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My body tingles, my nerves reaching the surface. This horrible dress pinches me, reminding me I don’t have any other clothes. From the corner of my eye, I see my father getting into his Town Car. Maksim’s men helped him into his truck and drove off a while ago. He needs a doctor more than me.
“Give me a minute.” Grabbing the gown’s thick skirt, I run past an older woman in the kitchen who gawks at me in my blood-splattered dress. “Papa!” I yell.
He stops and spins around with a wide smile. “You came to your senses, Katya.”
“No.” I halt. “I mean, I’ve notlostmy senses, Papa. But Iwantmy clothes. All my things. Maya packed everything up for the flight tonight.”
“You are not taking the flight tonight, are you?” He folds his arms.
The O’Rourkes offered to help him, but he’s sulking because he didn’t get to call the shots. He’s an old-school proud man. Being pakhan has distorted his perspective on life.
Lachlan probably won’t hesitate to buy me whatever I need, but I feel like he’s done enough. I had access to a bank account that I assume Papa will close.
“I am married to Lachlan O’Rourke, but I am still your daughter. I am still a Koslov by blood and name. You may have considered me invisible all these years, but people in this city know who I am.” Lifting the skirt of my blood-stained gown, I add, “Do you want me roaming this city shopping for clothes looking like this, with bruises on my face? Advertising that you tried to sell your daughter to a monster?”
Warmth spreads across my back, and a low chuckle rumbles from Lachlan’s chest. “Nice, little one,” he whispers in my ear. His support means so much to me.
Papa’s cheek twitches. He wants to be feared in Astoria, but not for the wrong reasons. All leaders, Kieran O’Rourke, Papa, and the new head of the Italian mafia, all need respect.
“Your bags will be dropped off,” he relents bitterly.
“I’llpick them up.” Lachlan rests a possessive hand on my shoulder.
“Right, enforcer. Your lair is one of the best-kept secrets in this city.”
Lair? He didn’t tell me where he lives. Wherewelive.
“I’ll go put the third-row seats down in my car.” Griffin brushes past me.
Car… I have always been driven around and don’t have a driver’s license.
“Are you ready to leave, little one?” Lachlan whispers in my ear again, his warm breath tickling my skin.
“Yes,” I say with a straight spine. I’m married to an enforcer, a man who eats brutality for breakfast and spends the night terrorizing people. He needs a strong wife.
Lachlan steers me to Griffin’s massive SUV. The weight of the day finally hits me. All morning, the thought of that plane ride to Russia with Rahil made my stomach churn with terror. But now, I’m heading ‘home’ with my ‘husband.’ Not a madman who hurt me, just a…psycho who shows an unusual amount of kindness toward me.
Nerves still shake my soul, but for a much different reason. Being alone with Lachlan has my heart pounding.
The sun sets off in the distance, red and burning hot. It was a gorgeous day, but I missed it. Lachlan puts his arm around me but doesn’t look at me. He and Griffin chat in hushed tones. I pretend not to listen or be interested. Does he automatically trust me?
We reach my father’s estate, and it looks so different. The feeling I had coming to this massive, haunting compound eight years ago hits me. I breathe in and out. But the words,let me go, don’t pass my lips. They’re not even on the tip of my tongue.
When Griffin gets out, Sergei, Maksim’s second-in-command, struts up to the car. Lachlan lays his arm across my lap. “You’re safe, Katya.”
Griffin and Sergei chat for a moment, their faces absent of stress. Sergei barks something in Russian, and three men bring my suitcases to the back of the SUV. When the rear door snaps shut, the feeling I’m owned by Lachlan solidifies really fast.
The guards at the gate watch us as we roll down Papa’s driveway. Griffin gives a wave, smiling, while Lachlan stares straight ahead, his lips flat.
We live on the border of Long Island City, but Griffin heads north. Just when I think he’ll turn onto a street with fancy homes, he doesn’t. Glancing up at Lachlan, I understand. He doesn’t look like a man who would own a fancy house all by himself. His brother, Riordan, lives in a penthouse. But we passed the only high-rise in Astoria miles back.
After a couple of turns, we’re on a winding, one-lane road with a thicket of tall trees on both sides. Griffin sharply cuts into a driveway that I would have missed.
His Escalade climbs a steep hill, and I watch with anticipation for the house that will appear when we crest the incline.
Lair. Papa called where Lachlan lives a lair.
I gasp, seeing the sprawling one-floor home constructed of mostly vertical glass panels.
