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“Sloane, please tell me you’re just pronouncing that name wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mikhail Stepanov?”
“Yes,” I admit, but then realize I can’t say much else because he doesn’t know anything. The plan was between three people.
“Fuck. Shit, okay.”
“Listen, just tell Dad where I am, but don’t—” I say, but he interrupts meagain.
“He’s the Bratva, Sloane.”
Another knock sounds at the door, and I hang up the phone quickly, frustrated with the fact I wasn’t able to tell Ruslan not to send anyone. I just need Dad to know where I am.
“Coming!” I rush to the door, opening it to find Mikhail leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
“Are you ready?”
I look down at the dress and heels he’s making me wear. “Yes. I would love it if you gave me dresses in other colors.”
He looks me up and down and licks his lips. “Why would I want to do that?” he asks, stepping up to me and pulling on the dress strap. “No. You complement me this way.”
I complement him.“The color blue complements you?”
He lifts my chin with his thumb. “Your innocence does.”
I swallow, prepared to say something smart back to him, but I hold my tongue.
He leads the way and holds the bottom of my dress up so I don’t trip. Once at the bottom, I notice an area of the ship I’ve never explored. It’s kind of like a garage, but for a speedboat.
I could have tried to leave this entire time?
His hands grab onto my waist, and he lifts me onto the small boat. Something feels off. I don’t know why he’s being somewhat kind, but I’m not complaining.
Mikhail sits behind the wheel and starts the engine.
The wind is chilling, and Mikhail drives the boat like a maniac. I look back at the yacht as it grows smaller and smaller in the distance.
The ride onto the docks doesn’t take as long as I expect it to. We get off the boat and switch over to a car. I give him a glare when he opens the door for me.
Mikhail gets into the driver’s side and puts his hand on the back of my seat while he backs up.
“Where are we going?” I finally ask.
“To see an old friend of mine.”
I nod.
The drive is long, but it’s a straight shot to town. Does he even realize he’s showing me the way back? He pulls the car up to the entry. Getting out, he tosses his keys to a man and tells him something in Russian. Then he comes over to my side and opens the door, holding out his hand for me to grab.
Reaching out, I take Mikhail’s hand in mine. He leads me through the rotating doors into a huge building.
“Where’s your friend?” I scream over the music.
He looks down at me with a smile—one I’ve never seen before. He looks like a decent person when he smiles. Small dimples form on his cheeks.
He lookshandsome.
