He’s tall and lean, all wiry, hard edges and lean muscle, with a knife-sharp face, blond hair greying at the temples, and ice-blue eyes. He’s a dangerous, forbidding man, and despite that, brutally handsome. I wonder, staring at him from across the room, if my mother had wanted him, loved him, even. I can see how she might have been fooled into such a thing–he reminds me of Viktor in a way, but harder, crueler, a man forged by something that made him not into a weapon, but someone who wields others as one.
He regards me for a long moment from across the room. And then, stiffly, he starts to walk around the desk, and I catch a glimpse of the black butt of a gun beneath his jacket.
I’d wondered how I would feel in this moment. A cold fear grips me, and it feels as if all the blood in my body has slowed, moving sluggishly through my veins in preparation for when it will stop forever. Obelensky walks towards me, his gaze hard on my face, and I wonder if he’ll say anything to me at all, or just shoot me now without preamble. I can feel myself tensing, waiting for it, and even the guards edge away from me, as if they’re expecting it, too.
He stops in front of me. “I am Konstantin Obelensky,” he says, his voice low and gruff, thickly accented. “Do you know what that means, for you?”
Somehow, as if something outside of myself is puppeting me, I manage to nod.
“Good.” He reaches out then, and touches me.
His long, narrow fingers brush along the edge of my jaw, and the touch is so startling that I can’t help but flinch away a little. I can feel my eyes widening, my entire body tense with the effort to resist the urge to flee.
There’s nothing sexual in the touch. It’s a curious one, the same curiosity on his face, as he brushes his fingertips along my jaw. “I wondered what you would look like,” Obelensky says slowly, and I realize then that he hadn’t been able to see us over the calls. He hadn’t seen me at all before this; we’re both seeing each other for the first time, father and daughter.
A flicker of hope flares in my chest–one that I try very hard to quell–that something will change his mind upon seeing me in the flesh for the first time. But nothing about this hard-edged man suggests that’s true–except for the hint of something in his face as he looks at me, almost like recognition.
“You have your mother’s eyes,” he says quietly, in a voice low enough to only be meant for him and me–and that’s the moment that I feel something crack open inside of me.
I manage not to cry, but only just barely. My eyes well with tears, a knife that I didn’t know was there twisting in my heart. There are so many things I could say–I could ask why my mother is dead, or ask him how he can look in those same eyes and put a bullet in my head, but I feel frozen, unable to speak or move, or even look away.
“Do you understand why I am doing this?” His voice is still low, quiet, but I don’t bother lowering mine as I answer.
“No. But I know you’re going to do it anyway.”
Something hardens in his face, and his hand twitches towards the gun I see under his jacket. “You can kneel or stand,” he says simply. “Your choice.”
I’m not sure Ihavea choice. I’d run this moment through my head so many times, but now that it’s here, I’m frozen, unable to move or speak or even think. Adrenaline is flooding through every cell and nerve in my body, but with the knowledge that there’s nowhere to flee to, I’m completely incapacitated by it.
All I can do is watch as the gun slides free, my mind frantically trying to come to terms with what’s about to happen, andnotthink about what may or may not come after, the possibility of oblivion, that I will simply–no longer exist.
And the door that we came in through slams open, hitting the wall, and a woman bursts into the room.
I jerk reflexively, bracing for the bullet that will no doubt come, even just from the sudden motion. But Obelensky turns instead, his face suddenly creased with anger as he looks at the woman.
“What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” She puts her hands on her hips, glaring at him. “What are you doing withher? Why are you doing this?”
None of this makes sense. My head is starting to ache, confusion sweeping over me, making me feel dizzy as the adrenaline begins to recede with Obelensky’s shift in focus. A moment ago, I’d been prepared to die–or at least expected to–and now something else is happening.
Something I don’t understand.
I’ve never seen this woman before. I don’t know who she is, or how she knows whoIam. But she’s glaring Obelensky down in a way that I can’t imagine very many people dare to do. Even the guards have shrunk back–still near enough to me to catch me if I got any ideas, but away from Obelensky and the woman, as if they want no part of this either.
“This iscruel,” she snaps. “And ridiculous.”
“This is none of your business,” Obelensky retorts sharply. “Get out.”
She doesn’t move. “Not unless you promise me you’re not going to kill her.”
“I will promise you nothing.”
Her dainty jaw sets. “Then I’m not leaving.”
I fully expect Obelensky to pull out the gun and shoot her where she stands. It seems in keeping with what I’ve heard about him. But instead, he lets out a sigh, pinching his nose at the bridge, before turning to glare at the guards.
“Get her out of here, while I deal with this,” he snaps, jerking his head at me. “Take her back down to her cell. I’ll deal with her later.”