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“The Lebedev situation is contained,” Nikolai counters. “Unless there's something you're not telling us?”

Three pairs of eyes fix on me. Alexi's dancing with mischief, Nikolai's calculating, Dmitri's curious.

“No,” I say finally. “Nothing to tell.”

“Perfect!” Alexi claps his hands. “We leave tonight. Two days of mountain air will do you good, Brother. Clear your head.”

I drain my whiskey, feeling trapped. There's no way to refuse without raising suspicions. Not when my brothers already sense something's off.

“Fine,” I concede. Two days away from Katarina. Two days wondering what she's doing, who she's talking to, if she'll still want me when I return.

Alexi grins triumphantly. “Trust me, Erik. Whatever's eating at you—or whoever—will still be there when you get back.”

I catch Alexi's smirk as he watches me. The little shit knows exactly who's on my mind. He's enjoying this too much.

“I'll go pack a bag,” I say, pushing back from the table.

Alexi waves dismissively. “Don't bother. We've got enough stuff at the cabin from all our previous trips. Clothes, toiletries—everything.”

“I prefer to select what I take.” My jaw clenches tight enough to crack teeth.

“Always so particular,” Dmitri comments, finishing his drink.

Alexi pulls out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen. “Already texting my driver. He'll meet us out front in five minutes.”

“How efficient of you,” I mutter, earning a grin from my youngest brother.

“I live to serve,” Alexi says with mock solemnity before leaning closer so only I can hear. “She'll survive without you for two days, Erik. Though I can't promise she won't get bored.”

I grip my glass so hard I'm surprised it doesn't shatter. The thought of leaving without explaining to Katarina—after what we shared in the kitchen—sits like acid in my stomach. She'llthink I've abandoned her, or worse, that what happened meant nothing.

Nikolai stands, signaling the end of the discussion. “Let's go, brothers.”

As we make our way outside, I consider asking to make a quick call—but who would I call? Viktor? And what would I say? “Pass a message to our captive that I'll be back in two days because I can't stop thinking about her”?

The black SUV pulls up, and Alexi slaps my shoulder. “Cheer up. Two days of fresh air, no distractions. You might even remember how to smile.”

I slide into the back seat, rage and frustration tightening my chest. Two fucking days of “bonding” while Katarina wonders where I've gone. After she let me in. After I let her in.

Alexi catches my eye across the seat and has the decency to look slightly apologetic. “It's for the best.”

I don't respond. Just stare out the window as Boston's lights blur past us, each mile taking me further from her.

17

KATARINA

Two days. It's been two days since I've seen Erik's face, felt his hands, heard his voice. Not that I'm counting.

I pace my room for the third time today, irritated at myself for even noticing his absence. The marks he left on my skin have faded to ghost-like reminders. I brush my fingers over a yellowing bruise on my hip, remembering the way he gripped me in the kitchen.

Is that why he's gone? Did I push too far when I climbed on top of him? When I made him surrender to me?

“Damn it,” I mutter. “Stop thinking about him.”

This captivity is messing with my head. Stockholm syndrome, that's all this is. A psychological response to trauma. Nothing more.

But I can't stop replaying everything. The way his walls crumbled when he told me about his siblings. The vulnerability in his eyes when he let me take charge. The change in his kisses—from possessive to something dangerously close to reverent.