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“To know?” I echo, the gears inside my skull grinding and smoking.
And then it hits me. The tight dress. His obsession with wanting an heir. All these people—witnesses. This is his sick way of showing everyone the Antonov line is far from over. It’s alive and well and not to be underestimated.
“You’re a sick bastard,” I hiss.
“I’d be careful how you speak to me. You and your child officially have targets on your back. This room may be full of my closest allies, but it’s only a matter of time before my enemies learn of the baby.”
Goosebumps break out across my skin. I think I’m going to be sick all over his shoes.
“Now the only one you can rely on to protect you isme,” he continues. “Say goodbye to any thoughts you might have had about running away with my little prince. My enemies can reach far and wide, and I’m sure they’d love to get their hands on you.”
“But what about Mikhail? Why do you need my child, too?”
“It’s called being prepared, sweetheart. In our line of work, there’s nothing wrong with having a spare heir.”
I’m dizzy. All this spinning, all the overwhelming glitz and glam… I’m drowning on dry land, and I have a feeling I’ll only sink faster if I try to call out for help. I’m miles away from shore, miles away fromhome. And the only person I can even think of running to for comfort isn’t even here. And as I think of him, he appears as if I’d conjured him.
Mikhail.
He steps into the room through the wide doors. The people around him part like the Red Sea, giving him a wide berth as he enters. He’s not dressed for the occasion—wearing the same recycled outfit he wore the day he came and went—but he’s still as handsome and breathtaking as ever. While everyone stares at him, he only has eyes for me.
Without a word exchanged, we rush to one another, pulled together by some invisible force. He wraps his arms around me, feeling so much like home. I melt into him, doing my best to keep my composure. Mikhail greets me with the most tender of kisses, our lips slotting together perfectly. It’s been so long,toolong. Our weeks apart felt like an eternity, but now I’m suddenly whole and complete and safe.
“I missed you, too,” he murmurs against my lips.
My heart skips a beat. “You got my message?”
Mikhail gives me an almost imperceptible nod. “We have much to discuss, but not here.”
“Right.”
“There he is!” Konstantin chortles, drawing everyone’s attention to us—although everyone’s already pretty much staring. “The man of the hour.”
“Stay behind me,” Mikhail whispers in my ear before placing himself between his uncle and me.
In a show of overt familiarity, Konstantin walks over and places his hands on Mikhail’s shoulders, kissing him once on each cheek with a big smile. “Welcome home, dear nephew. I take it all went well?”
With a disgruntled huff, Mikhail reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He all but slaps it into Konstantin’s open palm. “It’s done.”
A video is queued up on screen. Konstantin presses play. The volume is low, but the unmistakable sound of a man whimpering, begging,pleadingfor his life reaches my ear. It’s so desperate and heartbroken and chilling that it sends goosebumps racing along my flesh. Just when I think it can’t get any worse—
A gunshot rings out.
The hard thump of a body landing on the ground.
I know I shouldn’t look, but morbid curiosity gets the better of me. I lean out from behind Mikhail and catch the last few seconds of the video playing in Konstantin’s hand. There’s a dead man on screen, face bloodied and body still.
A soft, terrified gasp escapes me. Dear God… Did Mikhail really kill someone? Is this why he stepped in front of me, hoping I wouldn’t see what he’d done? None of the other guests nearby seem even remotely disturbed, which is troubling in and of itself. I’m in a room full of cold, unfeeling killers.
And Mikhail, willingly or not, has just joined their ranks.
I’mdefinitelygoing to be sick.
Konstantin nods in approval, handing Mikhail his phone back. “Well done, Misha.” He turns to address the entirety of the ballroom. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make.” He waits for the last whispers to cease. “I would like to propose a toast and welcome back my nephew, who I heretofore consider my son and heir. Please give him and his darling a warm round of applause.”
People clap and cheer and offer words of congratulations with such an air of casualty that it makes me numb. Konstantin’s right. We have targets on our backs now. All of Moscow’s elite know who we are. Even if we were to run, if we were to try and escape, these people know our faces. Nowhere in the world would we be safe. My hands and feet might not be bound, but Iamtrapped.
“Isn’t he…” I hear someone to the side whisper.
