🐍 anna72 🐍

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2:00am


"will he be okay?" i ask mother as we stare at dominic's unconscious body in his bed.

"we'll find out when he wakes up."

"i didn't mean to-"

"you did though anna. he's our best shot at taking soraya down. we need him on our side," she stresses to me.

"what about the kid?"

"how-"

"didn't you teach me everything i needed to know?" i smirk.

"i'm still working on her. she still thinks that soraya will come for her."

"it's been two months, you haven't broken her yet?"

"she is a different case. don't question my methods."

"i'm just saying mother. she's integral to us as well. we fail at dominic, we have the girl," i point out.

"anna, please," she sighs.

"let's say we lose both, then what?"

"anna!" she hisses. "stop it. you're irritating me."

i roll my eyes.

"it's a valid question. i want to be prepared for the worse," i say, crossing my arms over my chest.

"there will be no worse. shut up. go do something with yourself. i want to monitor him in peace."

i huff and walk away.

i walk out of the room and see borkov walking toward the elevator.

"hey! borkov!" i call after him, jogging up to him.

"yes anna?"

"can i meet her?"

"meet who?"

"the little girl mother kidnapped from soraya. can i see her?" i ask him.

"she's resting right now. did ann tell you about her?"

"no. i figured it out on my own," i grin, proud.

"you really are her daughter. blood or not," he says, eyebrows raised.

"so i've been told."

"so then you know you have to talk to your mother about that. i have no say over our extra guest."

"you have no say about anything huh?" i chuckle.

"funny. go and do something with yourself," he dismisses and turns to the elevator as it opens.

"you both are one in the same," i tell him, as he enters.

i turn around.

this is bullshit.

my fun is gone now.

no dominic.

just boredom.

maybe i shouldn't have said anything to mother.

he could've been fine.

"you ruined dominic," chin spits at me, walking past me into the elevator.

i frown.

"dominic was already ruined!" i yell at him, and cross my arms across my chest.

𝖆𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖒 | d.f. | book twoWhere stories live. Discover now