“I am,” I agree, swiping away a tendril of my blond hair that got loose from my messy bun. I then eye up the tray in Yana’s hands, and feel my stomach churn hungrily. My cheeks flush when I realize I already forgot Kirills directive to not skip over breakfast.
“Is that for me?” I ask, putting down my sanding block.
Yana nods.
“Kirill assumed that in all your excitement you would have forgotten your breakfast, so he wanted me to deliver this to you,” Yana explains.
She sits the tray down on my nearby work table and lifts the lid. The scent of blinis and berry compote instantly fill the air, and my mouth waters as I pull off my gloves and walk toward the meal.
“I was also informed that my presence was a bit overwhelming for you yesterday,” Yana goes on. “I wanted to apologize, and in the future, I will try to give you more space. But you mustunderstand. You are my priority now, and I will not fail thePakhan.”
I swallow the large mouthful of blinis and compote I just inhaled, and take a moment to take in my body guard. Yana’s face is void of any emotion, but the sincerity in her professional tone is not missed.
“You’re right,” I say after a while. “Yesterday was overwhelming. But it wasn’t just you. It was everything. It was just…too much to take in all at once. What do you say we start over fresh? You forget that I acted like a spoiled brat, and I’ll forget that you saw me naked.”
A clear, concise laugh pours from Yana’s lips, and she nods.
“Sounds good. And in the future, I will wait for you in the hallway. Not in the chair by your bed.”
“That isverymuch appreciated,” I reply, then let out a laugh of my own.
“And I will also give you space to work,” Yana says, taking a step back, “I’m not a creative person myself, but I understand that people such as yourself prefer to create in privacy. I will guard you from the hallway unless you need to be on a ladder, as Kirill instructed.”
“Thank you,” I reply, feeling her body relax even more. “I’ll call you back in when I need to climb.”
Yana gives another short, affirmative nod, then leaves me. Alone once again, I make quick work of my breakfast, even take the large prenatal supplement that came along with the meal, and after draining my glass of orange juice, I pull my mask back up, hit play on my music app, and happily get back to work.
Chapter Eighteen
Kirill
One week later
“Ty ne mozhesh' byt' takim glupym,”I say. I accept a rag from Edik, and begin to clean the man’s blood off of my brass knuckles. They’re slick. Messy.
“I told you,” the man groans, hanging heavily from his chained wrists, “I don’t even speak Russian!”
“He said you cannot possibly be this stupid,” Edik translates, leaning casually against the basement wall.
The man lets out a pathetic whimper as he hangs his head, blood from his busted lips spattering softly against the cement floor. We’ve been at this for a week now. Punching. Bleeding. Crying. And we have little show for the trouble.
“It was a job,” he wails. “Just another job! It wasn’t personal! I’ve told you everything I know already so just stop, please just stop!”
The man bursts into tears and pathetic sobs, and I grimace. I hate this type of weakness in men. It sickens me. I give Edik a nod, and he pulls out the syringe. I watch, the wheels of my mind spinning as Edik slides the needle into the man’s neck and pushes the plunger down. The man lets out another terrified sob before he promptly loses consciousness and sags into his chains. It’s just a tranquilizer, enough to knock the man out for a few hours.
“Should I get the boys to dump him?” Edik asks.
“Not yet,” I reply. “Have them get him down, bring him some food and water, some antibiotics for his wounds. We’ll come back in a couple days and try one more time.”
“I don’t think he has any more information to give us,Pakhan,”Edik replies. Still, as we step out of the basement he gives the orders to two of our guards.
“You heard what he said,” Edik went on as we get into the town car. “The way he described the guy that paid him. Sounds an awful lot like Yulian.”
I give a terse nod. It’s what my mind has been stuck on more than anything. Yulian could have used the marriage as a cover. And if that is truly what happened, that meant that Annika was in on it. It has me questioning everything. Did those men push me toward the club she was coming out of? Did she always mean to lure me into the Four Seasons? Get pregnant with my baby?
My body hardens with tension as I think it over, the sense of betrayal far greater and more intense than I would ever imagine it. I thought there was something between us. Maybe not love, but certainly something greater than lust. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe my siren wife is simply an excellent actress.
“It could be a set up,” I say at last.
