She could stew on that. She could think whatever she wanted of me. I was no whore. I was not a plaything for her father. The implication that Mikhail had many lovers shouldn’t have bothered me, but as one day turned into two, then three, and four, I despised how much time I spent on wondering if that was factual. If he had many women here. If he was a player and slept with whomever he pleased.
He didn’t approach me, only watching from a distance when he was in the building. He never seduced me, tracking my everymovement when we ate meals together in silence. My tongue burned with the need to ask him what was going on, if I could go, and what would happen to me after I took off.
He wasn’t here often, and I saw no evidence of any woman coming to visit him. In my downtime, I read. I relaxed. I napped and tried to be idle.
It was no use, though, and I began researching more about the mission I hoped to take off for. I searched for jobs, eager to get out of this city.
Being idle wasn’t who I was. My curiosity and need to explore and see what else was out there remained constant, though.
Seeking out Mikhail’s daughter, to have someone to speak with, I meandered too far toward the back of the house one evening.
Too far into the nefarious world of Mafia men.
After pushing a door open and assuming I’d end up somewhere near the kitchen, where the house staff prepared meals, I stopped short at the sight before me.
A man was on his knees. Red-faced, his hands cuffed behind him, and his hair gripped by an Orlov guard, the captured man gritted his teeth as a hot brand from the stove was pushed into his flesh.
Oh, fuck.
Oh, fuck!
I stumbled backward, shocked by what sounded and looked like a torturing session. Accusations about being a traitor fell upon my deaf ears. Retreating so I could spare myself the sight of such a horror, such a crime, I could only hear the drone of my pulseloud in my ears. I could only feel the rapid hit of oxygen I sucked in.
This wasn’t right.
This wasn’t the way the world was supposed to be.
It was ingrained in my soul, in my head and heart, to be the savior, tohelpothers in pain, not to watch others cause such misery and injury.
I blinked quickly, so stunned at walking in on this scene.
My elbow swung back, pushing into the swinging door. Every step I placed behind the last one was shaky. Like I was walking on uneven terrain, not a smooth, polished floor.
Dizziness swarmed in my head. I panted, finding it so hard to breathe.
As I fell backward, uncharacteristically weak with this urge to faint, I swallowed hard and rested against the strong arms of whoever’d happened to be near to catch me.
“Claire.”
I closed my eyes athisvoice. At Mikhail. He was there, holding me up so I wouldn’t fall to the floor. He was with me, bracing me against him.
“It will be all right,” he said, his gruff voice hard but oddly soothing.
Like the juxtaposition he’d been since I met him, this confusing oxymoron of being a horrible man at the same time he was a decent hero, I cringed.
How could I have fallen from what was once so real and normal to seek comfort from someone like him?
13
MIKHAIL
Iwalked Claire out of the room, scowling at how I’d found her so frightened again.
It hadn’t been easy this week, knowing she was here within my reach, yet so aloof and afar. Her dislike of who I was wasn’t something I could fail to notice. I felt her ire and frustration in the tension stringing between us. I saw her instant irritation at having to be in a crime lord’s home.
But there was no changing that. She was right. We were from two different worlds. I still couldn’t talk myself out of keeping her in mine for a little longer.
“It will be all right,” I told her, guiding her from this hallway and back toward the front of the building.
