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Chapter Six
Mikhail
The air in the room is thick, heavy with silence. The only sound here is the soft, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps. The faint light spills over her, casting shadows across her pretty features. They’re soft now in her slumber, so different from the tense, cautious expression she always wears when she’s awake.
At this moment, Chiara looks as though she’s at peace.
But I know better. I know this is only a mask. These moments of deep sleeping allow her to shield away from the reality she’s been forced into. Her small frame curls inward, her arms wrapped around her middle as though she’s trying to escape, even when she’s fast asleep.
When Chiara shifts slightly, I almost think she’ll wake up. But she doesn’t. She must be terrified, but it’s unfortunate that she doesn’t know half of it yet.
She has no idea that her life is no longer hers to control.
I can’t stop watching her.
It’s impossible; every small movement of hers demands my attention. It’s always been like that. Even when she was just a shadow, just a distant figure in the buzz of the city of London, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She caught my eye immediately, and I knew from then that I would never be able to let go.
I kneel down beside her.
Taking a slow breath in, I think back to Nikolai. His absence weighs heavily in this room. A part of me says that I should be relieved, grateful even now that he’s gone and left me with more control, but something about his sudden absence unsettles me. I can feel it in my chest, and I don’t know if it’s because of her, or because of what’s to come.
I shake that thought away, deciding to focus on her instead. My eyes are drawn to her. Her dark hair is spread across the pillow, and her lips are curved up into a small smile. Her chest rises and falls with every breath that she takes, and a soft sigh escapes her lips.
I smile to myself, reaching out to trail my fingertips along the side of her face.
Chiara is ours now.
Nikolai and I, we’ve taken her.
And with time, we’ll mark her, and publicly claim her too.
There’s no going back after this.
Even if she wants to escape, it’s never going to happen.
Sitting there in the shadows, I watch her sleep. I’m not sure how long I’m there for, but it feels like hours with her. I memorise every movement, every breath, and every sound she makes. My fingers slip down to her lips, my thumb pressing into her plump bottom one.
My body reacts to the touch.
Shaking my head, I allow my thoughts to drift to my father, the Pakhan. The thought of what he might do if he finds outabout this makes my stomach drop. My father has always been the one who remains unmoved, unfazed by all the violence that surrounds us, all the blood that has stained our hands over the years.
But this?
This is different.
My brother and I have crossed a line.
We’ve taken her; Chiara.
And if our old man finds out, there will be consequences.
If Chiara is who we suspect she is—an Italian princess—this will open up a whole new world of problems. A world we never intended to deal with.
Though us Russians have remained civil with the Italians for over a decade now, with an alliance holding both sides together by the weight of mutual interests, there’s no telling whatthiswill do. Any breach of trust will shatter everything.
The tension builds inside me, like the slow ticking of a clock, as it counts down the minutes before everything can be destroyed.
If my father ever finds out what we’ve done, it may ignite a war that we’re not prepared for.