The next morning, the sun dared to rise.
Alina stood in the steam of the hotel bathroom, water cascading down her back, but she didn’t feel clean. Not after last night. Not after telling Nicholas the truth—and surviving it. Her body ached in places she didn’t even know had nerves. Her lips were bruised. Her thighs trembled. But none of it compared to the war inside her chest.
He hadn’t left. But he hadn’t held her either.
She stepped out of the shower and found him sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, gun on the nightstand, and his expression unreadable.
“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” she said, wrapping the towel around her. “If you’re going to hand me over to the police or finish the job yourself, just do it.”
Nicholas looked up. His jaw flexed.
“You think I’d let anyone
