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I’m still gaping up at the mansion, trying to take it all in, when the soldier roughly grabs my arm and begins leading me to the entrance ahead of us. I jerk my arm out of his grip and take a few steps away. “I can manage on my own,” I snap.
I am no one’s prisoner. I agreed to a marriage with Luka Volkov, but I will not let his men treat me like a captor. Especially not while walking into what will be my home for the first time.
The soldier scowls at me, but doesn’t move to grab me again. Instead, he sticks close to my side, not allowing me out of his reach as we mount the steps and walk into the entryway.
The colonial style of the mansion’s exterior did not at all prepare me for the modern features of the interior—white marble floors, dark wood stairs that curve up both sides of the rounded entryway, and black iron railings that curve up and then span the length of the second-floor landing. The walls are white, and the massive chandelier overhead is a series of concentric circles made of a stiff white linen. Everything looks so much…cleaner than I imagined. Nothing like the black dungeon I’d pictured.
A finger in the middle of my back pushes me forward, and I once again move out of the soldier’s reach. He doesn’t seem phased this time, his young, clean-shaven face a neutral mask. He herds me through the door set between the two symmetrical staircases, past the dining room, and begins to unlock a glass door to what appears to be a meeting room. However, I am not paying attention to the soldier anymore. Instead, I’m drawn to the room at the end of the hall.
The kitchen.
The same white marble floors from the entrance hall are in the kitchen as well, covering the floors and the countertops. Stainless steel appliances nicer than anything The Floating Crown has ever had look brand new and unused, and a massive island with a large workspace on one end and an eating nook on the other fills the center of the room.
I’ve never been turned on by design before, but this kitchen is like good foreplay. I can see myself kneading dough and shaping dinner rolls on the island, roasting a chicken dinner in one of the double ovens while dessert bakes in the other, and tossing fresh salad in the wooden mixing bowls stacked on the counter.
I stumble into the room as if in a dream, running my hand along the island and trying not to drool at the set of stainless-steel knives that would weaken the knees of any professional chef. I don’t kid myself by thinking Luka did any of this for me, but I’m still weirdly grateful for him. If I have to live in this mansion with him, at least there will be one place I can escape. I can count on losing myself in my craft a few times every day.
“In here,” the soldier behind me barks, making me jump.
I turn around to see him gesturing to the meeting room, his foot tapping impatiently on the floor.
“It’s past noon, and I haven’t eaten yet,” I say. This is true, but only because I’d been too nervous to eat before arriving at the funeral. Between the explosion that killed Samuel and signing my soul away to Luka Volkov, lunch kind of slipped my mind. “I can make us both something. It won’t take more than a few minutes.”
A few minutes in a kitchen like this would never be enough, but it would be better than nothing. Plus, I really am hungry.
“In. Here.” The words can barely slip between his clenched teeth, and I know there is no point in arguing.
I lift my hands in surrender. “Fine. If you work for the kind of man who wants his guys to starve, who am I to question that?”
The man says nothing as I walk past him and take a seat at the long wooden table. The chairs are stainless steel with white cushions and surprisingly comfortable. The man stands in the doorway, staring straight ahead like a robot waiting to be programmed.
“What are we waiting for?”
He looks at me but says nothing.
I lean forward, forearms resting on the table, looking one hundred percent more comfortable than I feel, and tilt my head to the side. “Are we not even allowed to speak? If we have to wait, we could at least make it… pleasurable.”
I speak the last word a little slower than necessary, and the soldier’s eyes flick to me before he catches himself and looks away again. I sigh and slump down in my chair. “I thought you Volkov soldiers would be more interesting. Word on the street is you guys are crazy. Don’t take orders from anyone.”
It is a long shot, but I need one person on my side. Someone on the inside. Even this low-level soldier would be better than no one. I need someone who can tell me what to expect and help me navigate my first few days in the Volkov mansion.
He raises an eyebrow and looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “It depends who is giving the order.”
I smile, rewarding him for his answer. “What about Luka? Do you take orders from him?”
At the mere mention of Luka’s name, the man stands straighter, his shoulders broadening. He nods. “He is the underboss. The son of the don. Of course.”
“What is he like?” I purr. “He can’t be as scary as everyone says.”
By the tightening in the man’s mouth, I know Luka, in fact, isn’t as scary as everyone says. He is worse.
“Come on,” I beg. “Tell me about him. I’m going to marry him. I deserve to know what I’m getting into.”
For the first time, the man turns to face me, his eyes clear and focused. “He is merciless and without remorse.”
When he turns away, it is all I can do not to melt into a puddle on the floor. I don’t ask any more questions after that. Suddenly, I’m not in the mood to talk.
* * *
