SAFE HOUSE
493 Words
POV: Marco
---
He didn't kill her.
That was something. Antonio had every right – every reason – to put a bullet in her head and call it justice. But he didn't. He listened. He waited. He gave her a chance.
I didn't know if that made him merciful or stupid.
I didn't care.
She was alive. She was beside me. And for now, that was enough.
---
We didn't go to my apartment.
Too obvious. Dmitri had eyes everywhere – or Ivan did, which was the same thing. Antonio had a safe house in Queens, nondescript, untraceable. He offered it without being asked.
"Until we figure out our next move," he'd said. "Keep her alive. Keep her quiet."
I'd nodded. Sasha had said nothing.
Now we stood in the small living room, boxes still stacked in corners, dust on the furniture. No one had been here in months.
"Romantic," Sasha said.
"Safe."
"Same thing."
She crossed to the window, pulled the curtain aside, looked out at the dark street.
"They'll find me," she said. "Dmitri. Ivan. They won't stop."
"Then we find them first."
She turned. "You're not afraid?"
"I'm terrified." I crossed to her. "But I've been terrified for eighteen years. I'm used to it."
She almost smiled. "That's not healthy."
"Nothing about this is healthy."
I took her hand. She didn't pull away.
"What happens now?" she asked.
"Now we wait. Antonio's people are tracking Dmitri's movements. Dominic is watching Ivan. We'll find an opening."
"And then?"
"Then we end it."
She nodded slowly. "And after? What happens to me?"
I'd been avoiding that question. In my mind, there was no "after." There was only Dmitri, only the war, only survival. But she deserved an answer.
"I don't know," I said. "But whatever happens, you won't face it alone."
She looked at me for a long moment. Then she leaned up and kissed me – soft, almost sad.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Don't thank me yet."
I kissed her back.
And for a few hours, we pretended the world wasn't falling apart.
---
The bed was small, the sheets were thin, and she fit against me like she'd been made to be there.
I stared at the ceiling, listening to her breathe.
"Soon," she murmured.
"What?"
"You're going to ask me something. You've been holding it in all night. Just ask."
I was quiet for a moment. Then: "Your brother. Ivan. Would he hurt you?"
She went still. "Yes."
"Would he kill you?"
"He'd try."
"And would you kill him?"
She turned in my arms, faced me. Her eyes were dark, unreadable.
"If I had to. If he left me no choice."
"Could you?"
"I've killed before. You know that."
"That's not what I asked."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then: "I don't know. I hope I never have to find out."
I pulled her closer, pressed my lips to her hair.
"Then we make sure you don't."
- Writer
