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“Where did you even learn to do that?” Charlotte asks me, keeping her eyes on Alexi. If he so much as sneezes, she’ll tap me discretely with the tip of her foot as a signal to stop. That’s how we make sure I don’t get caught. She’s my lookout when I’m in the middle of my coding.
My visits to the doctor’s office aren’t as frequent anymore. A trip every week is excessive, and the last thing we want is Konstantin asking too many questions. I have to write my lines of code in the back of my books to be transposed later. When the lemon juice dries, no one is the wiser.
“Read it in one of my mom’s old spy books. Very rudimentary stuff, but it always stuck with me.”
“Boy, I’ll say.”
Outside, the crunch of tires rolling over the gritty pavement, quickly followed by the sound of car doors opening and closing. My heart skips a beat. The arrival of cars and the chatter of the guards’ voices over Alexi’s radio can only mean one thing.
I shoot up out of my seat. Mikhail is home.
I’m usually not allowed to step foot outside the mansion entrance, but today appears to be an exception. There are guards everywhere, so I’m not exactly a threat to others or myself. I rush to Mikhail the moment I see him, kissing him with a delighted giggle. He smells like home.
I’m crestfallen when I see his face. Every day, he’s been coming home bruised and bloody. This has something to do with the second phase of his initiation, I’m sure of it, but Mikhail refuses to tell me any of the details. All he tells me is he’strainingand it’snot a big deal.
I’m not blind, though. What kind of training leaves a man beaten and dead on his feet every day? Nothing good. Nothing good at all.
“Welcome back!” I say, hugging him tight. “What took you so long?”
Mikhail chuckles. “I was only gone a few hours,kisa.”
“That was my fault, I’m afraid,” Konstantin says, stepping forward to take my hand.
He stamps a light kiss to the back of my knuckles. It takes every ounce of my strength not to cringe at his touch. I’ve gotten pretty good at pretending I can tolerate him, even though I’m silently dying on the inside to punch square across the jaw. Keeping up appearances is turning out to be harder than I thought.
“How’s the little prince treating you today?” Konstantin asks me, glancing down at my belly. He’s learned by now not to touch me there anymore. Especially not with Mikhail hovering so close nearby. We’re being friendly, but notthatfriendly.
“He was kicking up a storm this morning,” I admit with a tight smile. I hope my expression is convincing. At least I’m not telling a lie. My little one has started kicking at all hours of the day, a sign he or she is strong and energetic.
“Shall we go in for a bite?” Konstantin asks. “It would be so lovely to have a family meal together, no?”
I know by now it’s not actually a request, but a thinly veiled command. I nod, smile as friendly as possible while keeping a protective hand over my belly.
“That sounds wonderful,” I say.
Konstantin pats Mikhail on the shoulder. “Go wash up. I’ll have the chef prepare dinner.”
Mikhail places his hand on the small of my back and guides me indoors. I try not to stare at the bruises reddening his knuckles or the small cut just above his left eyebrow and lip. He’s not wearing the same clothes he left in this morning, but I’m not foolish enough to ask him about it when we’re out in the open.
Once we return to our room and the doors finally close, I examine his injuries. He sits down on the edge of our bed with a groan.
“What the hell is he doing to you?” I ask, a hushed and frantic whisper as I carefully help Mikhail out of his shirt. I’m alarmed to find even more bruises underneath, along with several sharp cuts across his chest and torso.
“It’s the second part of my initiation,” he grunts, his movements stiff and face clenching in pain.
“Initiation involves putting you through a blender?”
“You know I can’t tell you, Aurora.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s—”
“Bratva business,” I interject. “I know, I know.”
Mikhail cups my face and pulls me in for a light kiss. “I’m fine, sweetheart. I promise. It’s just a bit of training. To condition me.”
I point at one of his cuts. “Thisis training?”
