Page 19 of Deceptive Vows

“Good girl. Now go and get clean. Make sure you’re ready to head to New York in the morning.”

“New York?”

“Your new home.”

He backs away, and I process his words—all of them.

I watch him go, and the moment the door closes, I sink back to the floor, naked and shaking.

This survival is only temporary. All I’ve done is bought myself more time on this earth.

But I don’t think I’m actually going to survive this.

I don’t think he’s going to allow me to.

6

Mikhail

New York

As I speed down the winding road leading to my father’s house on my motorcycle, the ghost of the princess’ touch lingers on my skin.

It taunts me like the frostiness of the weather. Like her, it’s neither here nor there, but there’s an unshakeable presence.

The marks her fingernails made on my shoulders are still there, too, imprinted on my skin although I never took my clothes off. She gave me those marks as I made her come and submit to me, giving herself over to pleasure.

The same pleasure I can’t shake from my mind.

I haven’t been able to shake her from my mind either.

I wanted to take her right there after I tasted her and took in her fear and arousal. The deadly combination was more potent than any drug I’ve taken.

Like a fucking addict, I fed off her fear and wanted more.

But all in good time.

Now we’re in New York, we’re in my world and we can play by all my rules.

Last night, she was scared and caught up in everything that happened, but I expect her to be the spoiled bitch I’ve heard she is soon.

The princess would have landed an hour ago, and I’m assuming she’s either still on her way to my house or already there.

I left Mexico last night because I didn’t want to stay another second in that house. I didn’t care how late it was or how tired I might have been, I planned to fly back home even before I left.

I take a right turn and slow down as the two mammoth-sized silver gates guarding the house I grew up in come into view.

The guards open them for me before I get there so I can ride right into the heavily guarded fortress that became home to the brotherhood more than two decades ago when my father became the Pakhan.

The stately home that emulates many of the chateaus and manor homes in Europe rises into view as I head down the drive.

It undoubtedly looks like the home it should be, but it also has that vibe that lets you know business is conducted here. My father always said he preferred business and home to be one and the same. Not because he’s a workaholic. It’s because he’s a good leader who’s immersed himself in his responsibilities.

Usually, there are three meetings here on a weekly basis between the elite group, the Brigadiers and the senior members of their brigade. The larger meetings are held at Dmitriyev Ltd, our family company, in the city.

Father used to attend all meetings, even when he was first diagnosed with brain cancer. By the time he became terminal, my mother insisted on him focusing on the meetings here.

I park, take off my helmet, and get off my bike. I then acknowledge the men guarding the doors to the entrance.