helpless.
And Theo.
Tears push at the backs of my eyes, and I look up at the ceiling, holding them back. He is helpless, and will be entirely alone in the world if Fedor gets his way.
Or worse, Theo will be under Fedor’s care, which would be worse than being alone.
I have to do something.
I go to the door and look through the window. There is a guard visible in the hallway. He is tall and thin with only a few wisps of facial hair on his chin—definitely young.
I back away from the door, double over, and groan. Loudly.
I moan and grasp my stomach and sob, putting on the best performance of my life until I hear a key in the door.
“What’s going on in here?” the guard barks.
I glance up just long enough to see that he has a gun in a holster on his hip and the keys to the door still in his hand. Then, I double over again in another bout of fake pain.
“I’m pregnant,” I say between gritted teeth. “Something is wrong. It hurts. Help me.”
“I’m not a doctor.” The words are clipped, but I can hear the uncertainty in them. Fedor is deranged and heartless, but the men who work for him aren’t all that way. Some of them are just doing what they can to survive. I pray this man has some humanity left.
“Please,” I gasp, stumbling to the side.
Acting on instinct, the man steps forward and grabs my arm to steady me. The moment his hand wraps around my arm, I jerk away from him and drive my elbow into his stomach. He grunts with the blow, bending over the way I just was, and I scramble to grab the gun at his hip.
The holster is open, so the gun slides out easily, but the guard recovers quickly and tries to grab for my wrist. Before he can get a good hold, I kick him straight in the groin. It is painful enough that he drops my hand, and I flip the safety off and aim the gun at him.
“Give me the keys.”
The guard looks even younger now, his eyes wide and terrified, sweat dripping across his forehead.
“He’ll kill me,” he says, voice breaking. “If he finds out I’m the one who let you escape, he’ll kill me.”
“Interesting,” I say with false sincerity. “Because if I stay here, he’ll kill me, too. Now, give me the keys.”
The man drops his head, sagging forward, and hands me the keys that are still in his other hand. I shove the keys in my pocket and then instruct the guard to put himself in handcuffs. Once he has, I tighten them and then take off his shoes and socks and shove one of the socks in his mouth as a gag. Slipping his belt from his waist, I wedge it into his mouth and tighten it at the back of his head to keep the gag in place.
“Stay quiet or the last thing I do will be to come back to this room and shoot you dead,” I warn, pressing the gun against his temple.
He is shaking all over and nods silently.
I check that the hallway is clear before I step out, close the door, and lock it behind me.
Immediately, I realize the building is not silent, after all. My room must have been heavily soundproofed because I can hear voices and laughter coming from all around me. Some of it sounds like it is coming from different floors, but either way, there are plenty of people around here, and I need to move quickly if I want to escape.
I make it to the end of the hallway without incident when I suddenly hear pained moaning.
I consider moving on. If I can escape here and save Viktor and take down Fedor then I will come back for the other prisoners. I’ll save them then.
But what if we can’t kill Fedor? What if I escape here and die during the effort? What if I can’t come back to help anyone and they all die?
I want to stay focused on my own mission, but guilt twists my stomach, and I stop at the last door in the hallway and look through the window.
The room is dim, but I can make out two shapes lying on the ground. It takes my eyes a second to adjust, but as they do, I realize I recognize the men. One is older with a round middle and the other is a younger version of the other. Clearly related.
They are the Italian dons. The same men who promised Viktor they would help him keep an eye on Fedor only to betray Viktor and take Fedor’s side. Clearly, they are regretting that decision now.