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“In order to take over the Antonov Bratva one day, I need to be able to defend myself. That’s what my uncle believes, anyway.”
“You’re not going to be able to take over if he beats you to death,” I point out bitterly, hands on my hips.
“Don’t stress yourself out. It’s bad for you and the baby.” Mikhail spoils me with a soft kiss on the tip of my nose.
Silently, he gestures to one of the many books I have piled high on my bedside table. The newest one sits at the very top, the one with my latest round of coding notes. I reach over and hand it to him. We both toss a cautious glance over our shoulder towards the bedroom door before he cracks the book open, turning to the seemingly blank pages in the back.
“Did you get much done today?” he asks.
“I did,” I say, my answer vague in case someone’s listening. “I got through three whole books. I think your brothers might like some of these stories,” I say. “Do you think we could ship a few copies to them? Luka might be especially interested.”
Mikhail raises his brows. I can tell he’s picking up what I’m putting down. Neither of us has reliable access to a computer, which means we can’t make updates to my keylogger virus. It’s one of the many reasons I’ve started writing everything down in lemon juice. The only people I know who can put my program together for me, and who I know are completely on our side, are on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. It’s a longshot, but if Dimitri, Pyotr, and Luka can get my notes and execute the programforme, it’ll reduce the risk of my being caught.
“I’ve finished them all,” I continue. “I think it might be nice to have your brothers put together a collection back home. I know they’re big readers.”
Mikhail nods, giving my hand a light squeeze. “That might be nice,” he says casually. “Let me see if we can ship a few books out tonight, though the guards will have to check them, first.”
There’s a knock at the door. Konstantin steps in without waiting for us to invite him inside. I shift my weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. I wonder how much of our conversation he heard. Was he able to make sense of my double speak?
“Dinner will be ready shortly,” he says in a light tone. If heissuspicious, he gives no hint of it. “Catherina and Charlotte are already in the dining room downstairs waiting for us.”
Mikhail gets up, moving quickly to throw on a fresh shirt from the nearby wardrobe. “Sorry to keep you. We’ll be right there.”
I stiffen when Konstantin glances at my books. I try to smile through my nerves, helping smooth the wrinkles of Mikhail’s shirt once he’s slipped it on. My throat tightens when Konstantin steps toward my bedside table to examine my collection.
He picks a book up and flips through the pages.
I hold my breath.
Konstantin chuckles. “The guards tell me you’re quite the reader. I’ll be sure to have them buy you some more books. Perhaps we’ll use one of the spare rooms as your own private library, hm?”
I swallow. Smile. I’ve got my act together. “Very kind of you, thank you.”
“Come,” he says. “I think you’ll like what’s on the menu tonight. Beef stroganoff!”
I laugh lightly. It’s a convincing sound. Maybe in another life, I could have been an actress. “Oh, how delicious.”
* * *
No offense to the chef, but the beef stroganoff is only okay. I sit at the dinner table between Mikhail and Charlotte, doing my best to keep the food down. Catherina sits next to Konstantin at the head of the table, chatting like old friends. I can’t help but grind my teeth. I still can’t get over her hypocrisy. Sometimes it’s hard to tell whose side she’s really on.
Beside me, Mikhail tries to take another bite of his food, only to wince when he attempts to lift his right arm. His other hand flies to his ribs with a low grunt.
I place my hand on his knee. “Are you okay?” I whisper.
Konstantin takes notice—because of course he does—practically a viper waiting for any signs of movement in order to strike. “He’s quite fine,” he says. “No need to worry. Right, Misha?”
“Right,” Mikhail grumbles.
“Oh,” Catherina says with a low hum. “Have you been throwing him into The Pit?”
My ears burn. “The Pit?” I echo.
It would make sense that Catherina knows more than I do. She’s been exposed to Bratva life for far longer than I have. She’s probably familiar with their initiation process, with their hierarchy and internal structure. It’s strange, but I’m oddly jealous of all she knows. If only I had more information, had more access to the resources around me, I’d be able to help Mikhail more. I know he wants me to lie low and keep from getting too involved, but it makes me feel genuinely useless. Apart from my code—which I may or may not be able to activate in the first place—there’s nothing else I can do except let the days pass and I fuckinghateit.
“It’s nothing, Aurora,” Mikhail grumbles.
From across the way, Konstantin’s eyes darken. “Oh, no need to keep her in the dark anymore. She’s family, is she not?”
