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“If he’s not as terrible as he seems, why didn’t you want him when your father asked you about the arranged marriage?”
“I said he wasn’t quite as terrible as he seems, but he’s still terrifying. Clever and dark, malicious and twisted. He doesn’t need to cut women up to be scary,” she told me. “About that. You know, I spoke to Nikolai a few weeks ago. He told me I should reconsider him as the marriage match because you’d never give two fucks about me. When I refused, he told me if I wasn’t careful, he’d take me somewhere my father wouldn’t find me, chain me to the bed for a month, and send me back to New York pregnant, so the matter would be settled.”
“What a charmer,” I muttered dryly. But how could I judge Nikolai when I was fucking Mallory without protection, and she had no idea? Sofia was reminding me I wasn’t as different from my brother as I’d thought, and that made my stomach churn.
“Anyway, he said he’d take me north near the border. He called it his mama’s old place and said no one would find me there because no one knew about it.”
His mother’s old place. A frisson of excitement fizzed through me. Holy fuck. Sofia had just given me a new thread to pull.
I pushed back from the table, and she cringed, giving me pause.“I’m sorry, I have to go. You’ve just helped me more than you realize. I wish I could do something to help you.”
“You can,” Sofia said, standing as well. “Take the blame and make sure Antonio knows it.”
I nodded, barely even considering the repercussions of that simple request. I’d hardly let the blame fall on Sofia, anyway. It wasn’t her fault. There was nothing wrong with her except for one simple fact. She wasn’t Mallory.
Pyotr paid the bill as I strode from the restaurant and out onto the street, already dialing Ivan as I went.
“Yes, boss.”
“What is Nikolai’s mother’s name?”
Ivan was quiet for a moment. “I think it was Irina. Irina Bulgakova, but I have to check.”
“Check now. I think I know where Nikolai’s going.”
5
MOLLY
The house in the woods was beautiful inside. Beautiful and creepy. It creaked at odd times and was permanently drafty. It was all dark wood and endless shelves of books with spidery Cyrillic writing down the spines. I never thought I’d miss the cold, modern comfort of the Tower, but this place in the woods had achieved it.
Nikolai took me to a room with a four-poster bed draped in thick velvet curtains and locked me in. The whole place smelled faintly like dead roses. I tried the windows first, just to check. They were nailed shut, and I was on the second floor without the porch roof below. It would be a hard drop even if I managed to break the window and get out before someone stopped me.
There were other men here. Chernov bratva thugs with knuckle tattoos and hard expressions. They’d watched as I walked inside on Nikolai’s arm. It had been unsettling. I missed Max. The thought of my former bodyguard tugged my wildly oscillating mood back to sadness, and I shuffled onto the bed, fully dressed, and gingerly slid beneath the covers. It was cold as hell. When was the last time someone slept in this room? It was like a relic from a different time.
I shivered under the covers, my mind drifting immediately to Nikolai’s words. Kirill had lied to me? Well, that certainly wasn’t anything new, but the tracker in my hand had been an unwelcome surprise. The engagement being real? That hurt.
I closed my eyes and forced my tears into the place inside me that took weakness and made it anger and grit. I hugged the resulting fury deep inside my chest, huddling close for warmth. Somehow, despite my fear, confusion, and heartbreak, the cold fell away, and the quiet of the woods lulled me to sleep.
* * *
The next morning,Nikolai strode around the kitchen, barking out orders in Russian at the army of black-clad killers he trusted to watch over us while we slept. I sat at the breakfast table as the men talked and moved around. They were making breakfast. It was a jarring sight.
“Here, it’s my mother’s recipe,” Nikolai said later, placing a plate of huge, soft Russian pancakes before me. My hands were bound behind my back again, and the pancakes were cut into tiny pieces.
“I’m not hungry,” I bit out, my stomach churning. I turned my face away from the sight of the food.
Nikolai sighed and grabbed my fork. He pierced a piece of pancake hard enough to crack the plate.“I said eat, or I’ll make you,” he said in a jovial tone that held enough manic violence to chill my blood.
He pushed the fork into my mouth, and I chewed it. Honey dripped down my chin, and I glared at him.
“Compliment the chef,” he ordered.
“Fuck you,” I muttered, managing to swallow. It wasn’t half bad.
“No, thanks. I don’t do Kirill’s leftovers.” He grinned and pulled out a chair beside me.
I attempted to move further from him, and he tugged my chair harshly across the floor until I couldn’t escape his feeding. What was it with Chernov men trying to feed me up?
