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47
PIPER
Timofey’s mansion is huge, but there isn’t enough square footage in the world to handle my pacing.
I can clearly see the path I’ve worn in the plush rug in my room. It’s been two hours since he streaked out of his driveway in one of the black sports cars from his fleet of vehicles, but it feels like a lifetime.
“They’re fine,” I tell myself, inhaling and exhaling in an even measure to settle my heart rate. “Ashley is fine. Timofey will take care of her.”
I want to laugh at the absurdity of my own pep talk. In no world did I imagine I would be depending on Timofey for the health and safety of one of my best friends. Or for anyone, for that matter.
Then again, he’s saved me almost more times than I can count. At some point, I will have to reconcile the two sides of him, but I don’t know if I’m capable of it now.
She isn’t worth your life.
Those words have replayed in my head too many times to count since Timofey said them. It’s stupid, but there’s something there, right? He must think I’m worth something. Maybe I’m more than just a nanny to him. Maybe I’m…
What? What do I want to be to Timofey Viktorov?
“Nothing.” It seems like a sentiment worth saying aloud.
The butterflies in my stomach are not a valid way of judging a person’s character. The only thing that getting butterflies around Timofey tells me is that it has been too long since I’ve been with a man. It’s chemical nonsense, that’s all. Nothing worth throwing my dignity away over.
“Focus,” I breathe. I squeeze my eyes closed as I pace. The path is as well marked in my head as it is on the carpet, so I don’t need my eyes open to see it. Plus, I need to purge thoughts of Timofey pressed against me from my heart and soul.
Right now, I need to be focused on Ashley.
I hear tires squealing across the pavement in the front of the house, and my eyes pop open. I don’t bother looking out the window to see who it is—I just take off at a run for the entryway.
As soon as I slide to a stop on the wood floor, the front door slams open.
But it isn’t Timofey and Ashley standing in front of me.
It’s Sergey.
“Where is he?” he growls, not even looking at me.
I actually don’t think Sergey has even seen me yet. That’s just the way he enters a house: throw open the door and shout a vague, demanding question to whatever lifeforms are unfortunate enough to be in his vicinity.
“Who?” My voice comes out in a tiny squeak. I clear my throat and try again. “Sorry, who are you looking for?”
Sergey turns to me and my guess was correct. This is the first time he’s seeing me.
His hooded eyes slide over me with all the joy someone would have inspecting a festering wound. “I’m looking for my son. Where is he?”
“Oh. He’s—” I stop.
Am I supposed to tell anyone where he went? Timofey doesn’t answer to anyone. He’s the leader of the criminals, as far as I can tell. Still, he might not want his movements—
“Well?” Sergey barks, interrupting my panicked thoughts. “Are you as dumb as my son says you are or can you answer a fucking question?”
There’s the reminder I needed. I’m nothing to Timofey except for the stupid nanny he is using to get his way. None of these people care about me at all. Why should I care about them?
I give Sergey a smile bordering on a grimace. “I’m not sure where your son is. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Timofey is the boss, so I report to him.”
Sergey’s nostrils flare as he stalks across the room towards me. “Timofey may be the don now, but I built this place. If you know where he is, tell me.”
What part of “even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you” does this man not understand?
