CHAPTER 4: The Sirens' Call 2
1130 Words
The day passes in a blur.
Dimitri shows me around the tower. The archives are on the lower floors—hundreds of servers humming with data, records of every transaction, every deal, every crime. My fingers itch to start downloading.
But I don't. Not yet. Because every time I reach for my camera, I remember the way he looked at me on the roof. The way his voice softened. The way he said, "I can't stay away from you."
Focus, Anya. Focus.
I spend the afternoon in the archives, pretending to work. I catalog files. I organize records. I learn the layout of the room, the exits, the blind spots.
But my mind keeps drifting back to the garden. To his confession. To the way he looked at me like I was something precious.
He's manipulating you, I tell myself. This is a game. Everything is a game.
But the voice sounds weak. Uncertain.
Because somewhere in the back of my mind, a terrible thought is taking root.
What if he's not lying?
What if he actually cares?
---
Evening falls. The sky turns purple and orange, the neon lights of the city flickering to life.
I'm in my room, staring at my father's notebook. The pages blur in front of my eyes.
Tell the truth, Anya. Always tell the truth.
The truth is complicated.
The truth is I'm not sure I want to expose him anymore.
The truth is I'm starting to see him as a person instead of a monster.
The truth is—I'm falling for him.
I slam the notebook shut. I can't think like this. I can't let him get inside my head.
A knock at the door.
"Come in," I say.
Elena enters. She's dressed in a sleek black dress, her hair pulled back in an elegant twist. She looks like she's going to a party.
"Dinner," she says. "My brother insists you join us."
"I'm not hungry."
"You're always hungry." She smiles. It's a small smile, almost sad. "That's what he said you'd say."
"He's not wrong."
"No. He's rarely wrong." She walks into the room, sitting on the edge of my bed. "Can I tell you something? Something that might help you understand him better?"
"I doubt anything could help me understand him."
"My mother," she says. "She died when we were young. Dimitri was sixteen. He found her in the garden, surrounded by flowers. She'd been—" She stops. Swallows. "She'd been killed by our older brother. Dimitri killed our brother for it. He was just a boy, Anya. Just a boy protecting the only person who ever loved him."
I stare at her. "He never told me that."
"He doesn't tell anyone. He's ashamed of it."
"Ashamed of killing his own brother?"
"Ashamed that he couldn't save her." She stands. "He carries that guilt every day. He built this empire not for power, not for money—he built it so no one would ever hurt the people he loves again. And now—"
She stops. Look at me.
"And now he loves you. And he doesn't know how to handle it."
---
Dinner is a formal affair.
Dimitri sits at the head of a long table, surrounded by his lieutenants. I'm seated to his right—a position of honor, or a position of scrutiny. I can't tell which.
The food is exquisite. The wine is expensive. The conversation is polite and cold.
But Dimitri's eyes keep finding me. They linger on my face, my hands, my lips. They burn with something I can't name.
"Anya," he says, leaning close. "Enjoying yourself?"
"Immensely."
"Liar."
"You keep saying that."
"Because you keep lying." His lips brush my ear. "And I keep noticing."
I shiver. I hate myself for shivering.
"You're playing a dangerous game," I whisper.
"I know." He pulls back, his eyes dark with amusement. "That's what makes it fun."
One of his lieutenants—a beefy man with a scar across his cheek—clears his throat.
"Boss, we need to discuss the situation with Sergei. He's been making moves on the Docks."
Dimitri's expression shifts. The warmth disappears, replaced by cold steel.
"Later," he says.
"But—"
"Later."
The lieutenant falls silent. Even the air seems to shrink.
I look at Dimitri. I see the mask slide back into place. The icy demeanor. The iron control.
But I also see what's beneath.
And I'm terrified by how much it moves me.
---
After dinner, I'm back in my room.
I lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Dimitri's words echo in my head. "I can't stay away from you."
Elena's words echo too. "He carries that guilt every day."
My father's notebook sits on the nightstand. A silent reminder.
Tell the truth, Anya. Always tell the truth.
But the truth is a tangled mess now. The truth is I don't know what I want anymore.
The door opens. I don't need to look to know who it is.
"You should knock," I say.
"It's my building."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
Dimitri walks to my bed. He sits on the edge, close enough that I can feel the heat of him.
"Can't sleep?" I ask.
"I never sleep." He looks at me. "I can't stop thinking about you."
"Dimitri—"
"I know." He reaches out, his fingers brushing my cheek. "I know this is wrong. You're my enemy. You're here to destroy me. But I can't help it, Anya. I can't stop."
"Stop what?"
"Stop wanting you."
He leans in. His lips are a breath away from mine.
"Tell me to stop," he whispers. "Tell me to leave. I will. I swear."
I should tell him to stop.
I should push him away.
I should—
I kissed him.
---
It's a desperate kiss, full of anger and confusion and something else I can't name. He responds with equal ferocity, his hands tangled in my hair, his body pressing me into the mattress.
This is wrong.
This is dangerous.
This is exactly what I shouldn't be doing.
But when he pulls back, his eyes dark and hungry, I don't feel regret.
I feel alive.
"I hate you," I whisper.
"I know." He kisses my forehead. "I hate you too."
"I'm going to destroy you."
"I know." He kisses my neck. "I'm counting on it."
"Dimitri—"
"Shh." He pulls me close, his arms wrapped around me. "Just for tonight. Just let me hold you. Tomorrow you can go back to hating me."
I should fight.
I should run.
I should, but the words remained stuck in my throat as I leaned into him. I close my eyes. And for the first time in years, I let myself feel safe.
- Writer
