Page 114 of Kept in the Dark
“And then you’ll kill them?”
I search her face for any hint that this is the source of her concern. We have spoken of death many times, and she knows of its inevitability—its place in both our lives. “Da.”
“And then I’ll be free.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “Free?” I repeat. Surely, I misunderstand her meaning.
“To leave.”
No. Without thinking, I spring to my feet and reach for her wrist, as if she plans on running and I must hold her in place. I can feel the echo of the action from weeks ago—the other times she has run from me for one reason or another.
She pulls back, but I tighten my grip.
“We both knew this was coming,” she says quietly, brows tilted up in the middle as she watches the shock and denial play across my face.
“I disagree. You want to leave?” I ask. I sound stupid. I feel stupid. It is like trying to think through a haze of drugs—every thought is difficult to catch and hold. All the contentment I felt in her approval and acceptance last night has been abruptly snatched away, and my head is spinning.
“I thought… I thought after last night…” I break off, clearing my throat of the emotions making it thick. This is not who I am—some imbecile that cries when a woman turns away from him. I am rational. I am like stone. “I thought you would stay here. I thought you would want to.”
She begins saying several words at once, snapping her mouth closed when the noise that emerges is unintelligible. Glancing down, she tucks the edges of the robe in around herself more tightly. “We’ve been avoiding having this conversation. And I think we both know why. I have to go. It’s what we talked about, right? Back when I first got here, you promised to help me. You said as soon as we knew what was on the USB drive and we understood the extent of the danger, you’d get me a new identity and help me start over.”
“No,” I deny. I remember saying this, but I did not expect to hear my own words used against me this way. “You cannot leave. The danger is too great. I am the one who can keep you alive and safe, mymed.”
I know I am blindly reaching for any damn reason, but her hopeless expression is digging into my gut and laying me bare. This is what I can do for her—keep her safe.
And it is all I have to give.
She shakes her head and offers a smile that makes her bottom lip wobble. “Viktor’s dead. And the rest of them… they don’t care about me, not really. They want the money, and your plan will make it clear that I don’t have it, right? If I go far enough away and I have nothing to do with this money, there’s no reason to think—”
“No,” I repeat, more angrily.
Her inhale breaks in her throat, and she shoots me a look full of apology and sadness. “I don’t want to do this without you, but I can’t stay here,” she says, and her voice cracks. I watch with a morbid, detached sort of curiosity as the bead of a tear forms underneath her closed eyelid.
“Why?” I fall back a step, resisting the urge to lift a hand to my chest to ensure my sternum is still intact. It feels as if there is a hole blown through it.
“I can’t be imprisoned. I need a place of my own, and a job that’s fulfilling, and friends, and hobbies—”
“You would not be a prisoner here,” I interject. “You could live like Eleanor, who comes and goes. You could have a job, you could—”
She interrupts me this time. “In Ulysses, I’m a missing person who had hundreds of millions of dollars of Mafia money in my possession. There’s no scenario where I’m free to live how I want here—not safely. I can’t be looking over my shoulder for Russian guys with guns for the rest of my life.”
The words echo around me, recalling a memory of a conversation we had over a month ago. This has always been her concern. “You told me you were searching for a place to call home. Why not here? You like Eleanor and James and Wesley. You like this house. AndIam here.” The second I say it, it makes me grit my teeth. I feel like a fool. I believed we were aligned, that I would not have to argue with her or fight for my place in her life. “Unless it was… Was it meaningless to you?”
“No!” she gasps, but the denial feels too little, too late. “I don’t want to leave you, but… We barely know each other, Dimitri—we haven’t talked about the important stuff. And there are things I want in life. Things you can’t give me, that I can’t have if I’m forced to live here.”
Forced.
“Like what?” I snap, hearing my voice harden.
“Normalcy,” she says simply. It is not a challenge; it is a fact. “A life where I’m not stitching you up in the bathroom at 3 AM and worried you’re out there adding another tally to your tattoo. I’m not equipped to handle that life. It’s better to just leave now.”
“You do not even want to try?” I take a step back, away from the steely, heartbroken resolve written all over her face.
“I can’t. There is no trying. If I stay with you, there’s no way I’m not falling for you. And if I fall for you, you’re going to break my heart. So, I think it’s best to end things now. Before either of us gets… too attached.”
My body goes cold and still.
I have already fallen. I am already attached.
