Page 52 of Obsession of the Bratva

But then morning had come.

And Nico Romanov had rebuilt every wall he had torn down. It almost would have been easier if he had been angry with me, since anger required emotion. Anger meant engagement and showed that he cared. Even if just a little bit. Instead, he had become distant and cold. He spoke to me only when necessary. It could be a question or an answer to something I would bring up. He hadn’t once tried to come close to me again, even when I had been parading around in lingerie whenever he was in the house. He hadn’t even looked at me.

The first few days after that night, I convinced myself he simply needed time. The next few days, I told myself he was processing everything. But by the end of the second week, I was forced to accept reality. He was doing it on purpose. The realization irritated me more than I cared to admit. I knew he was still attracted to me because every time I flaunted myself around him, he would suck in a sharp breath and disappear as if he needed a distraction. That did bring me some satisfaction, but it was still not enough.

I sat alone at the kitchen island one afternoon, stirring coffee I had no intention of drinking.

The house was quiet. Far too quiet.

I hated how familiar it had become. I knew which floorboards creaked. I knew which windows caught the sunset first. I knew where Nico kept his whiskey. I knew which chair he preferred in the living room. I knew exactly how many seconds it took him to cross the house from his office to the kitchen. That knowledge should have disturbed me. Instead, all of it felt natural. And that was probably the most disturbing thing of all.

I turned to look as I heard footsteps, knowing fully well it was Nico. I could guess him from the sound of his breathing, the pattern of his breathing, or the faint timbre in his voice. He was etched into my skin in ways that were impossible to let go of. My pulse immediately betrayed me.

I hated that too.

Without looking up, I knew he was just a few paces away. Nobody else moved through space the way Nico did. He was measured and quiet and utterly dangerous. He entered the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, and started walking away again. There was no greeting or light conversation. Nothing. I almost felt invisible, as if he hadn’t even realized I was sitting there.

I stared at his back before calling out. “Nico.”

He paused, turning around slowly. “What?”

I clenched my jaw. “What kind of answer is that? Actually, why are you talking to me like that?”

“The kind of answer you asked for, Vera. And I wasn’t talking to you; you called my name, so I had to stop.”

My eye twitched as anger burned through me. He had been a complete asshole for a while now, and I had been ignoring it, but it was getting too much now. He kept walking as if I didn’t even matter.

“Nico?” My tone was louder now.

He paused with a sigh and turned around once again. This time, irritation was visible in his expression. “What do you want, Vera? Because some of us have things to do around here.”

I stood. “What the fuck is your problem?”

His eyebrow lifted. “You’ll need to be more specific than that because I don’t remember doing anything.”

I laughed, but the sound held absolutely no humor.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“You don’t look at me or talk to me or sit with me or even pretend that you see me. You have been acting like I don’t exist.”

“No,” he replied calmly. “I’m acting like you do; otherwise, I won’t be standing here wasting my time talking to you.”

The words hit harder than I expected, and for a second, neither of us spoke. Without waiting for my reply, he turned around and walked away again, and I was left standing there, furious. I needed to do something, anything, because the whole Nico situation was only pissing me off with every passing day. I was losing my mind.

Until now, I hadn’t tried contacting anyone, but I really needed to talk to someone else.

Just a few days ago, while looking around the house, I randomly found a burner phone in one of the drawers in the library. I had been tempted to use it right there and then, but the urge to contact someone hadn’t been that strong. But it was getting out of hand now. I needed to try to talk to someone before I went insane.

I raced to the library and took the phone out, pretty sure that Nico didn’t even know I had found it. The phone felt impossibly heavy in my hand. It represented a lot of things. Freedom. Escape. Information. Choice. And for the first time since arriving here, I had access to the outside world. I could have done a lot of things. I should have immediately called the police or my dad. I could have called someone I trusted and asked for help and demanded extraction. I could have called Adrian even.

Instead, only one name appeared in my mind.

Ava. My best friend.

I typed in her number, and my thumb hovered over the screen before finally pressing call. The line rang once. Twice. Three times. And then she finally picked up.