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“She’s a slip of a girl,” she declares. “Are you afraid of her?”
Frowning, he shakes his head and lowers his voice. “No. I’m not afraid of a girl.”
Dominika motions to the kitchen staff for three plates. “Nikolai Gennadyevich is not around,” she explains. “And she doesn’t want to eat alone. Where is your pakhan off to?”
My body is tense, and I’m eager to hear the real answer.
“He went to pick up rings,” Anton shrugs.
“For so long?” Dominika asks. “He’s been gone for most of the day.”
Anton stares greedily at the generous plate of pasta placed in front of him and starts to lose interest in the conversation. “They’re special. Handmade by a jeweler upstate. Zhanna Nikolaeva recommended the store.”
I don’t know how to feel about that, so I take a bite of my food.
I don’t feelthe need to hide upstairs after dinner. In fact, I put on a flirty white dress with embroidered green flowers and strappy sandals. The light from the floor lamp is enough toilluminate my new sketchbook and casts a wide circle on the living room floor where I sit. Pencil against paper, I lose myself in intricate lines as my drawing takes shape on the page. I look at the cityscape and wonder why I have never drawn it. Sighing, I cling to an uncommon moment of peace and savor it, knowing it won’t last long.
As if on cue, the low hum of the elevator signals Nikolai’s arrival, ending the serenity. My heart pounds as the doors slide open, revealing his imposing figure. I want to jump up and run toward him, but I remain where I am, as if I don’t care if he’s back. Nikolai steps out, and his stern gaze scans the room before stopping on me. Tension charges the air, making it too thick to breathe, as he strides toward me.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his deep voice lifting with curiosity.
An unnerving mix of anxiety and anticipation whirls in my gut, but I refuse to let it show. Instead, I offer Nikolai a small shrug, hoping to appear careless though I do definitely give a shit.
“Nothing, just doodling,” I reply without looking up.
He towers over me as I sit very still. His voice becomes thoughtful as he looks at the page. “I didn’t realize you could draw, but it makes sense.”
I squirm from embarrassment and relief that he doesn’t judge my attempt and praises me instead.
“Did anything happen today?” I loosen my grip on the pencil before it can break. “What about my dad? Is he …”
“Alive,” Nikolai cuts me off, his voice laced with severity. “For now.”
I breathe a shaky sigh of relief that I don’t bother to conceal. My fate is tangled up in the violence Nikolai’s world thrives on, and my dad’s life depends on his ability to outwit an entire Bratva. I tamp down my pride that Dad is beating them. As much as I try to hide it, hope flickers from my pleased grin.
“Thank you for letting me know,” I murmur, shifting my gaze back to the drawing.
Nikolai watches me for a moment and then sits on the edge of the couch closest to me. “Gunsyn and Alexander have been acting odd lately.”
“In what way?” I stop fidgeting and focus on Nikolai.
He pulls his tie open. “They’re secretive, meeting alone ever since Ippolit’s death … They’re hiding something, and I don’t like it.”
“I’ve always told you the truth,” I say softly. “Every truth I’ve known.”
His eyes linger on mine, weighing my words, and I have to look away, hoping my actions don’t reveal my closest secret.
“Eden,” he finally says, his voice strained. “The stakes are too high to blindly trust anyone right now.”
His words sting, but I understand the risky position he’s in. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.
“Anton said you really did go and get the rings.” I look at him. “May I see them?”
Nikolai’s eyebrows rise. Is he surprised I asked to see the rings or that I spoke to Anton? He pulls out two small boxes from his jacket and opens them before setting them on the table. The goldbands glitter under the warm light. I can’t help but admire his taste and eye for beauty, whether it’s in art, clothing, or jewelry.
One band has no diamond, but the other does. It’s not too big, maybe a couple of carats, which I like. I stare at it, almost tempted to put it on. I trace the intricate engraving, wondering what it would take for Nikolai to truly trust me.
“Trust,” I say softly, looking up at Nikolai. “Real trust. We could exist without fear of being used against one another if we had it. “
