Page 7

I jolt awake, my heart pounding as if I just ran a marathon.

I slept fitfully, my subconscious replaying frustrating conversations with Mark before transforming them into passionate imaginary encounters that set my skin ablaze.

It was just a series of nightmares, I tell myself, forcing myself not to think of how tightly he laced his hand around my stomach and pulled me away from the stairs to hold me against him.

I still remember every inch of our bodies making contact, the way his presence slithered into me and made my heart race.

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of sleep and unwanted attraction.

”Get it together, Quinn,” I mutter, running a hand through my tangled strawberry-blonde hair.

“He’s your kidnapper and the reason you’re in this entire mess.”

And yet, I think of the way his gaze seemed to undress me, how his deep voice sent shivers down my spine.

No. I refuse to think about him for one more second.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor.

After freshening up, I sit on the corner of my bed, wondering what the plan is now.

Would someone please bring me breakfast?

Will he really leave me to languish here all day?

I scan the room for a landline I can use to check if there’s an intercom or something, since I don’t have my cell phone.

Finding nothing, I head for the door.

That's when I try my luck and find, to my surprise, that the door is unlocked from the outside. My heart skips a beat as I approach, testing the handle. It turns effortlessly in my hand.

”Well, well,” I whisper, a plan already forming. “Looks like Mr. High-and-Mighty made a mistake.”

It has to be a mistake, considering he used handcuffs on me the previous night… right?

I glance down at my silk pajamas, debating whether to change. But time is of the essence. Who knows when Mark might return?

”Screw it,” I decide. I'd rather escape in my PJs than spend another minute in this prison.

I crack open the door, peering into the hallway.

It's clear. I take a deep breath, steeling my nerves.

”You've got this, Quinn,” I tell myself.

“Just act natural and walk out like you own the place.”

With one last glance behind me, I step into the corridor and rush down the stairs.

Freedom is so close I can taste it.

All I have to do is make it to the front door without running into—

”Going somewhere?

”

I freeze, my blood turning to ice as that familiar voice washes over me.

Slowly, I turn to face my captor, my heart sinking as I meet Mark's amused gaze.

“Just stretching my legs,” I lie, plastering on a fake smile.

Mark's lips quirk up in a dangerous smirk.

“Is that so? Well then, allow me to join you. I'd hate for you to get lost in the gardens.”

As he steps closer, I can smell his cologne—spicy and masculine. My traitorous body responds even as my mind screams in frustration. I've gone from the frying pan right into the fire.

So much for my great escape.

”Actually,” I hesitate.

“Maybe I’m not that interested. I’m a bit tired after yesterday. I think I’ll just head back to my room.”

I try to step past him, but he shifts to his right, blocking my path.

With his eyes laser-focused on mine, Mark gestures toward an open doorway, his smile unwavering.

“Why don't we continue your morning in here? I was just about to have breakfast, and considering how tired you are, it might be better for you to eat.”

I hesitate, eyeing the exit longingly. My stomach chooses that moment to betray me with an audible growl.

”Come now,” Mark coaxes, his blue-gray eyes twinkling. “I promise I don't bite... unless you ask nicely.”

I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the way his playful tone sends a shiver down my spine. “Has anyone ever told you that your charm needs work?”

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. “Only you, Quinn. Only you.”

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and something buttery wafts from the dining room, making my mouth water. My growling stomach wages war with my pride.

”Fine,” I relent, stepping into the room. “But this doesn't mean anything.”

”Of course not,” Mark agrees, pulling out a chair for me.

I sit reluctantly, my eyes darting around the opulent space. Crystal chandeliers, antique furniture, priceless artwork—it's like I've stepped into a museum. Or a very rich man’s house. It smells of old money.

In this moment, I realize I never asked what Mark did for a living. Hell, I never even asked his last name. Though curious, I decide to bite my tongue, lest he mistakes my genuine curiosity for compliance.

”Hungry?” Mark asks, sliding a plate of golden crepes in front of me.

I eye the food, wondering if I made a mistake coming in here. To maintain boundaries, wouldn’t it be better if I ate in my room? But before I say a word, Mark leans in and decides to serve me himself.

“I haven’t poisoned the food,” he says, setting the plate aside and proceeding to pour coffee into a delicate China cup before me. “I swear it’s just breakfast.”

But as I meet his intense gaze across the table, I know nothing with Mark is ever “just” anything. But how wrong could breakfast go?

I pick up my fork.

Just as I'm about to take my first bite, the door bursts open. Three impeccably dressed men saunter in, their boisterous laughter filling the room. My fork clatters against the plate as I startle, nearly choking.

”Ah, brothers!” Mark greets them, his demeanor shifting subtly as he gives me a wary look before turning back to them. “Join us for breakfast?”

My eyes dart between the newcomers, taking in their striking resemblance to Mark. Their genes are strong, it seems.

”Sure,” says the tallest one, running a hand through his dark hair as his eyes flicker over to me.

”Who are you?” another asks, staring right at me.

”Manners truly are a lost cause on you, aren’t they, Denis?” the taller one states. He looks at me and introduces himself. “Vladimir. And that,” he tilts his head towards the third and probably oldest amongst them, “is Abram.”

”Quinn,” I offer.

Abram nods at me while Denis winks with a devilish smile and plops himself down in a chair.

”Where’s Lara?” Mark asks, passing around the dishes to his brothers, who have all made themselves comfortable around the table by now.

”Lara's gone shopping.”

”Again?” Mark chuckles, shaking his head. “Our sister could buy out Saks Fifth Avenue if we let her.”

”Thank goodness it’s on the Orlov Amex now.”

”And we Zolotovs are no longer footing that bill,” Denis says, and all four men begin to laugh.

I freeze mid-chew, my ears perking up at the name. Zolotov. As in the infamous Zolotov Bratva family? From what I learned during my research on notorious criminal families while arranging a marriage for a Mafia princess, the Orlovs operate some of the most exclusive nightclubs worldwide, alongside their more sinister dealings in the underworld. I never got the chance to find out more, though, since the Mafia Don insisted on an Italian for his daughter.

As they continue their casual chatter, my mind races. The way they toss around names I've only ever heard whispered in the shadowy corners of my dating agency sends an icy shiver down my spine. The Zolotovs, the Orlovs—I realize, with a start, that I'm sitting at the epicenter of a global criminal empire, casually nibbling on crepes as though it's an ordinary day.

Mark's hand brushes against mine as he reaches for the coffee pot, snapping me back to the present. His touch leaves a trail of fire on my skin, but this time, I don’t just see him as Mark. I see him as Mark Zolotov , the most feared member of the Bratva family in both Russia and America, who also happens to be the man who kidnapped me to keep me safe.

”Everything alright?” he asks, his voice low and intimate.

I nod, not trusting my voice. As I meet his gaze, I realize I've stumbled into a world far more treacherous than I could have imagined. And Mark Zolotov, with his criminal ties and magnetic pull, might just be the most dangerous part of all.

”Mark, I think she thinks you’re a ghost,” Denis says, watching my pale face transfixed on Mark.

I’m immediately pulled back into the present and put on a smile as his brothers begin to tease Mark.

”He’s a mirage,” Vladimir chuckles.

”An abomination,” Denis adds.

Mark picks up a grape and chucks it at Denis, who opens his mouth and catches it.

“Impressive, you didn’t choke,” Mark observes.

”A pity, really,” Vladimir adds, and I let out a snort.

”She agrees.” He waves in my direction while Denis frowns, and I chuckle.

They tease each other mercilessly, trading barbs and inside jokes that have me stifling unexpected laughter.

To my surprise, Mark gives as good as he gets, his usual arrogance replaced by a dry wit that catches me off guard.

I watch him, fascinated by this new side of him.

The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the easy affection in his voice when he ribs his brothers—it's like looking at a completely different person. For a moment, I almost forget the circumstances that brought me here, caught up in the warmth of this family dynamic.

Just then, Vladimir’s phone buzzes. He looks down and then informs the room that it's time to leave.

Lara is coming over to his place to catch up, and Vladimir and Denis have a meeting with the Orlovs.

I feel their eyes on me before I see them.

The lively banter dies down, replaced by a heavy silence that settles over the room like a shroud.

Glancing up from my plate, I'm met with three pairs of curious eyes darting between Mark and me.

”So, Brother,” Vladimir asks. “Before we leave, care to introduce us properly to your... guest?”

Denis, the most direct of them all, leans forward and stares right at me. “Yeah. Who exactly are you, Quinn?”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, the weight of their stares making me acutely aware of my rumpled appearance. Mark, however, remains frustratingly calm, taking a leisurely sip of his coffee before responding.

”Quinn,” Mark says simply, “is my fiancée.”

My heart skips a beat, and I whip my head around to stare at him in disbelief. Did he just...? The smirk playing on his lips confirms it. He did.

The siblings’ reactions are a cacophony of surprise and amusement. Abram's eyebrows shoot up with disbelief, Vladimir lets out a low whistle, and Denis barks out a laugh.

”Well, well,” Denis chuckles, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“The notorious Mark Zolotov, finally tamed? This I've got to hear.”

”We never knew you were seeing someone, Brother,” Abram adds with a frown.

Mark shrugs.

Vladimir’s eyes seek mine, studying me with curiosity. I force myself to look away, my cheeks burning. This is insane. I'm not his fiancée; I'm his prisoner, for God's sake! But as I glance around at the expectant faces of his siblings, I realize I'm trapped. If I contradict him now, who knows what consequences I'll face?

”How long have you held on to this little piece of information?

” Denis asks, his eyes darting between Mark and me.

I plaster on a smile, hating how natural it feels.

“It's... still new,” I manage, hoping my hesitation comes across as shy excitement rather than barely contained panic.

What the hell am I doing , a voice shrieks in my head, playing along with this charade? I’m in such shock that it feels like the ability to think critically has left the building.

My mind races, desperately seeking an escape route from this ridiculous situation. But Mark's hand is now on mine, his thumb tracing small circles on my skin, and it's infuriatingly distracting.

The rest of the inquiries blur into a series of forced small talk and evasive answers, while my mind races. I need to escape this place, away from these dangerous men and their world filled with secrets and lies.

As soon as the brothers stand at the doorway ready to leave, I seize my chance. “Mark,” I say, injecting as much sweetness into my voice as I can muster in case they overhear, “can I speak with you for a moment? Privately?”

He nods and leads me into the hallway. The moment I hear the door to the house shut, I turn to him, all pretense of affection vanished.

”What the hell was that?” I hiss, keeping my voice low but unable to hide my fury. “You introduced me as your fiancée to your family? Are you out of your mind?”

Mark leans against the wall, maddeningly calm. “It's the simplest explanation for your presence here, Quinn. If word gets out that this is all a ploy, even if it's accidental, Charlie’s pride would be wounded even further from being fooled, and God knows what lengths he’d go to for revenge against both you and me.”

“You think your brothers would betray your secret?” I ask, my voice rising an octave.

”Well, not on purpose.” Mark looks away from me and runs a hand through his hair. “But accidents happen. They’re always surrounded by men. They could tell their wives and one of them could slip up. Look, it’s better we maintain this front through and through.”

I clench my fists, fighting the urge to stamp my foot like a child, but I can’t stop myself from nearly shouting. “You want me to tell the whole world we’re engaged? Your family? Who’s next? I won't be a part of this... this insanity! You can’t keep me locked up in here forever. I won’t have any part in this, you hear me?”

I turn on my heels, making my way to my room and slamming the door shut loudly enough for him to hear.