Chapter 39: Chapter 39

I wake to smoke and screaming.

The bedroom is dark, but through the windows, I can see the flash of muzzle fire. The sharp burst of shadows as an explosion thunders somewhere close. Very close.

Terror rips me the rest of the way out of sleep. Shaking, I slip out of bed, pulling on sweatpants and a hoodie before I creep to the door. It opens a crack, and I peer out with one eye.

A shot rings out, loud and deafening, and something warm sprays the outside wall next to the door and mists across my forehead. I lurch back, quickly shutting the door and bolting across the room to cower behind the bed.

I hear more screams of pain. The cries of men falling, and the staccato bang-bang-bang of automatic gunfire.

We’re under attack.

Or at least, they are. There’s no “we” here. I’m a prisoner in this house—the silent accessory to a dark prince who neither speaks to me, nor even looks at me. Which I’d be fine with, if not for the fact that I’m trapped here and can’t leave.

That I miss my parents and my sister terribly, and haven’t seen them in a month, since the wedding.

As gunfire continues to thunder from outside, something occurs to me.

We are not being attacked. My husband in nothing but name is, as is his family. To them, yes, it’s an attack.

To me, it’s a distraction.

An opportunity.

The mist on my forehead starts to drip down my face. I reach up to wipe it off. When I pull my hand back, and the moonlight glints in through the windows, horror shakes me.

The back of my hand is smeared red.

It’s blood.

I have to get out of here.

I don’t pack; there’s nothing I want to bring with me. I change into dark jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt, shoving my hair back into a tight bun before pulling the hood up over my head and creeping to the door again. This time, when I go to push it open more than a crack, there’s something blocking it.

I look down, and nausea churns my stomach as my hand flies to my mouth.

There’s a body on the ground—a man I vaguely recognize as one of the Krylov guards. Or at least I recognize the half of his face that’s still there.

The rest of it is sprayed across the wall and the door, and probably still misted over my forehead.

Don’t think. Just go.

I manage to push him aside, the blaring twin alarms of adrenaline and fear throbbing in my ears as I step over the body. I keep to the wall, hugging the shadows, flinching whenever I hear a burst of gunfire elsewhere in the house, or outside.

I find more dead Krylov guards, and a few bodies of masked men in black tactical gear. But I keep moving, heading toward the back of the house and the garage full of cars. I could swim, but it’s night, and I know there’s sharks out there. Besides, I’m not that strong a swimmer.

No, if I’m leaving here tonight, it’s over the bridge: the only way off this island. I have no idea if it’s still being guarded, since it’s clear the island is under attack by one of the Krylov family’s many enemies. But if it is, I won’t get across on foot.

I’ll need to drive.

Enroute to the garage, I pass by my father-in-law’s study. Miroslav isn’t inside, obviously. But the door is wide open.

So is the safe he keeps in the bottom cupboards of the bookshelves behind his desk. A suitcase full of bundles of magazine clippings lies overturned on the floor.

Part of me wonders if whoever opened that safe and the suitcase felt anger, fear, or maybe both when they saw what was in there. Another bigger part of me feels guilty for the part I played in that.

I’ve had a lot of time to myself in my month here. I’ve done a lot of exploring. My husband’s sister, Maria, gave me binoculars a few weeks ago, when she saw me watching birds on my frequent walks around the island. I did use them for that—at first. But then I realized what else I could see, if I climbed some of the trees outside the back of main house.

…Like through Miroslav’s office window. Like the front of the electronic combination safe with the LED number pad on it.

Like the code to that safe, when my father-in-law opened it in the secrecy of his office.

Late one night, I went into that office, dodging patrol guards along the way. I opened that safe and found the suitcase brimming with American cash, with a cashier’s receipt labeling it as twenty-two million dollars.

A week later, I did the scariest thing I’ve ever done. I went back to that office and opened the safe. I emptied the cash out into a backpack and replaced it with little bundles of magazine clippings I’d tied up with tape.

A few days later, Florence, my family’s housekeeper and basically my second mother, came to bring me another suitcase full of my things, and to take home anything I’d brought with me before that I had subsequently discovered I didn’t need.

The backpack full of cash went back with her, hidden in the bottom of one of my luggage trunks full of cold-weather clothes I’d packed without realizing how warm Elba was.

Florence didn’t know what she was bringing home alongside my sweaters. But I know she got the note I included later, because she texted me.

FLORENCE

I got your note, Anni. You’ve always been such a clever girl. I’ll keep it safe!

I’ve never trusted my terrifying husband and his terrifying family. This way if anything happens to me, if they try anything, Florence will let them know she’s got twenty-two million of their money.

Consider it my insurance policy.

Too bad it doesn’t cover what’s happening now.

I scurry past the office door, hurrying toward the garage. Just as I get there, the door bangs open. I scream as three men in tactical gear and masks surge out, leveling guns at me. One of them grabs me and pushes me against the wall, facing it. He yanks my hands behind my back. Then he chuckles darkly.

“Looks like we found us some fun,” he leers.

My heart drops as I feel him press against me, reaching between us to fumble with his belt.

“I get first⁠—”

I scream when the shot rings out. The man slams into the wall next to me, his eyes and mouth gaping wide, a massive hole in his forehead. I whip around just in time to see Miroslav squeeze off four more shots, dropping the two other men. My father-in-law glances at me before he storms over and grits his teeth, putting another bullet into each of the heads of the three men just to be sure.

“Come,” he snarls, grabbing my arm. “I need to get you⁠—”

He hisses, and I scream as another shot rings out in the dark hallway behind us. Miroslav whirls, staggering against the wall before he raises his arm and fires two shots, killing the man who’s just snuck up on us.

I gasp, dropping to my knees next to Miroslav as he sinks to the floor, a trail of blood dripping down the wall behind him.

“You need to get out,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

“I can help you⁠—”

“No,” he chokes. “You can’t.” He grunts as he grabs my hand. “But you can assist me in standing right now.”

I nod, my skin crawling and the fear screaming in my ears as I pull Miroslav to his feet. I put his arm over my shoulder as he nods towards a control panel on the wall next to the door to the garage.

“Enter the code nine-seven-two-two-eight-nine-zero-six.”

I do, my hands shaking. The control panel beeps, and a warning message pops up.

“This…” I swallow as I turn to him. “But this is the override for the whole security system. It’ll open every⁠—”

“They’re already inside, Annika,” he grunts, wincing as he raises his other arm and jabs a bloody finger on the “confirm” button. “But now you can get out.”

Miroslav winces, his legs giving out as he slumps against the wall and then slides to the floor. He grabs my hand, looking up into my face. “Please, Annika. Please forgive me for dragging you into this carnage. Take the Land Rover in the garage. It’s got the strongest front grill. My men at the bridge will try and stop you, but I need you to get through. Get home, Annika,” he wheezes, coughing up blood. “Tell your father I’m sorry for the violence between our families and for taking his only daughter away from him.” He winces as he squeezes my hand. “Drive fast, Annika. If they think all is lost…” his eyes roll back before he forces them back to me. “They’ll blow up the bridge. You have to get over before they⁠—”

Gunfire thunders down the hallway, sending plaster dust into the air as shots hit the wall behind us.

“GO!” Miroslav hisses. “Now!!”

I bolt to the garage as I hear him firing back on the attackers. I slam the door shut behind me, then go to the wall with the keys to Miroslav’s car collection. I find the one for the Land Rover, hit the button to open the door, and then jump behind the wheel and start the engine.

The garage door rolls up in front of me. Two men in black whirl in surprise and raise their rifles. Screaming, I floor the gas and duck, flinching as the car lurches forward and the windshield explodes into a million pieces. I hear the double thunk-sh sound as I hit the men, and then I scream in terror as one of them flies up over the hood and comes crashing through the broken windshield into the seat next to me.

His eyes stare wildly and blank up at the ceiling.

He’s dead.

Without thinking, I just keep driving, roaring off down the stone drive.

The scene outside is pure chaos. Bodies and blood are everywhere. The trees I climbed to peer into Miroslav’s office are on fire. So is the house. Gunfire peppers the night, and another explosion blows out the windows of the kitchen.

I floor it, roaring toward the bridge, trying to ignore the body bleeding in the passenger seat next to me.

There’s only one guard as I approach. He’s clutching his stomach with one hand and waving a gun with the other. I honk and flash my lights, trying to tell him to move.

At the last second, he steps aside. Our eyes lock in a hazy, slow-motion moment of confusion.

I see the black box with a trigger and an antenna in his hands.

They’ll blow the bridge.

Oh God…

I slam the gas down, screaming as the Land Rover roars across the bridge.

I feel the rumble. I hear the thunder. I shriek as a wall of heat erupts behind me, slamming into the back of the car and blowing out the windows.

I’m so close.

I’m almost there.

…The bridge gives out beneath me, and I plummet into the black watery abyss.

I choke, sucking in ragged breaths of oxygen as hands pull me from the waves onto the rocky shore. I cough and sputter, vomiting seawater onto the rocks before I drag my haggard gaze up.

“Come, Annika. We need to hurry.”

It’s Ruslan, my father’s most trusted man, and one of the two people outside my blood family who knows our secrets.

“What…how—?” I whimper as he pulls me to my feet and hugs me close.

“I have to get you to safety,” he hisses.

My brows furrow. “Are we going home?”

He says nothing, pulling me after him as he staggers up the embankment to the road.

“Ruslan,” I ask again. “Are we⁠—”

I flinch when we get to the road and I see the five bodies lying on the ground in pools of blood. Three of them are in black tactical gear. Two of them are in regular clothes; I recognize those two as my father’s men.

“What…”

I go still when I see the markings on the tactical gear of the dead men.

It’s my family crest, stitched onto the arms.

In horror, I pull my gaze to Ruslan. “They’re⁠—”

He shakes his head. “No, Annika. They’re Vadik Belov’s men.”

“But these are the same men who just attacked⁠—”

My eyes go wide. My hand flies to my mouth.

“Vadik wants to make this look like proof that the marriage truce isn’t working,” he hisses, grimacing. “They’re pretending to be your father’s men. And they’re…” He shakes his head, pulling me toward a car with a bullet hole in the door. “We have to go, now.”

“Are we going home?”

He doesn’t answer, just opens the passenger door and bundles me into the seat.

“Ruslan!” I cry. “Are we going⁠—”

“No,” he mutters, his head shaking as he reaches across and buckles me in with a wince. “We’re not going home, Annika.” He pulls back, his eyes locking with mine. “There’s nothing for you there.”

“I don’t understand. What⁠—”

“Another group of Vadik’s men attacked your father’s house earlier tonight. They were dressed as Krylov men.”

My heart shatters.

“Did—”

“There weren’t any survivors, Annika,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

The passenger door shuts with a soft click. I stare blankly through the windshield as Ruslan slips behind the wheel and starts the engine. He winces again, and it’s only when I turn to him that I realize he’s wounded.

Badly.

The LED glow of the dashboard illuminates the red wetness seeping from his side and his neck as he guns the engine and roars off down the road, away from the chaos.

I look back in the side mirror, watching the flames engulf the Krylov house like a funeral pyre.

That’s when the tears come.

There weren’t any survivors.

Tatjana…

Ruslan is barely conscious by the time we get to the private airfield. The plane waiting for us isn’t my father’s, and the pilot and the other man on board aren’t his men. But they take the bag of money from Ruslan’s shaking hand, looking at us both with deep concern as they nod and usher us on.

They take us as far as Athens.

Ruslan is dead by the time we land.

Then, I’m truly alone.

For the first time ever, I’m without the other half of me. Without my invisible friend.

Without Tatjana.