I swallow hard, tucking the phone under my pillow. “Thank you, Elena. For the phone. For telling me all this.”
“I’m not doing it just for you.” She moves toward the door. “I’m doing it because I think you might be the only person who can reach him. Who can remind him he’s still human.” She pauses with her hand on the doorknob. “He cares about you, Sophia. More than he wants to admit. I see it in the way he looks at you when you’re not watching. The way he touches you. Like you’re something precious he’s terrified of breaking.”
“He has a funny way of showing it,” I mutter.
“Men like Mr. Artyomov don’t know how to show love without violence. It’s all they’ve ever known.” Elena opens the door then glances back at me. “But maybe you can teach him differently.”
After she leaves, I sit in silence, turning the phone over in my hands. I should call Melinda right now. Tell her I’m alive, that I need help. But Elena’s words echo in my mind.
Be careful who you trust.
I hide the phone in the bottom of a drawer, beneath clothes I’ll probably never wear.
Then I force myself to eat the breakfast Elena brought, even though my stomach churns with anxiety.
The day passes slowly.
I wander the mansion like a ghost, always aware of the guards watching me.
Marco shadows me, his dark eyes tracking my every movement. I try to act normal, whatever that means in this twisted situation.
By evening, I’m exhausted from the constant vigilance.
I return to the bedroom and find Elena preparing the bed.
“Mr. Artyomov will be late tonight,” she says. “Business in the city.”
Relief and disappointment war in my chest.
I’m not ready to face him after last night, but part of me craves his presence.
God, what is wrong with me?
Elena finishes with the bed and moves toward the door.
Then she stops, her hand on the frame.
She glances behind her, checking the hallway, before closing the door softly.
“There’s something you should know,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She looks nervous, more nervous than I’ve seen her all day.
“What is it?”
Elena crosses back to me, her blue eyes intense. “About your father’s death. About what really happened.”
My heart starts to pound. “Mikhail showed me the photos. He tortured him. Executed him.”
“Yes, but…” Elena glances at the door again, as if expecting someone to burst through at any moment. “There’s something about your father’s death that Mikhail doesn’t know. Something that could change everything.”
8
MIKHAIL
The salt air burns my lungs as I step out of the SUV, my boots hitting the wet concrete of the docks.
It’s three in the morning, and the fog rolling off the water is thick enough to cut with a knife.
Perfect conditions for moving product.
