AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Perhaps the answer to his protectiveness was that she’d saved him, and even if she was a Popov, that still meant that he was indebted to her. Although he was cold, ruthless, and shut off, the way he acted toward Maya wasn’t in line with the actions of a man who wanted her dead.
Or maybe he knew that she’d run away as soon as she was old enough to leave on her own and gone to live in London, hoping to disappear from beneath her father’s watchful eye. An enemy of her father’s was a friend to her, too. Although she didn’t wish her father dead, she felt like she was safer with a Sokolov in the house than she would have been with a man who’d sworn his allegiance to her father.
For now, she would leave it be. Even though Kostya was a Sokolov, she would see where this went. He was different than her father. He had compassion. She’s seen it when he’d let Michael go free, and she’d seen it again when he’d insisted on staying so he could protect her. An unsettled part of her whispered that she was only thinking of him in this way because she found him attractive, but Maya refused to subscribe to that notion.
She’d saved his life and changed his heart with her kindness. He wasn’t the cruel man her father was. He couldn’t be.
Maya turned off her tablet, rolled herself up in her blankets, and tried to push thoughts of Kostya out of her mind, but she couldn’t seem to do it. She kept going back and forth over potential what-ifs that were quickly turning into pure fantasy. What if they had never been enemies, would they have ever met? What would they have thought of each other? Did he find her attractive? At her mother’s insistence, she’d always worn her hair long but when she moved to London, she’d chosen to cut it short and had fallen in love with how it looked. Did he like it?
She shook her head hard. She hadn’t chosen her hairstyle with him in mind. With so much time spent indoors, her hair had darkened somewhat and with adjustments to her makeup and clothes, she thought she looked different enough that, coupled with her different last name, she could remain anonymous in a world where her father’s reach was everywhere. She should have known better.
Sighing, she adjusted her pillow and tried to will herself to sleep. Tomorrow morning would bring her answers. Either she’d wake up and be one step closer to solving the mystery of Kostya Sokolov, or she wouldn’t wake up at all. She already had a feeling which it was going to be, however. Her gut instinct never lied.
CHAPTER8
Kostya
Morning came. Kostya woke from a light sleep when an ambulance passed by, its siren blaring. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched to work the kinks out of his back. He’d fallen asleep in an upright position, and his back ached for it. To make matters worse, his head felt like it was about to split open. He’d have to wait until he was back in Boston to have it looked at—he couldn’t risk having his identity discovered. If Viktor had to pull strings to get him out of an international arrest, he’d be in deep shit. Well, deeper shit.
At least his father was no longer in charge. Boris Sokolov had been a ruthless leader, quick to mete out harsh punishment for any slight. While both he and Viktor took after him in some ways, marriage to Alexandra had softened his brother and Kostya had to—very reluctantly—admit that he was a better leader for it. But that didn’t mean Viktor would let Kostya’s recent behavior slip by. There would be a reckoning as soon as he returned to Boston and Kostya hoped that his body would be healed enough to withstand it.
He could hear the shower running and knew that Maya had to be up and getting ready to start her day. He slouched back onto the couch and stifled a yawn. This morning, Kostya’s only objective was to get Maya to work safely. After he did, he could spend the rest of the day attempting to figure out what had made him come to London in the first place. There had to be a reason. All he had to do was remember it.
A short while later, the shower stopped. There was movement in the bathroom, then bare footsteps down the hall. The bedroom door closed, there was more movement, and then Maya emerged, dressed and ready for her day. Her hair was dry, pushed up at all angles in a way that looked charmingly windswept. She’d traded yesterday’s casual clothing for a simple shirt, black jeans, and a jacket.
“Good morning.” Maya leaned against the doorframe. “Did you make yourself breakfast?”
“No.”
“How do you feel about eggs and toast?”
Kostya looked her over, keeping the suspicion from his face. Although she spoke cheerfully, fear lurked behind her words. Had something happened overnight? He trusted himself enough that he felt sure he would have woken at the slightest disturbance, even after the hit to the head he’d taken, but something had to have escaped his attention if she was so frightened now. Rather than ask about it, however, he just nodded. “Eggs and toast would be fine.”
“Then I’ll get started on them right away.” Maya headed for the kitchen, stopping long enough to set the bottle of paracetamol on the table next to him—before backing away quickly. There was something strange going on, and he wasn’t sure what it was. With any luck, the pieces would fall into place quickly and he could return to Boston. Viktor needed him for enforcement, and Kostya wouldn’t let him down.
“You know,” Maya called from the kitchen as a pan clattered on the stove. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a houseguest. You wouldn’t think it rude if I put on music, would you?”
“No.” In fact, it intrigued him. Music wasn’t a part of his daily routine, and while his head pounded from the aftermath of the attack, he couldn’t get over the image now spun in his mind of Maya lip-syncing to old songs, swinging her hips and bobbing her head to the music as she wielded a spatula.
“It’s just something I like to do in the morning. When I was younger and still living with my family, I never could. My sister hated it, and she’d make such a big fuss that it really wasn’t worth the fight. She was the golden child and whatever she wanted, she got.” Maya laughed, and Kostya imagined that same bubbly sound accompanied by pop music as she danced without inhibition in the kitchen, in love with life and overjoyed by the splendor of the morning. “Now that I’m on my own, I do whateverIwant. I’m glad to have left. Sometimes, family isn’t everything it makes itself out to be. I had a difficult upbringing, especially once my mom…” Her voice trailed off into silence for a beat before she continued in a rush. “Well, anyway, I don’t need to bring up my past. It’s why I moved to London.”
That sounded like someone else he knew. Kostya’s lips parted in a moment of clarity.Sisters.The memories came rushing back.
He’d come to London to find the oldest Popov sister. Anatoly Popov, the man who’d killed his father, was in hiding, and with Elena Popov now under Viktor’s protection and sleeping with Roman, Viktor’s right-hand man, Kostya couldn’t hope to use her as bait to lure the Svodnik out of hiding. Which was a shame—being used as bait was theleastof what she deserved, as far as Kostya was concerned.
When Elena had come to stay at the mansion, she had been intending to assassinate Viktor, on her father’s orders. She’d been unsuccessful, accidentally stabbing Roman instead. Kostya still thought his brother should have shot the bitch in the head and sent her body back to the Svodnik in pieces. Instead, Viktor had granted her clemency. More than that, she was still living in the mansion. Kostya had been enraged at the events but his brother had been adamant that Elena not be harmed in any way. So, he’d bided his time while Daniil and his security team tracked down the Svodnik. Formonths, with barely any leads at all. When Kostya found out where he could find the sister, he’d left the compound to head to the airport, where he’d caught the next plane to London.
London, where Maya Popov lived.
He’d been on his way to her flat, intending to kidnap her, when he’d been ambushed and beaten by two men who’d got the drop on him.
Kostya looked toward the kitchen doorway. Maya was playing music loudly—something upbeat, like her—and he thought he heard her singing along. She’d introduced herself as Maya Orlov, and without all of his memories, he’d seen nothing wrong with the name. Now he knew better. The pictures he’d seen of her were different than what she looked like now, but there was no denying that the shape of her face was the same. The same slender nose, the same full lips, the same wide eyes…In the photos, she’d had waist-length chestnut hair. Her short hairstyle and darker hair color had been enough to throw him off and avoid jogging his memory.
He scrubbed his face with a hand, then stood. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, and it urged him to move, to fight, to dosomethingother than sit there. He was in the home of the enemy, had even slept in hostile territory, and he may very well have risked his life by pledging to protect her. If Viktor found out…
Viktor couldn’t know. None of the Sokolovs could know. He would never hear the end of it from the old guard, some of whom were still resistant to the new pakhan. Kostya had already gone rogue by flying to London without the pakhan’s knowledge or permission—he wouldn’t land himself in any more trouble than he was already in.
“How do you like your eggs?” Maya called from the kitchen. “Do you want to say, ‘screw it,’ and I’ll just scramble all of them? Might be easier that way.”
