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“Panic attack I would guess. The minute we got in that closet she freaked, but when I opened the panel in the floor and she saw the darkness, she folded on the spot.”
Dropping down on the bed next to her, I run my hands over her clammy, chilled skin. Her face is so pale and she’s shivering. Jesus.
I get to work peeling the cape from her so I can get her tucked under the covers, but when I draw back the fabric from her shoulders, I find scrapes along her shoulder blades. Red, raw lines with dirt still caked in her skin. At the view of her marred skin, the swell of anger swirls with the adrenaline still surging through my veins and I have to will myself to stay where I am. “Where did these marks come from?”
Never in all the days I’ve spent protecting her has she ever looked like this and despite seeing no other way to get her to safety, I can’t help but blame myself for it.
“I had to drag her through the narrow section of the tunnel. I tried to keep the cape under her, but there’s a couple pieces of rebar.”
I shoot to my feet and advance on him.
He backs up and holds his hands up. “One of them caught on the cape, but not on her. I promise, boss.”
This child—no, woman—she's a woman now. A reckless, impulsive, beautiful woman who will get herself killed taking risks the way she did tonight on that stage. To even step foot in the spotlight was beneath her, but to bare herself to the men there—over my dead body would anyone ever see her like that again.
We fucked up. We didn’t prepare her for just how nefarious this world could be. No matter what recesses of the world she finds herself in, she will be hunted, a prize for whoever possesses her. She's vulnerable because we didn’t teach her how to be ruthless, cunning, and disciplined. Passionate and spirited, she lacks control. And now evil more sinister than we ever could have imagined is seeping through the cracks in this family, and she’s ill-equipped to protect herself from it.
The day will come where Nikolaj will head this family with intelligence and responsibility. He’ll be a fearsome force, but until that day, we’re all hunted, Nikoletta most of all.
“You’re alive,” she whispers as she reaches for my face and rests her palm along my cheek.
My shoulders slumping in relief, my rigid muscles ache with the constant tension and worry for her. “You think so little of me that I’d fall so easily?”
“Guns. So many guns firing,” she mumbles before licking her lips. She blinks, her gaze dropping to my arm, her eyes widening. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.” And it’s not. I don’t even feel it. Nothing more than a flesh wound and nothing compared to the injuries I’ve sustained over the years.
“What now, Kostya?” Her gaze darts around the room where burning candles are scattered throughout.
“Nikolaj is coming. I got in touch with him on my way here. Moretti’s dead and his men will be looking for retribution. So we stay here until we have reinforcements.”
She pushes up onto her elbows, her thick waves sleek only an hour ago now a tangled mess framing her face. If this were any other time, any other place, she’d look like a woman thoroughly fucked from where she sits in the center of the bed.
With a wary gaze, she blinks rapidly, her eyes adjusting to the dim light as she gazes through the stark room. Not that there’s much to see. A shelf of pantry foods that don’t require refrigeration, several cases of water, a sink, toilet, and a claw-foot tub.
I’ve been in worse places with no food or water, surrounded by dirt and death. This room, despite being a crypt, is comfortable and dry—a paradise compared to where I’ve been, but I have to wonder what she sees. Raised in wealth, she’s only ever slept on lavish sheets, a mountain of feather pillows—her bedroom alone bigger than most modest family homes. She travels by private jets and luxury cars with buttery soft leather seats and bulletproof glass.
This room is where her extravagant lifestyle dies.
Her bottom lip trembles, but she fights back the fear, her teeth sinking into the flesh to keep it still as she takes a few deep breaths. “It’s so dark.”
“We’ll light more candles.” I brush a lock of hair away from her eyes and settle my palm on her cheek. “When you’re ready, we’ll get you cleaned up.”
“And you’ll tell me what’s going on. Why you’re no longer at my father’s side. Why you stand with Nikolaj.” Her fingers lock on my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip, reassuring me she’s coming out of it and she’ll be fine.
I’m staring into the eyes of a Romanoff through and through, and despite her impulsiveness being enough to get us both killed, in moments like this, I have to remember, although having been taught to be demure, she’s been bred to be ruthless in her own right.
“We’ll talk, Pcholka.”
NIKOLETTA
The minute Konstantin leaves me alone to speak to Dmitri and Grigori, I shiver once again. The ceilings can’t be more than six feet tall from the way Konstantin has to round his shoulders and hang his head.
His men glance at me on occasion, but before long, they head out the narrow, short opening, back out to the tunnels. Konstantin sprays the edges of the wall panel and slides it back into place.
“What is that?”
“It’s a sealant. It spreads and settles making it look like the crypt hasn’t been accessed in years.”
