Jealousy and Violence

Jealousy and Violence
Iris POV

"Alex!" I screamed as we ran toward the burning mansion.

But Grandma grabbed my arm and yanked me back.

"Not so fast, sweetheart. This is exactly what I wanted."

"The house is on fire!"

"Yes. And everyone inside is about to learn that defying me comes with consequences."

Ian tried to pull away from the men holding him. "Let us go!"

"I don't think so. You two are going to watch. You're going to see what happens to people who try to protect you instead of using you."

The man pointing the gun at Alex was tall and thin with cold eyes. He wore an expensive suit that didn't match his cruel smile.

"That's Viktor Petrov," Grandma said. "He works for the Russian families. They've been wanting to get their hands on you two for years."

"Why?"

"Because they understand what you're worth. Unlike your parents, who keep trying to hide your gifts instead of developing them."

Alex was saying something to Viktor, but we were too far away to hear.

"What do you want us to do?" I asked.

"I want you to save him."

"How?"

"Use your gift. Together. Make Viktor lower his weapon."

Ian looked at me. Through our connected hands, I could feel his confusion mixing with mine.

"We don't know how."

"Then you better learn fast. Because in about thirty seconds, Viktor is going to pull that trigger."

I stared at Alex. Even with a gun pointed at his head, he looked calm. Strong. Like he was planning something.

"Focus on Viktor," Grandma said. "Both of you. Think about what you want him to do."

Ian and I held hands tighter. I tried to picture Viktor lowering his gun.

Nothing happened.

"It's not working!"

"Because you're thinking like children. You need to feel it. What do you want him to feel?"

I thought about Alex dying. About never seeing him again. About losing the first person who'd ever made me feel truly safe.

Anger filled me. Hot, burning anger.

"That's better," Grandma said. "Now, Ian, you feel it too."

Ian's anger joined mine. His rage at being used, at being turned into a weapon, at watching everyone he cared about get hurt.

Our combined emotions flowed toward Viktor.

And something amazing happened.

Viktor stumbled. His gun hand shook. For a moment, he looked confused and scared.

"It's working!" Ian whispered.

But then Viktor steadied himself and pointed the gun at Alex again.

"Not enough," Grandma said. "You need more emotion. Stronger feelings."

"Like what?"

"Like love."

I stared at Alex. Did I love him? He'd lied to me. He'd made deals behind my back. He'd planned to use me as a weapon.

But he'd also saved my life. Protected me. Chosen me over his own family's wishes.

Yes. I loved him.

The feeling hit me like a tidal wave. Pure, desperate love mixed with terror of losing him.

Ian gasped. "Whoa. That's... intense."

"You feel it too?"

"I feel everything you feel. And Iris? Viktor feels it too."

Viktor had stopped moving entirely. His gun was slowly lowering.

"Excellent," Grandma said. "Now make him walk away."

I pictured Viktor turning around and leaving. Ian added his will to mine.

Viktor took a step backward.

Then another.

But suddenly, a new voice cut through the night.

"Viktor! What are you doing?"

A woman stepped out of the burning mansion. She was beautiful, with long dark hair and sharp green eyes. She moved like a dancer or a fighter.

"Natasha," Viktor said, sounding confused. "I... I don't know. I was going to..."

"You were going to kill the Torrino boy like we planned." Her voice was accented, Russian maybe. "Remember?"

She walked up to Viktor and whispered something in his ear. Whatever she said broke our control over him.

His eyes cleared. His gun snapped back up to point at Alex.

"Who is that woman?" I asked.

"Trouble," Grandma said grimly. "Natasha Volkov. The Russians' best assassin. And she's immune to your gift."

"How is that possible?"

"Some people are. Usually other people with gifts of their own."

Natasha looked directly at us across the distance. Even from far away, I could see her smile.

"She knows we're here," Ian said.

"Of course she does. This whole thing was a trap. For Alex, for you, for all of us."

"Then why did we walk into it?"

"Because sometimes you have to spring a trap to find out who set it."

Natasha was walking toward Alex now. She moved with deadly grace, like a cat stalking prey.

"Viktor, lower your weapon," she said. "I'll handle this personally."

Viktor stepped back. Natasha stood in front of Alex, so close they were almost touching.

She said something to him that made him tense up.

"What is she doing?"

"Probably offering him a deal. His life for yours."

My heart stopped. "Would he take it?"

"What do you think?"

I watched Alex shake his head firmly. Whatever Natasha had offered, he'd refused.

She laughed and moved even closer to him.

Too close.

A hot, burning feeling filled my chest. Jealousy. Pure, ugly jealousy at watching another woman stand so close to Alex.

"Interesting," Grandma said. "Your emotions are getting stronger."

"I don't like her touching him."

"Good. Use that feeling."

"To do what?"

"To make her stop."

I focused on Natasha, pouring all my jealousy and anger toward her.

But nothing happened.

"She really is immune."

"To your mental influence, yes. But not to other things."

"What other things?"

Grandma smiled coldly. "Physical things. Natasha may be immune to mind control, but she's not immune to bullets."

She pulled out a gun and handed it to me.

"Kill her."

"What? No!"

"She's going to kill Alex. And then she's going to kill you and Ian. This is self-defense."

"I'm not a killer!"

"You will be if you want to survive in this world."

Ian squeezed my hand. "Iris, maybe she's right. Maybe we don't have a choice."

I looked at the gun. Then at Alex, still standing calmly despite the danger.

Then at Natasha, who was pulling something from her jacket.

A knife.

She pressed it against Alex's throat.

"No!"

Without thinking, I raised the gun and aimed at Natasha.

But before I could pull the trigger, something impossible happened.

Alex disappeared.

Not walked away. Not ran away. Disappeared.

Like he'd never been there at all.

Natasha spun around, confused. Viktor cursed in Russian.

"Where did he go?" I whispered.

"Nowhere," said a new voice behind us.

We turned around.

Alex was standing there, completely unharmed.

"How is that possible?"

"Because," Alex said, walking toward us, "none of this was real."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you've been watching a hologram for the last ten minutes. The real mansion isn't on fire. Viktor and Natasha aren't here. None of it was real."

Grandma's face went pale. "That's impossible."

"Is it? You're not the only one with technology, old woman."

Alex pulled out a small device. "Holographic projectors. Very expensive. Very convincing. Especially when people are emotionally compromised."

"But we saw you. We felt the connection when we used our gift."

"You felt what I wanted you to feel. What we needed you to feel to make this work."

"We?"

Dad stepped out from behind a tree, gun drawn. Then Elena, limping but alive. Then Marcus, with his arm in a sling.

"Hello, Mother," Dad said to Grandma. "Surprised to see us?"

Grandma's men started reaching for their weapons.

"I wouldn't," Elena said. "FBI snipers have you surrounded."

Red laser dots appeared on each of the men's chests.

"This is impossible," Grandma said. "I planned everything. I controlled everything."

"You controlled what we let you control," Dad said. "Did you really think we didn't know about your little resurrection? About your army of gifted individuals?"

"How?"

"Because Elena never really broke under torture. She fed your people false information for three days while we planned this."

I looked at Elena. "You let them hurt you on purpose?"

"To sell the story, yes. To make your grandmother think she was winning."

My head was spinning. "So none of this was real?"

"The burning mansion was fake," Alex said. "But everything else was real. Your gift is real. Your grandmother's plans are real. The danger is real."

"Then what happens now?"

Before anyone could answer, Grandma started laughing.

Not a happy laugh. A crazy, broken laugh.

"You think you've won? You think this changes anything?"

"It's over, Mother," Dad said.

"Is it? Did you really think I'd come here without insurance?"

She pulled out her phone and showed us the screen.

It was a live video feed of the real Kane Manor.

And there, tied to chairs in what looked like the main hall, were two people I recognized.

Ian's face went white. "Those are our cousins. From Ireland."

"Emma and Liam Kane," Grandma confirmed. "Ages fifteen and sixteen. They have the gift too, just like you."

"Let them go."

"I don't think so. You see, children, you were never the only options. The Kane bloodline is big, and there are others who can serve my purposes just as well."

She pressed a button on her phone.

"I just sent coordinates to my remaining followers. They have thirty minutes to get to the real mansion and collect Emma and Liam."

"We'll stop them."

"How? It would take you forty-five minutes to get there, even with no traffic. By the time you arrive, my people will be gone."

Dad raised his gun. "Call them off."

"Or what? You'll shoot your own mother?"

"If I have to."

"Go ahead. Shoot me. But when I die, my followers have orders to kill the Irish cousins immediately."

It was a perfect trap. We couldn't let her go, but we couldn't stop her either.

"There is one option," Grandma said sweetly.

"What?"

"Iris and Ian come with me voluntarily. Right now. And I'll call off the attack on their cousins."

"Absolutely not," Alex said.

"It's not your choice, Alessandro. It's theirs."

She was right. We had to choose between our freedom and our family's lives.

Ian looked at me. "What do we do?"

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed with a text message.

From an unknown number.

I read it and felt my blood turn to ice.

"Iris?" Alex asked. "What is it?"

I showed him the message.

It said: "The cousins are already dead. Your grandmother is lying. But if you want to save the rest of your family, come to the old cemetery on Fifth Street. Alone. You have one hour. - N"

"Who sent this?"

But I already knew.

Because I'd seen that handwriting before.

In birthday cards and Christmas letters.

In notes left on my pillow when I was sick.

In the diary I'd found hidden in Elena's closet years ago.

"Natasha," I whispered.

"The Russian assassin?" Dad asked.

"No." I looked up at everyone's confused faces. "My sister."