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He hovers near the door, and my confidence in my attack plan wavers. But beyond that flickering confidence is fear that grips my heart in a vice. I choke on panic and adrenaline as my flight-or-fight response kicks in, and I pull my arms back to chuck the lamp at Mikhail.
The cord snags and drags against the nightstand, unplugging from the wall. The long, black, traitorous electrical cord reveals my location the moment it slides across the floor toward me.
As Mikhail spins around to face me, the wicked gleam in his eye gives way to shock.
It’s too late.
The lamp smashes against his head, and I run.
Shoving past the dazed man, I trip over the half dozen paper bags on the floor. Expensive bags. Designer labels embossed in metallic golds and silvers gleam up at me as I stomp all over them in my frantic retreat.
“Valentina,” Mikhail fucking growls, “that wasn’t very nice.” A hand wraps around my wrist and pulls, and all of a sudden, the ground slides out from under me.
Two of the bags vault into the air as they slide out from under my feet, and as clothes start raining from the sky, I break free from Mikhail’s grasp and tumble out of the room and into the hallway.
I slam into the wall before I can catch myself. At my feet are a handful of clothes I must have dragged from the room in my haste, so I grab the closest one that looks like pants and start running.
“Valentina!” Mikhail roars from the bedroom.
I double-time it.
I wasn’t made to be an athlete. Big-boned girls like me don’t try out for track. It’s intentional—our boobs hurt when we run, and wearing two bras just to keep the girls stable is ridiculous.
But today, I don’t give a flying fuck about any of that. I run like my ass is on fire. Like I’ve got a psycho criminal on my tail. Like gravity’s not about to rip my fucking tits off.
The world rushes past me in blurs of color. Most of the estate is built from dark wood imported from some mountain climate where the oxygen levels do something to the wood to make it stronger. All this does is make it harder to distinguish where I am as I barrel through the halls, praying I don’t smash my face against thousand-dollar wood stain.
My father would kill me for smudging the walls.
The air rushes from my lungs, and I nearly trip.
My father.
If he knew what his men were doing to me, he’d be outraged. No one touches his only daughter. That’s why Ezra was assigned as my bodyguard in the first place—to make sure that everyone kept their hands to themselves.
Nothing Andrei, Ezra, or Mikhail have done follows protocol for how to treat a mafia princess. Their mafia princess.
My dad will be livid.
Breathing hard, I duck into the library to catch my breath. No one ever comes here, because all the knowledge in the world is at our fingertips these days. Thanks, internet. But for a lonely girl without much freedom to roam, the library has always been my solace.
I stumble around the shelves, trying to find a place to hide. Not much has changed since I was here last, and I’m eternally grateful as I travel familiar territory.
If Mikhail follows me in here, I can outmaneuver him.
No one comes in here but me.
My teeth ache as I try to calm my breathing, but my heart won’t stop pounding. I realize I’ve got a death grip on something soft—the pants I snagged from the hallway—and pull them on as fast as possible. Smooth fabric hugs my thighs, and I gasp at how perfect they are. Not too tight around the waist, not skimming the floor, and made from some kind of pristine white fabric that kisses my skin.
I’m still marveling at the luxury wrapped around my calves when I catch deep, dark laughter echoing through the room.
The high, vaulted ceilings have always made this room more acoustic than a library should ever be, but when I was younger, I liked it. I could sing to fill the empty spaces left after my mother passed.
“Your five minutes are up,” Mikhail taunts. He steps into the library, and the cold marble at his feet clicks with each step he takes.
I listen for where he moves and slowly step in the other direction, careful to avoid his line of sight as we dance through the shelves.
“I think it’s about time I earned mine.”
