8
LILA
Day three of captivity, and I'm losing my mind.
Ivan left early this morning, muttering in Russian to Pyotr before disappearing into the elevator. That was six hours ago.
I press my forehead against the cool window glass, trying to reset my overheating brain.
Pyotr's by the elevator, as usual. Silent. Large. Definitely not leaving or offering an ounce of wiggle room to plot in.
Screw it. I need information, and he's the only source available.
"Does Ivan do this often?" I ask, not turning from the window. "Kidnap women?"
Silence.
"I'm talking to you," I say a little louder.
More silence.
I turn to face him. "I know you speak English. You ordered Chinese food yesterday."
His jaw tightens in the only acknowledgment that I exist.
"Come on. Just talk to me. I'm going insane in here."
Still nothing.
"Please."
He exhales like I'm a walking headache. "Boss says no talking to you."
Victory! It’s microscopic, but I'll take it.
"Why? What am I going to do, interrogate you about his criminal enterprise? I already know he's Bratva and kills people. What's the harm in a little conversation?"
"No talking."
"That's talking. You're literally talking right now."
His scowl deepens.
I push off the window, walking closer. Not too close—I'm not stupid—but close enough that he can't pretend I'm not here. "I'm going for a walk. Try to stop me."
"You won't."
"Watch me." I take a step toward the elevator.
He moves faster than someone his size should be able to, positioning himself between me and the doors. "You move, I stop. You scream, I stop. You die if you leave—Dmitri men everywhere."
"You don't know what's going on here, do you?" I cross my arms, painting on fake confidence. "The way he touches me? Pins me to walls? Calls me his 'conquest'? He'd have your head if you stopped me the way you're threatening to."
Pyotr's expression shifts. "Bullshit."
"Is it? You think this is normal behavior? Feeding me from his hand? Talking about making me watch him—" I cut myself off, face heating. "Whatever. The point is, you lay a hand on me, his woman, and Ivan will kill you."
Pyotr’s expression shifts—confusion, maybe. "His woman?"
