The Last Hope

17

Selina

"Come on, let's get up before you catch a cold," said Nikolai as he straightened up and helped me to my bare feet, and I noticed that he was barefoot too, and I don't know why but I find it intimate. Keeping an arm around my waist, he grabbed the high chair against the wall with his other hand and placed it in front of us, facing the mirror.

"Climb up," he said, tapping the dark leather of the seat, causing me to furrow my brows as I looked at the seat and then at him, "why?", "so I can dry your hair," he replied as if it were the most normal thing. "I can dry my hair by myself," I replied, chin up, eyes narrowing, which made him raise an eyebrow, "I know you can, but let me do it," he said, his gaze filled with determination, and frankly, I'm too tired for this battle. I finally sighed and approached the chair, turning to climb onto it, but with one hand it's not easy; his arm that hadn't left my waist suddenly lifted me with disconcerting ease, and I found myself seated with my head just below his chin. Our eyes met through the mirror as he slowly withdrew his hand from my body, it slid over my stomach and his thumb brushed the underside of my left breast, making me shiver. He stepped back and walked around me, moving towards the counter before bending down to open one of the drawers to retrieve a towel, and I couldn't help but glance at his behind, quite visible through the bottom of the gray sweatpants he was wearing. I sighed and looked up, but froze when our eyes met through the mirror, my face starting to heat up as he straightened up with a smirk.

I didn't move, I didn't even breathe as he slid back behind me, gathering my hair in my back, his fingers brushing my neck, making me sigh softly; he began to dry them with gentle and precise movements. I closed my eyes, gradually relaxing, a trust that I didn't even realize in this man made me let down my guard. Listening to his breathing and feeling his warmth on my back, sleep took me without me even realizing it.

Nikolaï

Selina immediately turns to her son, her hand resting on her belly after I've laid her on the bed, I tuck the covers gently and straighten up. I clench my fists in the pockets of my pants, my jaw tight as the state I found her in doesn't leave me; I only wanted to make sure the painkiller was working, but no one had answered when I knocked. Upon entering, I didn't find her in the bed next to Rafael, and I froze upon hearing a moan coming from the bathroom, which I quickly joined. My world stopped when I saw her on her knees, gripping the counter with all her strength, not to mention the whistling escaping her lips as she struggled to breathe. Against me, in my arms, she was freezing, trembling incessantly, her face twisted with pain and her tears had shaken me.

I sigh and leave the room, closing the door gently, trying to calm myself down; I head to the office where Sasha spends most of his time, given that he handles the paperwork. As Sienna described during our meeting, each of us had a specific role in the organization: Grigori was the leader, the one who inspired our men and led them; Sasha took care of all administrative and legal matters as well as recruiting new members, while Roman was more of our figure in the field. I handled strategic actions; I decided where, when, and how exchanges and meetings would take place, and as Sienna pointed out once again, Elif was the shadow figure who helped each of us. She guided us, advised us, and her numerous contacts had helped us many times.

I stop in front of the large windows and take out my phone, dialing an unregistered number. "Ivanov," the man answers on the first ring in a neutral tone without intonation, with an Italian accent. "What's he doing?" I ask, Selina's sobs still echoing in my head. "He's completely lost it; he tried to catch the first plane to Russia, but his father stopped him. He's on his way to the States now, probably to meet your brother," he replies as I hear the sound of his lighter probably lighting his thirtieth cigarette of the day. "He's completely obsessed with this woman, Ivanov; his son rarely crosses his mind. All he wants is her...", "I want him dead, Abbiati," I cut in with a dark voice, my teeth clenched.