Page 27

He’s not someone you mess with.

Yet here he is, backing away from Nestor.

He raises his hands in the air and shakes his head. “I don’t want any trouble, sir,” Charlie stammers.

Sir?

“Then fuck off,” Nestor answers calmly.

What the hell is going on? My brain is screaming in confusion.

“Yeah, sorry, man, the girl owes the boss money, man, I was just doing my job,” he says defensively.

“Looks to me like you were doing more than just your job,” Nestor snarls, threat touching his voice.

Charlie clears his throat. “I wasn’t going to—I was just—"

“I said fuck off. And do it before I change my mind,” Nestor interrupts him.

Charlie doesn’t waste a second. He bolts out of there as though a pack of wild dogs is chasing him.

I stand in disbelief, my back still pressed against the dirty wall.

“Come on, little one,” Nestor says, as though he hasn’t just faced down one of the most terrifying men I’ve ever met like the monster was nothing more than a puppy.

Nestor holds out his hand and gestures for me to move away from the wall.

I’m too nervous to argue with him, unsure now about who he really is. I walk behind him towards his car. How did he know I was here?

“Were you following me?” I ask quietly.

“Someone had to make sure you didn’t get yourself into trouble after you escaped the mansion,” he chuckles.

He stands holding the passenger door open for me, patiently waiting for me to get into his car. I do so in silence, my eyes locked onto him. Should I be scared of him?

Charlie certainly was.

The entire drive home, Nestor is relaxed and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel while he hums something I don’t recognize. I have a million questions swimming in my thoughts, but no idea how to voice them.

It isn’t until we are back inside his mansion that I blurt the first one out.

“Who are you?” I snap, shooting the question at him before I have a chance to stop myself.

I need to know.

But I’m so used to my father’s lies and manipulation, I doubt I’m going to get any kind of truth from him.

Nestor turns towards me, folding his thick, muscular arms over his broad chest. He leans his shoulder against the wall.

“Nestor Rostov,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Why am I here, Nestor Rostov?” I demand.

“Like I told you already. Your father owed me a great deal of money, more than he could possibly pay, and he negotiated with me by selling his daughter to me. Marriage in exchange for his debts.”

“Why would you want to be married?”

“Because a man like me needs children to take over his empire.”