“Seems a fitting end.”
“Still angry, I see.”
“A butter knife is too good for you,” I decide, referring to the threat I lobbed at him when he took me to his family’s safe house, which wasbeforehe drugged me and brought me to this shithole. “I’ll use a dull, rusty steak knife to saw off your balls.”
“I applaud your creativity,” he drawls through the hidden camera, “but I would watch that mouth if I were you, Sidorova.”
There’s no misunderstanding the silken threat in his voice and his words. But I’m beyond caring.
“What are you going to do, kill me?” I demand, standing and facing the direction of his voice with more defiance than I know is wise.
He just laughs darkly, like this is funny. Maybe I’m entertaining him. But the thought of dying now, before I’ve been able to attain my goals, before I’ve even been able to debut as a soloist, let alone make it to principal, makes my chest seize up.
“Answer me, you bastard,” I spit.
But Andriani doesn’t say anything else.
There’s nothing but silence and the sound of an owl hooting somewhere into the night.
You know what?
Fuck. This. Shit.
I’m furious. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been through hell. I fought with everything I had to stay out of the dangerous criminal underworld my brothers inhabit, but then Misha came back from exile and became the new Pakhan, and the fragile life I’d built for myself imploded. My eldest brother made it clear that now that he’s back, my existence comes with strings attached. My life is no longer mine to live. He’s already threatened to make sure I’m fired from the ballet company. That was bad enough, but then Misha must have started making trouble with the Andrianis and they came after the softest target.
Me.
Never mind that I didn’t do anything. That I’ve always been on the periphery of my family’s business. That I’m more than a pawn to be used for revenge or whatever leverage Andriani thinks he can get by holding me hostage. I have a life, a career I’ve worked my ass off for, and I’m going to fight for it.
Starting now.
I begin by tearing all the bedding off the bed. Pillow, comforter, sheets. Gone. I rip at the mattress, hauling it off the bed frame. It’s heavy and I’m small, but I’ve been dancing all my life and I’m strong. I haul the mattress to the side and start in on the box spring. With a growl, I rip it from the frame.
“Cazzo, what the hell are you doing in here?”
I’m breathing heavily, and I probably resemble the feral cat he accused me of being as I meet his gaze. He’s standing in the doorway, blue eyes sweeping over the damage I’ve managed to inflict so far.
“Redecorating,” I tell him, and then I shove the box spring across the floor in his direction.
He catches it like it weighs nothing and sets it aside. His face is completely devoid of expression, and I can’t tell if he’s furious or annoyed or something else. He just stares at me, that unnerving gaze traveling over my body as the silence settles between us, heavy and potent and somehow intimate all at once.
Finally, he rubs a tatted hand along his jaw like he’s considering something. “This is going to end badly if you can’t behave.”
Maybe the something he’s considering is my murder.
“So, end it now,” I dare him, my chest heaving from the exertion it took to rip the bed apart.
He smirks. And fuck Scorpion Andriani because he’s even hot when he’s smirking, while I want to kill him with a dull piece of metal and then watch him bleed out.Zasranets.
“You really are insane, aren’t you?” he asks, just a hint of warning edging into his voice.
I stare back at him, giving him nothing. “I’m a Sidorov.”
A muscle works in his jaw. “I’m aware.”
“What is the point of all this?” I demand. “I had nothing to do with anything that’s happened.”
“That’s not the way this works, and you know it.”
