The stink of fuel seems to have made them greasy too, as though they’re absorbing the fumes out of the air.
You’d think the sea air would be fresh, but no. The port district is filled with hazy, suffocating fumes.
I didn’t expect the sea to be so murky and impenetrable. I’ve always imagined it to be aqua blue, like a swimming pool.
I roll my window back up and slide down low in the back seat, wanting to melt into thin air but unable to tear my eyes away from the bustling commotion out the window.
The men are speaking Russian but it’s not a form of Russian I’ve ever heard. Half the words are foreign to me, different dialects and slang thrown around. I don’t know what they’re saying but it sounds vulgar.
This is New York, where I’ve lived my whole life, but itmight as well be a different continent. Half of me wishes I could go back to the start of this day and not say anything about Anton. Then I could be in a comfortable bed right now, near my family, instead of halfway across the city.
Aleksandr catches my eye with his cold gaze. The calculating tension on his face makes him seem like an entirely different person. I wonder how much of that was an act. It’s clear he never planned to let me marry Anton. Even if I hadn’t used the information he provided, he’d brought men. He would have taken me by force.
He follows my eyes to the men going about their work.
“You’re safe here.”
It’s the only indication he’s given that he’s aware I have emotions.
“You’re safewith me. This is my territory.”
No, it’s not. This isourterritory.I roll my eyes instead of saying what I’m thinking.
I know the map of the city, how it divides up along family lines, even if I’ve never seen it for myself. The Zhukov name is nowhere on those lists.
The hubris of this man, that he thinks he has his own territory.
I suppose he will have territory, now. My family’s territory will go to him. Unless my parents make good on their promise to rescue me.
I pray that they do.
Aleksandr parks outside what appears to be a rusted warehouse which could fall into the sea at any moment and nods at me. His mouth twists into a smirk as he sees the look on my face.
He strides silently ahead of me into the warehouse, rolling his shoulders as he enters the door as if he’s shrugging off the day. He doesn’t hold the door open for me. He rolls his eyes when my stiletto gets stuck in the grate of the metal stairs and grudgingly offers me a hand to help me. We have to walk up four flights of clanging metal stairs to reach his loft.
With each step, my heart sinks a little further in my stomach. I clutch Dasha’s crate closer to my chest.“Almost there,malyshka,” I promise her as she mewls at the loud, echoing space.
At the door of the loft, Aleksandr pauses and turns to me, as if daring me to complain.
“Not up to your standards, princess?”
I walk inside expecting nothing more than a mattress in the center of an unfurnished room. In fact, it’s not as bad as I expected. I breathe a sigh of relief at the fact that there are multiple rooms. The place doesn’t seem as likely to collapse from the inside.
I force a smile. “It’s…enterprising.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Don’t hold back. I can handle your interior design advice.”
“Well, it could do with some more color. And furniture.”
The warehouse loft is surprisingly spacious, but the opposite of cozy. The kitchen is luxurious, with granite countertops, but the rest of the space is sparsely furnished and industrial. There aren’t even drapes on the windows. Every surface is hard and gleaming, the floors polished concrete. The black leather sectional couch is the only thing that looks remotely comfortable.
The windows looking over the port are stunning, with afloor-to-ceiling view of the ocean. The view almost makes the precarious walk upstairs worth it.
I let Dasha out and she arches her back. She hisses at Aleksandr before she darts away into the shadows, clearly unhappy with her journey in the crate.
I wince, searching his face for a reaction. “She doesn’t really like men.” His face is unreadable, but at least he doesn’t tell me to take her back to my parents’ home.
He nods his head up the stairs. “I’ll give you the tour.” Presumably he’s going to show me his bedroom, and the air gets a little thicker as I follow him, my throat tightening with nerves.
