Page 43 of The Last Hope

My eyes are drawn to the light seeping from beneath a door, and my heart clenches as fear grips me. I step forward slowly, my trembling hand pushing the door open.

A gasp escapes me as all I see is red—on the floor, on the bed, red like blood. The blood of the man lying on the floor, a small pair of scissors embedded in his throat.

Suddenly, a faint sniffle catches my attention from behind the door, and time seems to slow as I spot my sister curled up against the wall, her clothes soaked in crimson.

“Sienna…” I whisper, rushing to her side.

I place a hand on her knee, and she flinches, lifting wide, tear-filled eyes. She’s in shock.

“Selina,” she recognizes me, her lips trembling. “I… I didn’t mean to, Selina. He… he tried to touch me. I said no, Selina! I swear I said no! But he wouldn’t listen. He hit me. He tried to… to…”

I pull her into my arms, running my fingers through her hair. “Shh, shh, you’re okay, Sienna. Everything will be okay. Calm down,” I soothe, though tears threaten to spill from my own eyes.

She’s only sixteen. Oh my God. What are we going to do?

“Well, I didn’t expect it to end this way. It’s even better than I imagined,” a voice suddenly echoes behind us, making both of us jump.

I shoot to my feet, shielding my sister, and freeze at the sight of Antonio Rasili standing near the door, his hands buried in his pockets, a smirk on his lips.

“I think you’re finally ready to negotiate, Selina,” he says, stepping closer, his presence engulfing me in darkness.

“Selina ?” Nikolaï’s voice suddenly calls me back to the present, pulling me from the dark memories.

“Are you alright? You’ve gone pale,” he asks, concern lacing his voice. “I’m calling the doctor. He can prescribe something stronger for the pain.”

He reaches for his phone, but I quickly shake my head, setting the glass down and grabbing his wrist without thinking.

“I… No, don’t call. I’m fine. I’m just worried about my sister,” I murmur.

His eyes flick from mine to my lips as I instinctively wet them with my tongue.

“I hate seeing you like this,Solnychko,” he says softly, gently wrapping his warm hand around my frozen fingers.

There it is again—that tenderness that calls to my vulnerability. I should push him away, rebuild my walls to protect myself—or at least what’s left of me.

But I don’t.

This gentleness, this sense of safety he makes me feel—it’s like a lifeline.

I want to sink into this warmth and rest.

I’m so tired of fighting every day, of merely surviving, of protecting my son and my sister.

Maybe that’s why I don’t move as his other hand slides to my cheek, and I close my eyes, leaning into his touch.

I don’t move when I feel his breath against my skin, his nose brushing my temple as he inhales softly, his lips trailing along my cheekbone.

“Selina… push me away. Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his lips hovering close to mine.

He’s right. I should push him away, stop this.

I’ll be leaving in a few weeks. He’s not the kind of man I should be with—not after escaping the grip of an Italian mafioso.

But I can’t.

“I can’t,” I whisper, gripping his hand as his lips graze mine.

A sudden noise shatters the moment—the front door swings open, followed by loud voices.

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