Viktor had been trying to fight my battles since the day I was born. Long before I ever set foot in a schoolyard, I got tough fighting him for the freedom to protect myself.
I knew what I needed to ask Viktor today.
Professionally, I was heading into one of the biggest fights of my life.
It wasn’t his fight and I needed him to stay on the sidelines.
I knew he’d want to step in, but that wasn’t something I could allow. Today was about mediating risk and about keeping my past from bleeding into my present.
Containment was the key.
I had this situation completely under control.
Part One
THE LIE
CHAPTER ONE
Moscow, Russia - A month earlier, June
MILA
It wasthe middle of June, but the wind cut through the thin fabric of my jacket as I crossed the white gravel driveway to get in the waiting car. I slid into the back seat while my Aunt Lena trailed behind me, talking rapidly on the phone. Whenever she was upset about something, she slipped into a dialect so far from standard Russian I could only catch a few words.
From the back seat, I caught sight of the driver’s dark hair. I recognized him as one of the men who worked for my uncle and had on occasion been driven by him before, but I had never once spoken to him.
“What’s your name?” I said slowly in Russian.
He turned his head toward me, showing me an angular jawline and stormy gray eyes fringed with dark lashes. His beauty was rugged and dangerously masculine. “Axel.”
A blast of cool air washed over my legs as my aunt opened the door. She tossed her Hermès bag toward me as she climbed in, before ending the call abruptly. I knew enough of my aunt toknow that when she started throwing things around, it was best not to antagonize her.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as she dug through her purse, muttering under her breath, leaking her emotions with each angry movement. I was in for a long evening. My aunt rarely missed a chance to passively ignore me before unleashing all her building grievances.
“Where are we going?” I asked in a neutral tone. Forty minutes earlier, she had told me to get dressed for a business dinner and to be in the car by the hour.
As if she had been waiting for me to speak, she paused dramatically and turned to me. “You’re not going anywhere. I was running late, and I needed to talk to you.”
My aunt did stuff like that all the time. She would demand I get ready for events she never let me attend. I ignored the entitlement of her behavior, because it meant I was exempt from dinner and would have to endure her only for the length of the drive.
I worked to keep my expression neutral. “What do you want to talk about?”
Her cold gaze flicked over me. “I want to talk to you about Canada.”
I avoided her eyes, mentally crossed my fingers and hoped that she was about to tell me that my time in Russia had finally come to an end.
After my parents passed away when I was seventeen, I had moved from Canada to live with my Aunt Lena and Uncle Grisha, on their sprawling estate just outside Moscow. When I turned nineteen, I started actively campaigning to move back to Canada on my own, but my uncle remained unconvinced. “How do you plan on supporting yourself over there? You didn’t even finish your education. You wouldn’t survive a week there on your own.”
I didn’t speak Russian fluently enough to get a job where we lived, and I didn’t even have a copy of my passport, let alone the money to fly back to Canada. My uncle and aunt provided me with everything I needed, including clothes, books, makeup, shoes and designer bags, but they were careful never to give me cash. Once, when I’d offered to babysit a neighbor’s child for a small fee, they’d immediately shut it down.
I had thoughts of going to the police, but I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without a driver, usually someone grumpy who made it his mission to remain within two feet of me in public. Lena had also warned me repeatedly that the head of the police force came to our Christmas gala every year with his family.
They were breaking the law by holding me against my will, but none of us said that out loud. We were all playing nice and pretending that I was part of the family.
I didn’t rock the boat. I acted grateful and thanked them when they lavished me with gifts, even though the only thing I wanted was my freedom. I think I was afraid to truly fight the hand that fed me because I wasn’t sure what would happen to me if we all stopped pretending.
“What about Canada?” I prodded lightly, watching her expression.
