Page 82 of Unholy Tsar

I swallow, rubbing my sweaty hand down my shirt as I go back to the bedroom. Apparently, her cousin is flying to Russia to watch over me personally. I guess Maksim must’ve called in a big favor because, from what I’ve overheard, Rian Kilpatrick is practically king of the entire American underworld. A fearsome lion who’s taken down empires with his bare hands. And it sounds like he might be bringing some of his powerful cousins with him.

And for what?

Are they really flying halfway across the world just to look after their uncle’s little plaything?

No. Surely, they wouldn’t come all the way here if I didn’t mean something more than that to Maksim, right?

But even then, why all the fuss? Is this situation really that dangerous?

Pacing around, I look for something to do, but nothing can pin down my racing mind. It’s not just my concern about Maksim’s safety that’s killing me, either. It’s the fact that soon, I’ll be coming face-to-face with his family.

What will they think about me?

As far as I can tell, they’re all very close. A tight-knit circle… that I’m not a part of. What if they don’t approve of me? What if they think I’m not good enough for their uncle?

Too young and Italian.

I shake the thoughts out of my head as I turn on the TV and get into bed. There’s no use fretting about it now. I’ll find out soon enough.

Taking a deep breath, I try to clear my mind while searching for something to watch. To my surprise, there’s already a movie saved and pre-downloaded for me.

We are the Millers.

I grin. Maksim must have done that.

A calming warmth washes over me, and I feel a little less lonely as I wonder if maybe, just maybe, Maksim likes me at least half as much as I like him.

Could he grow to love me?

The idea is enough to distract me from all my worries, and soon enough, I’m drifting off to my favorite movie.

I must have a nice, deep nap because when I open my eyes again, the TV screen is dark, and the room is quiet.

With a big stretch and a loud yawn I almost don’t hear the door opening.

My heart jumps—first in fear, then with excitement. None of the men would dare come in without at least knocking first. And that means it could only be one person…

“Maksim?” I croak, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

The figure, familiar yet unsettling, draws a smile to my lips. But as my vision focuses, an unexpected chill runs down my spine.

Something’s off.

Maksim stands in the doorway, his face twisted in anger, a coldness emanating from him. I squint, trying to see what’s wrong. My heart starts to pound as I scan his body for blood, for injury, for anything that would explain his strange entrance.

“Are you okay?” I ask, sitting up to get a better look.

He doesn’t answer.

Suddenly, my pounding heart stops. There’s no doubt that this person looks like Maksim; he has the same salt-and-pepper hair, the same ruggedly handsome facial structure, and breath-stealing eyes.

But something tells me this is not the same man who tried to cook me breakfast this morning.

What the hell happened to him?

“Maksim?”

At that, he finally gives me a crooked smile.