**Chapter 5: Lines Crossed**
Monica's voice crackled through the truck's stolen radio, sharp as broken glass. *"Bring her back alive, Alfred. Or I'll make sure the police find those pills you've been hoarding."*
My father's ragged breathing followed. *"Ashley… please. Just come home."*
Viktor killed the transmission, his face a mask of fury. "She's blackmailing him now. *Pathetic.*"
I stared at my trembling hands. "He's scared of her. He always has been."
"And you?" Viktor turned to me, his gaze piercing. "Are you scared?"
*Of Monica? Of dying? Or of how safe I feel when you look at me like that?*
"No," I lied.
---
We returned to the boathouse at dusk, but the air felt wrong—thick with the stench of gasoline. Viktor shoved me behind him, pistol raised.
Too late.
The first Molotov cocktail shattered through the window, flames licking up the rotting walls. Shadows swarmed outside, their voices guttural. *Russian.*
"Bratva," Viktor snarled. "Stay close."
He moved like a wraith, firing through smoke and splintered wood. I scrambled after him, embers singeing my skin. A hand grabbed my ankle—a man with a spiderweb tattooed on his neck. I slammed Viktor's knife into his wrist, the way he'd taught me.
*No hesitation.*
Viktor's approving grin flashed in the chaos. "Good girl."
---
We escaped into the forest, the boathouse collapsing behind us in a roar of flames. Viktor's safehouses were burning, his enemies closing in, and all I could think about was the way his hand hadn't left mine since we'd fled.
He stopped abruptly at a rocky outcrop, yanking me into a hidden cave. Our breaths mingled in the dark, his forehead pressed to mine.
"You're hurt," he muttered, thumb brushing a cut on my collarbone.
"So are you."
A bullet had grazed his shoulder, blood seeping through his shirt. Before I could think, I ripped the fabric wider.
He caught my wrist. "What are you—?"
"Playing nurse," I said, defiance flaring. "Unless you'd rather bleed out?"
For once, he didn't fight me.
---
The cave was glacial, but Viktor's skin burned under my touch as I cleaned his wound. His muscles tensed with every swipe of the antiseptic, his breath hot on my neck.
"Why did you really save me?" I whispered. "That first night, in the rain."
His fingers traced idle circles on my knee. "I told you—Monica took someone I loved."
"Lena."
A flinch. "Not just Lena." His voice dropped. "My child never took a breath. The fire stole that too."
The confession shattered me. "Viktor, I…"
"Don't." He cupped my face, his calloused palms rough against my tears. "Don't pity me, Ashley. I can't survive it."
I kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. It was salt and blood and years of loneliness crashing together. He froze—*hesitated*—before his control shattered. His hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, kissing me like I was oxygen and he'd been drowning for decades.
A gunshot echoed outside.
We broke apart, reality slamming back. Viktor pressed his forehead to mine, his voice raw. "*This* is why I shouldn't care."
---
By morning, we'd found a new hideout—a crumbling church in the ghost town of Silver Hollow. Viktor avoided my eyes, scrubbing blood off his knives with monastic focus.
I couldn't stop staring.
"We need a new plan," I said, breaking the silence.
He didn't look up. "We?"
"Monica's not the only one who can play dirty. I know where she hides her secrets."
That got his attention. "Where?"
"Her sister's grave. My mother's."
Viktor went very still. "You want to dig up your mother's casket."
"Yes."
A beat. Then he laughed, dark and unhinged. "You're full of surprises, *malyshka*."
"Is that a yes?"
He stood, sheathing his knife. "It's a *hell yes.*"