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“Only my heart,” I whisper.
Her hand drops back to her side like I’ve burned her. “Why? He adores you.”
I can’t swallow down my derisive laugh. “He has a funny way of showing it. Ulyana … Arsen sees me as a tool to win his war.” My hand makes gentle circles on my stomach. “That’s not a battle we should be involved in.”
“You plan to run.”
“I have to,” I say flatly.
Ulyana turns away, her attention going to my bed. My cell phone draws her eye. “If getting away from the Bratva was simple, many would do it.”
She sounds like Mom.
Nothing is ever settled when the Bratvas are involved, stupid girl!
“It doesn’t matter if it’s risky,” I insist, circling around her. “Ulyana, please, I need to try.”
“Who were you going to call?” she asks curiously.
Grabbing my phone, I stare at the screen. “My best friend told me to let her know if I ever needed anything. She has connections through her husband; he’s an attorney. It’s a long shot, but at this stage, I’m willing to try anything.”
She pulls in a large burst of air through her nostrils. “This will break Arsen’s heart.”
Gritting my teeth, I fight back a tsunami of emotions. Sadness, fear, resentment, regret. Lifting my shirt, I display more of the marks he left on my body. Her mouth trembles at the sight. “I’m not sure he has a heart at all.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, devuskha. But if this is what you want, then …” Ulyana motions with a small nod of her head. That support, as minor as it is, is enough for me to press the dial icon. The phone rings just twice before it’s picked up.
“Audrey,” my voice cracks, “I need your help.”
I’m tucked inside the wine cellar in the mansion. It’s set just off the kitchen near the large pantry, down a skinny passage that exits to a delivery door. That exit is always bolted shut, except when it’s in use. I’ve lingered before as boxes were hauled inside. The temptation to try and slip outside was immense. When overseeing the deliveries, Danil stared hard at me once, wordlessly compelling me not to try anything stupid.
Though it’s cooler than upstairs, the cellar isn’t a dank place. Arsen has spared no expense in creating an elegant-looking room with racks stretching floor-to-ceiling, packed with bottles of wine. There’s another wall stuffed with clear bottles of vodka. Some have labels I can’t read. I walk along, brushing the smooth glass with my fingers, counting the bottles out of curiosity. I give up after hitting three hundred and twenty.
Ulyana said to wait here. It’s difficult to believe she’s capable of delivering Audrey to me. I’m already shocked she’s helping me, but how she’ll pull this trick off has me reeling.
I peek at my phone. There’s no service at this depth. I can’t check to see where Audrey is, if she’s close or if she’s coming at all. What if this is a trap? Goose bumps rise along my forearms. Well ... if it is, it doesn’t matter. Arsen already has me trapped. What else can he do to me?
There’s a crunching noise from the top of the cellar stairs. I jump up, leaning around the barrel I was sitting against. At first, I see nothing; then a pair of tan, ankle-high boots appear. A second later, Audrey is gaping at me.
“Galina!” she gasps, rushing toward me.
I meet her halfway in a powerful embrace. “Audrey,” I croak before the tears begin.
“Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay!” Rubbing my back, she whispers soothing sounds in my ear. Gently, she holds me at arm’s length, studying me with perceptive eyes.
She frowns lightly. “You’re pregnant.”
My jaw drops open. All I told her on the phone was that I was in danger and needed her to help me out of it. “How did you …”
“Your hands.” She points, making me aware I’ve been clutching my palms over my belly this whole time. She really knows me better than anyone. “Galina, what’s really going on?”
Glancing at my toes, I take a minute to think of a way to explain. “It’s a long story.”
“Well, get to it. I just spent half an hour being bounced around in the back of a van, then stuffed inside a big box of apples to see you. It’s obvious you’re elbow-deep in a real mess.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I say with a weak chuckle. Sitting on the barrel, I cross my ankles. “The man who owns this mansion—his name is Arsen Isakov. He bought my family’s dance studio. He … also kidnapped me.”
Her hands cover her mouth. “Oh my God. How?”
