Why is that so familiar?
I finally hear the door shut and rip off the bag in time to hear the lock click into place. Squinting, I try to take in the room. It’s large, with a comfortable bed, a couple of wingback chairs, and a table piled high with books. There are big windows, but my heart sinks when I realize they’re covered in metal shutters.
Rubbing my hands on my wrinkled work pants, I wander around the room, finding two more doors. One leads to a bathroom, it’s simple and utilitarian, but it’s clean and there are fresh blue towels and a shower. The other door opens up into a closet. My heart sinks as I view the tidy rows of clothes; dresses, skirts, pants, and coats. The built-in bureau is filled with workout gear and comfy lounging clothes. This isn’t a good sign. These are all new and in my size. Is my captor planning on keeping me here for a while?
I pull open the top drawer to see stacks of expensive-looking lingerie. Tentatively lifting out one bodysuit, I grimace. It’s black, sheer, and looks like it would ride up my ass the minute I put it on. My blood runs cold. Is that skull-faced bastard expecting toseeme in this stuff?
Slamming the drawer shut, I try to ignore the implications of the piles of silk and lace.
Cameras. He certainly knew how to put them in and dismantle them. Are there cameras in the room? Is he looking at me right now?
Exhausted, I sit on the bed and bury my face in my hands. I don’t know where Inessa is. I can’t believe that Uncle Rurik will lift a finger to help us. I don’t know what happens next.
When the door opens, I bolt upright, sleepily trying to focus. He’s still wearing his skull balaclava and he drops a tray of food on the table next to the doorway. “You didn’t find the clothes?” he rumbles.
“I’m not wearing that shitty lingerie for you,” I snap. His hugely wide chest moves, like he’s chuckling. God, all of him is gigantic. His head almost brushes the top of the doorway and unless that black tactical suit has a lot of padding, he’s heavily muscled.
“The least of my concerns,” he says, turning to go. “Eat. Clean up.”
“Wait!” His hand stills on the doorknob. “Did my uncle respond? Is Inessa okay?”
He leaves, locking the door behind him.
I’d like to say that I’m in the same spot when he comes back, disdaining his food and his shower and his shitty lingerie, but… I wasstarving, and the tray held steaming cabbage soup andpelmeni- glorious dumplings filled with lamb and a little dish of pickles to go with the soup. I attacked that dinner like a starving pigeon fighting for a stale French fry, and I am not ashamed.
After a blissful shower, I found some semi-decent cotton underwear, then dressed in a pair of leggings and the biggest sweater I could find.
His head tilts, the blank face of his skull mask showing nothing, but I can feel his gaze on me. “You look better.” He takes an elaborate sniff. “You smell better.”
There’s something about his tone, even muffled by the mask, it’s familiar… Opening the laptop he has tucked under his arm, he nods at the table. “Sit down.” He places a video call and I rub my sweaty hands on my leggings.
The first screen that pops up shows Inessa. She looks scared but fine.
“Can she see me?” I ask anxiously. “Can I talk to her?”
He shakes his head, moving to stand behind me. The next screen that opens shows my uncle, sitting behind my father’s desk and looking seconds away from exploding with rage and futility. The last person on the call shows up, splitting the screen into thirds.
It’s Anatoly, Pakhan of the Turgenev Bratva.
All my hope escapes like a popped balloon. Uncle Rurik tried to screw over theTurgenevs?
We’re gonna die.
“Now that we’re all here,” Anatoly purrs, “we’ll commit to our new arrangement with the Dubrovin Bratva.”
My uncle makes a small choking sound.
“Does the Dubrovin Bratva admit to its criminal actions against another family of the Six?” Anatoly asks.
“We do,” Uncle Rurik grinds out. His face looks almost purple with fury.
“Very well,” Anatoly, on the other hand, couldn’t look happier. It’s an expression I’ve never seen on his face and it’s a little horrifying. “Moving on to recompense for the eighty lost lives and the millions of dollars of ammunition…”
Oh, sweet Mother Mary, how could my uncle be so stupid?
Inessa opens her mouth, but someone behind her tells her to be quiet.
“The Dubrovin Bratva will return the stolen arms shipments,” Anatoly leans back, steepling his fingers. “They will pay for the continued support for the families of the murdered men.”
