Although his housekeeper has dutifully left my meals just inside the door.
I’ve spent the time cataloging every inch of this room. Tested the window locks (reinforced, likely alarmed). Examined the chain for weak points (none I could exploit without tools). Searched every drawer and cabinet for anything useful (luxury toiletries, expensive linens, nothing sharp or heavy enough to be a weapon).
Mostly, I’ve been trying not to think about what happens from here. Eventually, Kirill will drag the truth out of me, oneway or another. He’s already drugged me. Tied me up. Stripped me down and interrogated me. He’s not above doing whatever it takes to get what he wants.
If Kirill discovers I’m Dinara Potapova, I’m a dead woman. A Belov Syndicate hacker showing up in New York the exact moment his family comes under attack? It’s all too convenient. I couldn’t blame him.
I reach forward and twist the hot tap, watching fresh steam rise as the temperature climbs again.
But he also carried me to bed when I was unconscious. Covered me with a blanket. Cooked me breakfast and made sure I ate every bite.
The contradictions make my head hurt. I’m his captive but I’m soaking in his bathtub, using his stupidly expensive bath products, replaying the way his thumb felt dragging across my bottom lip.
I sink under the water, letting it close over my head. Everything goes muffled and distant, just the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears.
When I open my eyes, Kirill is standing over the tub watching me. I jerk upright, water sloshing over the rim, hands instinctively crossing over my chest even though he’s seen it all.
“Ever heard of knocking?” I snap. Even captives deserve some privacy.
“Morning, solnyshko. Enjoying the tub?” His gaze darkens, dragging from my face down to where bubbles cling to the top of my breasts.
“Oh yeah, it’s fantastic. Really living the dream here.” I sink lower into the water, pulling my knees up.
“Very funny. I like that about you.” He crouches down, bringing us to eye level. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
His fingers wrap around my ankle hanging over the edge of the tub. I squirm as his thumb strokes the inside of it, just above where the metal bites into skin.
“What do you want?” I wheeze, to distract from his effect on me.
Instead of answering, he crosses to the door and opens it.
A middle-aged woman in an elegant black suit holds out a massive white garment bag. Kirill takes it, murmurs something to her, and closes the door. He turns back toward me, unzipping the bag in one slow pull as he crosses the room, and holds it open. Something white and delicate peeks through the partially open zipper.
A wedding dress.
A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. “What is this? Some kind of joke?”
Kirill’s expression doesn’t change. Doesn’t crack into a smile or show any hint he finds this funny.
I grow serious. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to understand it. But we’re getting married today. I’ve already made the arrangements.”
“Why?” I sit up, water streaming off my shoulders. “Why marriage?”
“I have my reasons,” he says.
I notch up my chin. “I refuse.”
He lets out a low, dark chuckle that fills the entire bathroom. “I think you know that’s not an option.”
A knot forms behind my sternum. He’s right. I have no leverage, no way out, no card to play. I’m stuck.
But … He doesn’t know my true identity. He thinks he’s marrying Evelina Panova. Her name will be on the marriage contract. Without my legal name, our marriage won’t be binding.
And being his wife could mean access to his world, his people, his resources. Freedom to ask questions without raising suspicion. Proximity to the answers I’ve been hunting since I arrived in New York.
I’ll wear his ring. Say the vows. Play the obedient bride. And the second I find out what happened to my mother, Evelina Panova disappears and Kirill Baronov wakes up alone.
