APOLOGY
835 Words
POV: Sasha
---
I stood outside his building for ten minutes before I could make myself leave.
The sun wasn't up yet. The streets were empty. I should have been running – putting distance between us, between the lies and the truth that would eventually destroy everything.
Instead, I stood there, hugging myself against the cold, and replayed his voice.
You're not alone anymore.
He had no idea. He had no idea how alone I really was. How alone I'd always been.
My phone buzzed. Dmitri.
One week.
One week.
I shoved the phone back in my pocket and walked away.
---
The safe house was in Brighton Beach, above Tatiana's apartment. The old woman didn't ask questions. She just handed me a key and a cup of tea and disappeared into the back room.
I sat on the edge of the bed, stared at the wall, and tried to think.
One week to give Dmitri something. One week before he sent someone else. One week before Marco became a target.
Unless I gave them someone else.
Unless I gave them me.
---
Nadia called at dawn.
"He knows," she said. Her voice was shaking. "Dmitri knows you've been stalling. He's sending Yuri."
"Yuri's dead. Marco killed him."
"Another Yuri. There's always another Yuri." A pause. "Sasha, he's going to come for you. For Marco. For everyone you care about. You need to run."
"I can't run."
"Then you need to finish what you started."
I closed my eyes. "I don't know how."
"Yes, you do." Her voice softened. "You've always known how. You just don't want to."
She hung up.
I sat in the dark, listening to the city wake up, and tried to remember who I was before Marco Ricci walked into my life.
A weapon. A ghost. A girl who'd been trained to destroy and never learned how to love.
I didn't want to be that person anymore.
But I didn't know how to be anyone else.
---
I went back to his building that night.
I didn't call first. Didn't text. Just showed up at his door, heart pounding, hands shaking.
He opened it within seconds. Like he'd been waiting.
"Sasha—"
"I need to tell you something."
He stepped aside. I walked in.
---
We sat on the couch. Same couch. Same positions. Everything the same, except something had shifted. He could feel it. I could feel it.
"You're scaring me," he said.
"Good. You should be scared."
"Sasha."
I took a breath. Let it out. Took another.
"My name isn't Sasha Volkov."
He didn't move. Didn't blink.
"It's Alexandra. Alexandra Petrovna Volkov." I held his eyes. "My father was Viktor Petrov."
The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.
"Viktor Petrov," he repeated. "The man who killed my family."
"Yes."
"You're his daughter."
"Yes."
He stood. Walked to the window. Stood with his back to me.
"Why are you here?" His voice was quiet. Too quiet.
"I was sent to destroy your family. Dmitri – my uncle – he wanted revenge for Viktor's death. He wanted someone inside. Someone they wouldn't suspect." I swallowed. "He chose me."
"And me?"
"You were the way in. Get close to Marco, they said. Earn his trust. Find the weaknesses in the Matteo empire."
He turned. His face was carved from stone. "And did you?"
"Find weaknesses?" I stood. "Yes. But not yours."
"Whose, then?"
"My own." I stepped toward him. "I was supposed to destroy you, Marco. I was supposed to get close, gather information, and then watch your world burn."
"But you didn't."
"I couldn't." My voice cracked. "I fell in love with you."
He stared at me. The silence was unbearable.
"Say something," I whispered.
"How long?" he asked.
"Six months. I've been here six months."
"Every word? Every touch? Every night?" His jaw tightened. "Was any of it real?"
"Yes." I crossed to him, stopped a foot away. "The mission wasn't real. But you were. We were. I know you don't believe me. I know you have every reason to walk away. But I need you to know – I chose you. I chose you over my family. Over my mission. Over everything."
He didn't move. Didn't speak.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm so sorry."
I turned toward the door.
"Sasha."
I stopped.
He crossed to me, took my face in his hands, and kissed me.
Not gentle. Not forgiving. Something else. Something raw and desperate and terrifying.
When he pulled back, his eyes were wet.
"I should hate you," he said.
"I know."
"I should throw you out. Call Antonio. End this."
"You should."
"I can't."
He pulled me close, held me tight, and I felt him shake.
"We're going to figure this out," he said against my hair. "Together. But you can't lie to me anymore. Not about anything. Do you understand?"
"I understand."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
He held me for a long time.
And for the first time in six months, I wasn't pretending.
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