Page 79

Margot

The sound of the door creaking open jolts me awake, but I don’t move. I keep my eyes shut and focus on breathing evenly. If they think I’m asleep, I might catch them off guard.

I hear heavy footsteps approaching. The second he’s beside the cot, I strike, jamming my elbow into his gut. He doubles over with a Russian curse, and I bolt. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know one thing.

I’ve been here too long. I have to get out.

I hit the hallway at full speed, the darkness pressing in as I run.

I push myself harder, faster. Adrenaline drowns the ache in my underused muscles.

I hear him behind me, gaining ground. At the end of the hall, I take a sharp turn and pray it’s the right way.

I see it, an ascending staircase. I must be in a basement. No windows, no light, that tracks.

I make it two steps before he yanks me back by my hair.

“Stupid girl. You have nowhere to run,” he spits in my ear as he hauls me down .

Pain explodes across my scalp and tears burn behind my eyes, but I won’t let him see them. I won’t let him win.

He spins me to face him and slaps me so hard I hit the floor. “Try that again, and it’ll be worse,” he snarls.

He drags me by my hair and forces me up the stairs on all fours. My hands scramble to keep pace, so I don’t get slammed against the steps. The door at the top opens and light pours in, blinding me. I squint, blinking fast. I’ve been in the dark too long, at least a full day. Maybe more.

We move through the house, and when my vision adjusts, I’m stunned.

This isn’t a shack.

It’s a mansion.

A gaudy, overdone mansion, like somebody bought every expensive item they could find and threw them all together without a second thought.

Oil paintings hang beside photographs of street art. The furniture clashes with the rugs, which clash with the wallpaper. It’s messy. Flashy. Tacky. Ugly. The Bratva has no taste.

He pulls me up another flight of stairs and down another hallway. We stop at a door, and he knocks.

I finally take a good look at him. He’s more put together than the other Bratva goons I’ve encountered. For one, he’s bathed recently. He’s in a leather jacket and has all his limbs intact. He must outrank the others.

A muffled Russian command comes from inside, and we’re let in.

The office matches the rest of the house in its hideousness. An ornate Persian rug sits under an ugly, modern metal desk. Nothing matches. It’s disgusting.

Behind the desk sits a man old enough to be my father. His full head of hair, expensive suit, and friendly smile almost make him look distinguished .

Almost.

But I know better.

“Hello, Margot Peterson. I’m Viktor. Welcome to my home. I apologize for the method of your travel. I hope the accommodations have been acceptable,” he says in a smooth accent.

“I wasn’t a fan of the method, seeing as you kidnapped and drugged me,” I reply, keeping my tone light. Non-confrontational.

“I do apologize. My men weren’t supposed to harm you. Those who did will be punished accordingly. Why don’t you take a seat.” I don’t believe him.

He gestures to the leather chairs in front of his desk.

I hesitate, and the man beside me shoves me forward.

Viktor shoots him a glare, but it’s gone in a blink.

I sit.

He smiles again. “You’ve been difficult to find, Miss Peterson. All I’ve wanted is a simple conversation. There’ve been odd things happening around you.”

Bullshit he just wanted to talk.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” I keep my voice even. Play dumb. That’s my move.

“It came to my attention that you stumbled onto some shipments you shouldn’t have. You know what they say, ‘curiosity killed the cat.’ I don’t think you have a death wish, so I figured I owed you a talk.”

“‘But satisfaction brought it back,’” I shoot back.

He blinks. “Excuse me?”

“That’s the full saying. Most people don’t know it. It means curiosity is risky, but having the answer makes it worth it.” I smirk, just a little. One point for me.

“Clever. You remind me of my daughter, Katerina.” He raises a brow. “Has your snooping been worth it, considering it landed you here? Considering you’ve been in hiding for months?”

Point revoked.

“Where have you been? You vanished from work and left your home. My men stopped by multiple times to retrieve you. Some never came back. Then, out of nowhere, you appear at a gala far above your pay grade. It’s puzzling.”

“I’ve been here and there. I moved,” I say vaguely.

“Hmm. Well, back to the matter at hand. You stuck your nose where it didn’t belong and caused us all kinds of trouble. What exactly did you find?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit someone as intelligent as yourself. What did you uncover about the Koschei Group and the shipments coming through your company?” His smile falters for a second.

“All I saw were some shipments at weird hours without full invoices. I looked into the company, and they didn’t seem real. I told my boss.”

“Who else?”

“No one.” I lie. The Syndicate knows.

“It would be unwise to lie to me. Did you go to the authorities?”

“No! I swear I didn’t.” At least that’s true.

“Hmm. I believe you. Now tell me, what happened to my men? The ones who went looking for you? Two disappeared. Then three more. That’s a problem.”

“I have no idea.” Another lie.

He glares. “What did I say about lying? Where are they?”

“I really don’t know. Maybe they ran away. I hope you find them.” I try to come across as innocent.

“WHERE ARE MY MEN?” he shouts .

“WHY DON’T YOU ASK MATTHIAS AND ROMAN MONTCLAIR!” I shout back.

So much for innocent.

He freezes. Shock, then suspicion overtake his expression.

“What do you know about them?”

“I know you pissed them off by taking me.”

“You don’t have a connection to the Syndicate. We researched you. You’re lying,” he hisses, but there’s unease in his eyes.

“I’m Matthias Montclair’s fiancée.”

His gaze flicks to my bare ring finger, then back to my eyes and he raises a brow.

“The ring didn’t go with my gown.”

“That’s your story? The mafia CEO has chosen to marry the finance girl and is sending the Syndicate to rescue her?” His voice drips with disbelief, but I see it. I see his worry.

“It’s the truth. They saved me from the attackers.”

“Take her back to her cell,” he snaps. “She can come out when she’s ready to be honest. And if that doesn’t work… maybe she needs a visit to the docks.” His face and voice are so dark, I don’t even recognize the handsome man from minutes ago.

The mention of the ‘docks’ makes my blood run cold. I don’t know what goes on there, but I know I don’t want to find out.

“It has not been a pleasure meeting you,” I spit over my shoulder as I’m dragged away.

He chuckles darkly.

I send up a silent prayer.

Please, let my bluff be true.

Please, come for me, Matty.