Twenty One

Twenty One

Amy didn't answer, her chest rising and falling. She tried and failed to stop herself from shaking, Mikhail's piercing eyes making it unable to breathe properly.

And no matter what, she couldn't unsee the dark look in his eyes when he nearly kissed her. He would have done anything at that moment, she thought, and she wouldn't have been able to stop him.

"I'm going to need an answer, mílaya," Mikhail repeated now, his tone deadly calm, staring down at her with a anger she knew wasn't directed at her, but it made her tremble with fear all the same.

"F... four days," Amy muttered, shutting her eyes.

Mikhail stared at her for a second, her eyes closed like she couldn't bear to look at him, the slight tremble, the way she pressed herself to the wardrobe, like she wished she could disappear into it.

He tightened his fist, struggling with the urge to comfort her, to pull her into the hug she desperately needed, but how could he? He was clearly the monster in her dreams.

She felt Mikhail step back from her, feeling like she could finally breathe again. Her eyes snapped open, finding him immediately. There was something close to remorse in the way he hid his hands in his pocket, looking away.

This time, the silence lingered longer in the air. He shifted on his feet, unable to look at her. Then, "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked finally.

"Why didn't I tell you?" Amy let out a dry laugh, stepping away from him, creating more distance between them. "Maybe it's because I don't trust you. Maybe it's because you haven't given me any reason to!" Her voice rose as she spoke, eyes flashing with a rare fire as she reached for the door.

"Maybe it's because you're more scary than any other person that might be watching me..."

"Amy," Mikhail began, stepping closer, his voice constricting.

"It's true!" She cut in, her words stopping him in his tracks. "Maybe it's because you're more concerned with owning me than you'll ever really care." She walked out, hiding the tears in her eyes, slamming the door shut behind her.

Mikhail stood alone in the room, his hands falling at either sides of him. He heard the door to a spare room open and shut, a lock clicking into place twice.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. He slipped the paper into his pocket, stepping out of the room.

Mikhail paused at the doorway, for the first time not knowing what to do. She had carried the threat for days, dealing with it alone, driving to her workplace and back, knowing that someone could jump out of the shadows at any moment.

She'd endured all that, living in constant fear just because she didn't trust him enough to go to him.

And yet, he knew he had no right to be upset, knowing fully well that his actions, especially tonight, did nothing but push her away.

"Amy..." Mikhail stopped in front of the locked door. He could hear movements from the other end. He placed a hand on the door, his forehead resting against the polished iron. "Amy, please."

There was no reply, but he heard the shuffling of feet draw nearer, small sobs coming from the other side.

"What do you want?" she asked, between tears, her voice rough.

He took a deep breath. "I haven't been honest with you either. Silver... he's in LA. I saw him, warned him to go away."

He paused. There was still no reply. But the tears had stopped, replaced with quickened breaths.

"He's looking for you," Mikhail said, confirming her worst fears.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, fragile in a way that made something break in him.

"Make him go away."

Mikhail stepped back from the door, his jaw clenched, the familiar burning that came with his line of work rushing through his veins.

He might not make Amy come to accept him overnight, but if removing Silver from the equation brought them closer to a semblance of communication, he was more than ready.

"Of course, mílaya. You won't have to see him ever again."

————

Silver paced back and forth the hotel room, his eyes glancing over to the phone sitting on the bed every two seconds, waiting for a text that never seemed to come.

He chewed on his fingers, every passing second making the atmosphere drop, the feeling that someone was watching him clawing at his back till the air felt dangerous to breathe.

"Come on, Viktor," he gritted his teeth, picking up the phone from the bed, glaring at the screen.

It had been two days.

Now either Viktor got bored, saw something shiny and forgot their deal, or he was playing an entirely different game.

Just then a message from an unknown number popped up on the screen.

He let out an exhale, nearly dropping his phone in relief, upon seeing the sender's signature.

It was a short message, no explanation for the two days of silence, just a straightforward command.

"Velvet chalice, 15 minutes. Bring a mask. ~ V."

Silver was out of the hotel immediately, stepping into the night that should have been dark except from the thousands of headlights that lined the streets of LA. He found a public transport, glancing over his shoulder ever so often.

An hour later, he stood in front of a bar at the outskirts of town, the Velvet Chalice as it was called. A high end five star event center and bar to the public.

Mafia property to people like him who had an idea how LA operated. Silver slipped on a golden mask, passing the bouncers at the entrance.

He made his way through the many bodies dancing on the floor of the masked party. Pulling out his phone, he was about to text Viktor back when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"This way," Viktor pulled up his mask, just enough for the other man to recognize him, before leading him up, all the way to the rooftop.

Viktor pulled open a chair for the other man, sitting across from him. On the table were two bottles of vodka and an unfinished game of chess.

Viktor waited till Silver had poured himself a drink, leaning back himself with his usual smile that didn't reach his eyes.