That's the only word for it. When he looks at me, there's nothing warm there. No humor, no genuine interest, just cold calculation. Like he's assessing a business acquisition instead oftalking to a person. It makes my skin crawl in a way that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with revulsion.
He's been talking for the past twenty minutes about our "future together", his voice smooth and confident. How well-matched we are. How our families would benefit from a true alliance. How I'm exactly the kind of woman who could stand beside a man like him.
I nod occasionally, making the appropriate sounds of interest while my stomach churns. The gun resting on the side table next to his chair is probably meant to intimidate me, but honestly, it just makes him look insecure. Like he needs props to feel powerful.
"You understand the importance of legacy, don't you, Mariya?" Anatoly leans forward slightly, his pale eyes locked on my face. "A man in my position needs heirs. Strong sons who can carry on what I've built."
The word "heirs" makes bile rise in my throat. I swallow hard, forcing my expression to stay neutral. The thought of this man touching me, of bearing his children, makes me want to vomit all over his expensive couch.
"Of course," I manage, my voice steady despite the nausea rolling through me.
He smiles, clearly pleased with my response. "I knew you'd understand. You're intelligent and beautiful, and you come from good bloodlines. Our children would be exceptional."
I dig my nails into my palms, using the pain to keep myself grounded.Don't react. Don't give him anything he can use against you.
But my mind keeps drifting away from Anatoly's droning voice, away from this sterile room and his dead eyes. Instead, I find myself thinking about Andrey.
The comparison is unavoidable. Even when Andrey first captured me, when I was terrified and furious and convinced he was going to kill me, his eyes had never been this cold. There was always something there. Heat, anger, desire, amusement.Somethingalive and real.
I'd never felt disgusted in his presence. Frustrated, yes. Furious, absolutely. But never this bone-deep revulsion that makes me want to scrub my skin clean.
And lately…
The realization hits me like a physical blow, stealing my breath.
Lately, I've looked forward to spending time with Andrey. Not just the sex, though God knows, that's incredible. But the conversations over breakfast. The way he listens when I talk about my day. How he touches me casually when we pass in the hallway, his hand finding the small of my back or his fingers brushing my arm. The quiet moments in bed after we've both finished, when he pulls me against his chest and I can hear his heartbeat beneath my ear.
I've fallen in love with him.
With my husband. With a Pakhan. With the man who kidnapped me and forced me into marriage.
The truth crashes over me with such force that I actually sway slightly in my seat. My chest tightens, my pulse racing as I process what this means. I love Andrey. I love his strength and his protectiveness and the way he makes me feel safe even wheneverything around us is dangerous. I love how he looks at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.
And I'm sitting here in another man's living room while that man talks about making me bear his children.
"Mariya?"
Anatoly's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. I blink, focusing on his face. He's watching me with that calculating expression, his head tilted slightly.
"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "What did you say?"
His lips curve into something that might be a smile if it reached his eyes. "I asked if you thought I should kill Andrey Melnikov. It would simplify things considerably. No messy divorce, no territorial disputes. Just a clean elimination of the problem."
My blood runs cold. "Kill him?"
"Of course." Anatoly's tone is casual, like he's discussing the weather. "He's the only obstacle between us and a very profitable future. Once he's gone, you'll be free to marry me properly. The families will unite, and we'll control territories from Moscow to the Baltic Coast."
I open my mouth to respond, though I have no idea what I'm going to say. My mind is screaming at me to stall, to say something that won't get Andrey killed but won't make Anatoly suspicious either.
Before I can form words, bright lights flood the living room.
They're coming from outside, harsh and blinding through the tall windows. I raise my hand to shield my eyes, confusion mixing with sudden hope.What's happening?
Anatoly jumps to his feet, his hand immediately going to the gun on the side table. The guards near the windows move into action, weapons drawn as they rush toward the doors.
Then the quiet evening explodes into chaos.
Shouts erupt from outside, male voices yelling in Russian. Gunfire cracks through the air, sharp and terrifying. The front door bursts open with a crash that makes me flinch.
