6
ANIKA
The world around me closes in, shrinking until I can feel the walls pressing the air from my lungs.
I’m trapped—just like I was with Pyotr.
Only, at least with Pyotr, I knew his triggers and how to minimize the backlash.
I know nothing about this new monster.
I can’t predict what he’ll do next, and if I’ve learned one thing in my year as Pyotr’s wife, it’s to fear the unexpected.
Cold shivers rack my body as I stay pressed against the wall, staring at the door Michelangelo left through until I’ve lost track of how much time has passed.
I had one chance to get a way, one opportunity to escape this godforsaken life, and I blew it.
Devastation seeps through me, settling deep in my bones, and I let my back slide down the wall as I fold in on myself, collapsing to the floor.
I had one bid for freedom, and I blew it.
The tears come hot and fast now that I’m alone, and I bury my face in my knees, wrapping my arms around them as I sob.
I never dreamed there might be a fate worse than the one I’d already been given, but the thought of marrying the man who just reveled in the act of killing my husband in cold blood seems to top it.
Yes, I thought Michelangelo was charming and attractive that night I met him.
I can even admit that I’ve thought of him, off and on, through the trial of this past agonizing year of my marriage.
When I got lost inside the dark cavern of Pyotr’s anger, I would picture Michelangelo smiling down at me, my champagne wet on his suit jacket.
I could imagine that there was a man out there in the world who wouldn’t get angry at those kind of mistakes—who might even try to comfort me for making one.
But after watching the ruthless way Michelangelo fought, after hearing the hatred he has for the Novikovs, I know the truth of the matter.
He’s not marrying me because he cares about me—even if he says it’s to keep me safe from a worse fate.
He’s marrying me because my last name is Novikov, and he wants to crush that name into dust.
I’ll be nothing more than his toy to play with, the widow of his rival who he can continue to take revenge upon now that Pyotr’s dead.
He won’t treat me any more kindly than the last man who wanted to marry me.
Why would he?
I’m the wife of his sworn enemy—the man who killed his father.
I could hear it in the venom dripping from his words. Michelangelo Chiaroscuro is just another monster, come to bend me to his will.
I know it’s weak.
Pathetic.
But I can’t stop crying. I sob and sob, until I have no more tears to cry.
And when I finally wipe my face, I stay curled in my ball against the wall, watching the door, waiting for what comes next.
Because I know the dark truth of this world.
