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“Nevertheless,” Ippolit speaks, his voice hardly above a whisper. “We need to question her further. With your permission, of course, Nikolai Gennadyevich.”
A shudder runs down my whole body as I realize they don’t even see me as a person. Just a means to an end in their twisted game, a piece to be moved across the board and tossed aside when my function is fulfilled. I clench my fists, fighting to suppress the rising tide of resentment and fear before it leaps out of me in a scream.
I take a deep breath and force myself to stay calm.
I’m strong. I’ll get through this. I need to find a way to escape. I need to get back home to Dad. I have to tell him about these people. I have to warn him!
A noise at the far end of the hallway comes from my room. Dominika steps out into the hallway, holding a pile of dirty bedsheets. She eyes me suspiciously as I press myself stiffly against the wall. Her gaze moves from me to the staircase. I hold my breath, waiting to see what she will do.
Unexpectedly, she presses her finger to her lips, reminding me that the penalty for noise is something I cannot yet imagine.
Dominika walks past me and heads downstairs as I practically run to my room. I fling open the door, shut it gently behind me as quietly as I can, and then drop onto the bed, my heart racing and my mind a cacophony of thoughts.
I wait to hear footsteps, but no one is coming. I roll over onto a dress lying on the clean covers. It’s simple, crisp and white like Dominika’s, but smaller.
I grab it eagerly and quickly pull it on, thankful I have something decent to cover myself up in.
I sit there for a moment, counting my breaths as I stare at the curtain drawn across the window. The lavender fabric blocks the view that I once dreamed about but now dread.
Suddenly, all I want is to be back in Holtsville, living my boring life with my boring father.
I close my eyes and wait.
But I can’t stop my knees from shaking at the thought of what fresh hell awaits me.
16
NIKOLAI
“Thank you, Dominika.”
She nods toward me before leaving the room. But her stony gaze stays on the three brigadiers.
I look toward the spiral staircase; then I hear a door click shut. Eden is back in her room. Good, it’s safer that we have the rest of this conversation in private. Without a word, I walk toward my office, and the brigadiers follow.
The room is less of an office and more of a lounge. A small chrome bar with select vintages, several low sofas and side tables in chocolate and beige, and a space for art. Many of my treasured pieces are here for me to view alone. Works by Picasso and Pollock not seen in public since the day they were created. I resent having the brigadiers invade my private abode, but it’s obvious that Eden likes to listen.
And there are things she cannot be allowed to hear.
“There is no doubt, Nikolai Gennadyevich,” Ippolit speaks, calm and calculating, before I can. “She is Budanov’s daughter.”
“How can you be certain?” I ask him as I get a grip on my anger.
“She has his eyes,” Alexander interjects before Ippolit can talk. He picks up a vintage Merlot I was saving off the bar and examines the label. “I’ve known the man for many years, and I remember those eyes.”
“Is that it?” I scoff in disbelief. “You would have me fake a marriage with this girl solely because of hereyes?”
“Not marry,” Ippolit insists, sitting back on a couch. “Merely announce the engagement, and Budanov will reveal himself.”
“I thought the three of you had a real plan,” I snarl. “But it’s clear that you’re grasping at straws. This girl is not of the Bratva, I’m sure of it.”
“But how areyouso certain?” Alexander searches for a corkscrew in a drawer. “Have you questioned her extensively? Do you know anything about her father?”
“I—” I start to rebuff him, but the words catch in my throat. He’s not wrong. Eden has been incredibly withdrawn about her father. If anything, she’s toldthemmore than she’s toldme.
Sensing his victory, Alexander presses his point. “Budanov was a secretive man,” he says. “It’s why his betrayal came so late. But I swear it, my pakhan. You will want him before you, begging for mercy.” He pours a glass and takes a sip. “So that you may exact justice upon him for his crimes.”
I grab a glass and Alexander dutifully pours for me. Sinking into my chair, I turn to him. “And what crimes are those?”
