The guard nods his approval at my changed appearance, then navigates through the labyrinthine mansion until he deposits me in a cosy study. A warm fire provides a comforting glow while soft lighting illuminates the leather sofa and matching chairs.
“Please take a seat,” he instructs me, bobbing backwards towards the exit. “Mr Balabanov will be with you shortly.”
“Who?” I ask, startled, but he’s already closed the door.
I don’t sit. I clutch the front of my dress and stare at the ground, swamped with fear.
Balabanov. The same surname as a leader in the syndicate. The largest organised crime outfit in the country.
I’ve heard it a hundred times before on the news. Accompanied by words such as ruthless, savage, brutal, wicked. A man utterly lacking in morals.
I try to swallow but all the spit has dried to a claggy film in my mouth.
I should run. They won’t care enough to follow me. My car’s probably still sitting on the other side of the gate. The safe side.
But footsteps sound outside the door. I’m already too late.
CHAPTERFIVE
ISABELLE
I must look ridiculous when Balabanov walks into the study. With nowhere else to go, I’m pressed against the wall, try to make myself smaller. Close enough to the fire that my skin puckers in the heat.
There have been moments of pure terror already tonight. Seconds where my life would have flashed in front of my eyes if there’d been anything worth seeing. But they were quick slashes of time, there and gone without a thought.
Nothing like the slow dread that settles over me now.
He scans me from head to toe, taking his sweet time about it while my body feels about ready to leap out of its skin. “Someone introduced me, did they?” he asks, moving to a sidetable and pouring out a finger of scotch. “Drink?”
“Got something stronger?”
He casts a quick glance over his shoulder, eyes catching the flickering light from the fire so they appear to glow. Pouring double the amount into a fresh glass, he raises an eyebrow. “Will that do?”
I nod, moving away from the wall. He waves me into a leather chair, the arms worn to a shiny patina, and places the glass into my hand.
Usually, I have manners but tonight my nerves are shot. I gulp down half the contents, wait until the fire in my throat subsides a little, then drain the rest.
With a smirk, he walks back to the sidetable and picks up the decanter, setting it on a table between us as he takes his seat. “Help yourself.”
My logical mind insists that getting drunk inside the enormous mansion with the scary dude isn’t the best course of action, but the rest of my brain is already pleased with the effects and vetoes the suggestion. As a concession, when I pour another two fingers into the glass, I force myself to sip.
“Lovely.” It is. On the few occasions I drink at home, I enjoy whatever scotch is on special at the local liquor store. But this has a mouth feel that’s out of this world. When I hold it on my tongue and inhale over it, the flavours are incredible. Deep, mellow. Some other words like that which I can’t remember right now because the first lot of alcohol has hit with a wallop.
“Why’re you limping?”
I twist in my chair so I can display my ankle in all its swollen glory. The shoes he or his staff provided have low heels, thank goodness. I don’t think I’d fare too well with anything else. “I strained it earlier tonight.”
He winces and I shrug, the pain receding farther and farther into my memory with each passing sip. “It’s an old injury. Barely feel it any longer.”
Balabanov shifts in his chair, raising his head slightly towards the ceiling. “There’s a doctor in with my daughter right now. She’ll examine you once she’s done.”
I don’t want to think what a doctor might find wrong with a child who spent at least part of today abducted and in the company of men whose morals are slanted at best. My hand grips the glass tighter.
“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. I really… I should go.”
“As I’ve already told you, you’re staying tonight.” He inclines his head towards my glass. “There’s no way you can drive after that, even if your car still works.”
“I can call an Uber,” I say, a moment before realising I can’t because he took my phone. “If you give me my mobile back.”
