I shake my head, the thought of being trapped with those two psychopaths cooling my blood. Is Mikhail going to leave me with them? Is he selling me? Not that staying with him makes things better. He just feels more familiar.
A billion different thoughts flood my mind, each more twisted than the other. When you’re born into the mafia, you hear stories like mine—worse, actually. Women are used and abused, sold into slavery or killed in gruesome ways. Even if Mikhail said he’d be marrying me, there’s no telling what he’ll do to me until then. So, I step back, my survival instinct kicking in to protect me.
“You’ll be riding in the backseat next to me. I’m not leaving you alone,” he says, as if that’s supposed to convince me. “It’s the best you’ll get. Take it or leave it.”
“Leave it? And what exactly does that get me?” I frown.
“The trunk,Lastochka. I have no problem gagging you and locking you in there until we reach the airport. Either way, I’m taking you home with me.”
The idea of riding in the trunk sends a frisson of fear through my veins. It’s enough to make me enter the Bentley at last, but I make sure to show him my displeasure.
Home—he said he’s taking me home. I don’t know if I should believe him, but what reason would he have to lie? If he wanted to, he’d go through with his threat, and I’d be lying in that tight metal box, transported wherever he wants.
I settle into my seat, fidgeting with my thumb. A few minutes later, I watch in horror as Rodion starts my father’s car, lets it roll forward, and slips outside a mere second before it falls off the cliff.
12
Mikhail
Ishouldn’t have grabbed her from the edge of that cliff. Should’ve let her learn the hard way what happens when you stop paying attention to the world around you. But my hand was already on her waist before the wind pushed her closer to the drop. That’s the first thing she’s taken from me: control, even if only for a second.
I told myself it wouldn’t happen again, but here we fucking are, forty thousand feet in the air, about to land in Alemont City, and the fact that my friends had the privilege of seeing her naked legs makes me want to skin them alive.
It shouldn’t bother me—very few things tick me off these days—but it fucking did, and I’m growing impatient to lock this woman in my house where no one else can see her.
On the couch behind me on the jet, Cecilia has fallen asleep, curled up under my suit jacket. I’m surprised she kept it on this entire time, given her obvious resentment, but she’s about toland in the state of New York. In October. A far cry from the warm temperatures she’s used to.
“So what now?” Rodion asks from the seat in front of mine, sipping whiskey. “Wolfgang loses his shit tonight when he sees you, and then what?” He traces a pattern in the condensation of his glass, the same careful focus he gives his targets when he carves out their eyes.
Rodion is a Chesnokov—a crime family who helped build the bones of my father’s Bratva. I’ve known him for over twenty years, and he has yet to piss me off enough to want him dead.
“My brother might lose his shit, but only because I’ve blindsided him,” I say. “He’s too smart not to see the peace treaty with the Ferraras for what it is.”
“Why’d you do it, then? Blindside him. And more importantly, why the fuck did you not at least tell either of us about your plans? We could’ve been flying out your corpse now.”
I lean back in my chair, sneaking a quick glance at Cecilia. “Had my reasons.”
He quirks a brow, and it doesn’t surprise me. He and Niko are the only two people I’d trust with the full extent of my plans. We’re usually in each other’s orbit, cleaning each other’s messes. Our loyalty is practical, and I’ve walked through the fire more than once for them, as did they. This time, however, I went at it all on my own. The stupid fucking guilt that gnaws at me every day demanded it.
It wasn’t enough to give up my father’s throne after I took it from Wolfgang. It wasn’t enough to help him sort out his shit with his wife, Victoria. I needed to feel like I’m done owing him, to breathe without the past choking me.
“Fine, don’t tell me,” Rodion says. “But the next time you disappear, make sure your brother doesn’t go ballistic on us again.”
Just then, Niko comes out from behind a curtain. Quiet and reserved, like always, he plops down on a chair with his laptop, barely bothering to acknowledge us.
“Still tracking her?” I ask, knowing he’s got his hands full with this woman he likes to keep tabs on. She’s a mystery to all of us—we don’t even know her name. All we know is she’s been on his mind way too fucking much lately.
He ignores my question. “I’ll need one of you to come with me to The Hive next week.”
As expected, Rodion goes still, the only sign that he’s listening. A special someone working there as a honeypot keeps spitting in his face every time she sees him.
Pussy-whipped, both of them. How fucking annoying.
Niko, however, only goes to The Hive on business. His father—Oleg Ivanov—is anavtoritetin our Bratva, a rank that comes with certain expectations for the rest of their family. And Niko delivers. Even Rodion and I stopped trying to keep up.
“Do I even want to know why you’re going?” Rodion asks, leaning back in his chair.
Niko types something on his laptop, the glare of the screen reflecting off his sleep-deprived eyes. “I’ll tell you when you grow some balls and admit the only reason you want to come is to see your spy.”
