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Stop it, Tiana!
My eyes halt on a nearby cabinet. At the very top shelf is one of those Russian nesting dolls. Pushing a footstool to the cabinet, I clamber up and reach for it. Still standing there, I open it up.
Bingo!
That was way easier than I thought. The last couple of dolls are missing, and in their place is a gleaming key. I put the doll back in its place, push the footstool back where I found it, and face the door again.
“Here goes nothing,” I say beneath my breath. Turning the key in the lock, I grip the doorknob and push the door open. It swings easily, which is almost disappointing because I’d expected an ominous creak. Beyond it, everything is much like what I just left behind. More ridiculously decadent furnishings, paintings on the walls, rooms that lead into each other. Still, I can’t help creeping cautiously as I make my way through them.
What could he be hiding here?
What could be so bad that he wouldn’t want anyone to see it?
My mind starts racing as I envision a dungeon filled with implements of torture. Or what if he’s running a child slavery ring from here? I don’t want to think about him being involved in something like that, but maybe it’ll knock these stupid conflicting feelings out of me once and for all.
Yeah, right.
Because finding out that Kirill Vyronov is a child-selling monster would be a great way to stop crushing on him.
You’re sick, girl!
I keep exploring, moving further and further into this strange section of his home as I open doors to rooms that yield absolutely no sign of any nefarious activity. Until I turn a corner and see it. I’ve walked straight into a sunroom overlooking the gardens. It’s bright and airy with hanging ferns and pretty wallpaper. And sitting at the far end in a comfortable window seat is a woman.
My mouth drops open.
What the hell?
As I watch, she turns to look at me with wide, guileless blue eyes. Her silvery hair has been carefully brushed, and she’s wearing a pink satin robe with matching pink slippers. Her hands are folded on her lap, but they lift and flutter slightly as she takes in the sight of me.
“Hello?” I say tentatively.
“Vy prishli prinesti moloko?” she says in an anxious voice.
“Um… excuse me?” is all I manage to respond with because the breath has been sucked from me. I don’t know who this woman is, but the way she looks at me is starting to creep me out.
“Vo vtornik prikhodit khlebnik,” she goes on, a little more anxiously.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re saying.” Of course I don’t. Because she’s speaking Russian. I take a step forward, which seems to alarm her, so I stop. But I’m close enough to see her eyes… gorgeous sky-blue eyes that stare in a way that seems almost childlike.
“Mne nuzhno moloko. Pape skoro zakhochetsya blinov.” She’s wringing her hands now. Is she trying to ask for help? Has she been kept prisoner here too? Maybe she’s been tortured. I glance around the room. It seems so comfortable. And she’s obviously well cared for. Would someone torture her and then make sure her hair is brushed and her clothes are clean and neatly pressed? Would Kirill do something like that? It seems so perverse that I know it can’t be possible.
“I’m really sorry. I want to help, but-” I rub my forehead. “Do you speak English?” Obviously, she doesn’t. She would have done so by now if she could. But, like an idiot, I repeat the word. “Eng-lish!”
She gnaws on her lip, her hands still wringing as she looks about like a bird looking for escape. And then she stops suddenly, her features relaxing.
“Kirill pomozhet. On budet.”
My brow furrows. I still don’t understand her, but I picked up enough of what she said to recognize the word “Kirill.”
“Did Kirill do this to you?” I press. “Did he lock you in here?” The question is pointless, but I want to try to help.
“Kirill,” she says, her face breaking into a radiant smile as she points past me.
I freeze. And then I turn around. My mouth goes dry in an instant. My blood runs cold too.
Because right behind me, stands the one man who told me not to come here.
Kirill Vyronov.
