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“Seems you made a big impression on Don Kirill in there.”
I shake my head. “Don who?”
He snorts. “I guess I won’t bother impressing you with the title I’ll have in a few years. I figured you were a Bratva bunny, but it seems not.”
“Listen, you’re saying a lot of things I don’t understand. But I can tell it isn’t flattering. Can you move so I can get back to work?”
He continues on as if I haven’t even spoken. “Kirill has basically been engaged to Viktoria since they were born. But if he’s blowing up that arrangement for you, you must be worth it. You being a maid and all, it can’t be much of a financial gain. So if I had to guess, I’d say you’ve just got a sweet pussy.”
My hand flexes at my side. My natural reflex to slap the ever-loving shit out of this man nearly overrides my good sense.
Before that can happen, I force out a long, slow breath. “Get out of my way,” I say evenly. “This conversation is over.”
Sasha makes no attempt to move, but I’m done playing nice. If he won’t let me through the back way into the kitchen, I’ll walk through the dining room. I spin around and move quickly toward the double doors.
“Oh, come on now. Don’t be so touchy,” Sasha says. I can hear him following me. “You’ll need a backup for when Kirill drops you.”
I speed up, talking over my shoulder. “I don’t need anything from any of you.”
“This relationship with him won’t last. You have to know that. You’re fun for now, but he’ll come to his senses and pick someone more advantageous for him. That’s why we firstborn sons exist: to have babies with a woman who has a powerful daddy. Is your daddy powerful?”
I’m only a few steps from the door now. Once I get inside, Sasha will back off. He’ll leave me alone.
“I didn’t think so,” he continues. “So that puts you firmly in the ‘fuck ‘em for fun’ zone. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Get it while the getting is good. You’re hot and that will last for another decade or so, I’m sure. Plenty of men will put you up in a nice place and pay good money for you to suck their dicks. Myself included.”
I’m trying to ignore Sasha, but he’s so repulsive it’s almost impossible.
“You don’t have enough money in the world to make me touch you,” I hiss. “I’d rather die.”
I yank one of the double doors open just as Sasha’s hand wraps around my wrist. For a brief second, I look into the great room. The party is carrying on as usual, everyone eating and chatting. I see Kirill at the head of the table.
He sees me, too.
Our eyes meet for one second, though it stretches into a minute, an hour. Countless words and sentences are conveyed in that one glance. Then his eyes flick to Sasha. I see the rage in his gaze. As Sasha yanks me back from the door, I know what Kirill is going to do.
Sasha presses me hard against the wall. His alcohol-soaked breath washes over me as he growls in my face, “You’d rather die, you say? Well, that can be arranged.”
36
KIRILL
Rayne should be back from Ilya’s room by now.
A thousand different possibilities of what could be taking her so long flicker through my head. Ilya has been temperamental the last couple days. Maybe he’s having an explosion and Rayne needs help dealing with it.
Or maybe the kiss in the hallway pushed Rayne over the edge. Maybe, after I walked away, she turned on her heel and stomped out of my house, never to be seen again.
Leonid keeps trying to talk to me, but I barely hear him. Viktoria is also saying something, but it’s little more than a mosquito’s droning in my ears.
“Everyone knows Stefano is a flaky ally at best,” she scoffs. “Kirill did the right thing in cutting him off. Whatever his reasons.”
“What were the reasons?” Leonid asks mildly.
I slowly chew a bite of the filet mignon, watching the kitchen door for any sign of Rayne. It isn’t the kitchen door that opens, though. It’s one of the main doors. They’ve been shut since all of the guests arrived, but one of them swings open for just a moment.
And through it, I see Rayne standing in the doorway, her face flushed and her eyes wide. Instantly, I know something is wrong.
Then I see the slimy hand wrap around her wrist.
