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I get perhaps a few more broken hours and rise heavy and exhausted the next morning. My first call is to Luca to make arrangements. We need to move our families to the next safe house, and that includes his, thanks to our bargain. Sofia is in as much danger as anyone else on account of my alliance with her husband.
“Russia?” The disbelief in Luca’s voice is plain when I tell him. “You want me to bring my family to a safe house in Russia?”
“It’s not just a safe house,” I tell him flatly. “It’s a goddamned fortress. Sofia will be protected there. And you and I and Liam will hold our own meeting there to decide how to proceed with Alexei.”
There’s a moment of silence on the other end. “He’s taken over it all,” Luca says finally. “The men loyal to you have either escaped with Mikhail or are dead. Mikhail is at your home now, guarding your household with what is left of your men, but from what I know, Alexei will make a move soon. You’re right to get them out of there. I’ll take as many soldiers as I can and extract them before Alexei can mobilize, but your business—”
“I’ll worry about the business later,” I grind out, and I mean it. “I want my children safe.” I pause, remembering something else, something that no doubt will endear my wife to me, no matter how she’s feeling these days. “Bring Anastasia Ivanova too,” I tell him firmly. “Alexei has a particular grudge against her for her infiltration of my ranks. She’s in just as much danger as anyone else.”
I can hear the surprise in Luca’s voice as he agrees, and I know why. I’ve made it clear that I’m not fond of the former ballerina that my wife befriended either—for the same reasons. She seduced my men, extracted information, and spied on my ranks—if she were a man, or if I’d been entirely free to do with her as I pleased, I might have had her killed or sold for her crime. I know who her father was, and I can’t help but think that traitor’s blood runs deep in the Ivanov family. I don’t trust her.
But part of Luca’s bargain for peace, after Franco Bianchi and Colin Macgregor’s deaths, was that Anastasia not be punished. He’d insisted that what she’d done, she’d done for the love of her best friend and that he was as much to blame as anyone else for her actions since he’d kept Sofia in the dark.
Whether I agreed with his estimation or not wasn’t the question at hand, it was whether or not I’d agree to leave Anastasia be. I had agreed since the life of one traitorous little ballerina wasn’t worth the blood that would be shed if I’d continued to fight Luca. Once I’d heard what Franco had done to her, I’d been even less inclined to punish her further. His cruelty had far outstripped anything I might have done to punish any woman.
This is exactly why I can’t, in any conscience, leave her to Alexei’s mercies. I know how deeply his resentment and hatred towards her runs, and I know that what he would do to her if he got his hands on her, is the stuff of nightmares.
Nothing I would willingly allow to be visited on any woman, much less one of my wife’s friends.
Caterina would never forgive me.
And for some reason, these days, my wife’s forgiveness matters very much to me.
It’s something that I can’t get out of my head as I finish the arrangements with Luca and hang up. I shouldn’t care about her forgiveness, emotions, or desires. She’s my wife, a wife of convenience, one that was never meant to do more than give me the heir that Vera couldn’t. The heir that Vera stole from me.
But somehow, over the brief time we’ve been married, she’s gotten under my skin. Made me feel things beyond desire, something that I’d thought I could no longer feel.
The man who stood in her room last night, feverishly stroking himself to a climax while staring at her mouth, the man who brushed his cum over her lips while she slept, is not a man I recognize.
It’s not a man I’ve ever been before.
Caterina is turning me into a man obsessed.
And if there’s one thing I know above all else, it’s this—
Obsessions are dangerous.
CATERINA
Ihave a limited amount of time to heal.
When Viktor brought me breakfast this morning, he let me know that we’d be moving to another safe house in two days. He looked almost apologetic when he said it, as he set the breakfast tray over me as if he felt bad. As if he wanted to give me more time here, to heal on my own without having to worry about being moved.
I wanted to tell him about the strange dream I’d had last night—about him coming into my room and watching me as I slept, about the odd salty taste on my lips this morning, as if the things I’d dreamed about had really happened. But just thinking about saying it out loud, telling Viktor about the things he’d done in that dream, made my cheeks flush and burn until I knew there was no way I could tell him.
Besides, there’s no reason for me to want to share those fantasies with my husband. Our marriage was never meant to be like that, and now that he can’t possibly want me anymore, it won’t be like that ever again. That’s agoodthing, I tell myself as I look down at the bowl of oatmeal and small plate of eggs in front of me, with another glass of milk. “To help you regain your strength,” Viktor says firmly. “I know it’s difficult, but you need to eat it all, Caterina. Today is going to be a hard day for you, but it’s necessary.”
There’s a seriousness to his voice that I haven’t heard since waking up here, and it sends a tremor of nervousness through me. I might not trust Viktor entirely, but I do believe from the tone of his voice that whatever he’s talking about, must be important.
I just don’t know how much more “difficult” I have in me. Every waking moment since I was drugged in that apartment has been difficult. Just hearing that there’s something more makes me feel drained, tired in a way that I’ve never experienced before, even with everything I’ve already endured.
Hearing that makes any thoughts of what I dreamed about last night fly straight out of my head. I poke at the food, dutifully forking it into my mouth as Viktor watches, and I glance sideways at him as I eat, narrowing my eyes.
“Do you have to watch me the entire time?”
“I want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself,” he says firmly. “It’s important that you get well.”
There’s nothing in his expression or tone to indicate it, but I feel a small flare of my old defiance come back, partially in response to the way his stern tone makes me feel. Something about the commanding way he’s spoken to me this morning sends a flare of heat through me with each statement, reminding me of the way I felt when he bent me over the bed and took his belt to my backside, or the way I’d felt the night before we left for Moscow, when he’d fucked me more thoroughly than Franco could have ever dared try.
