Page 27

The moment he’s gone, the strength drains out of me like water from a sieve. My knees buckle, and I catch myself on the edge of the armchair, my knuckles white. My breath comes in ragged gasps. My arms. The words echo, a sickening refrain.

I can hear Rebecca’s voice from the hallway, a nervous lilt to it as she speaks to Igor. Her footsteps fade as they move toward the kitchen.

Alone, finally. Though not really. The cameras on the wall are silent, unblinking observers. Mikhail’s eyes, even when he isn’t here. And now, Igor knows. He knows the one thing I’ve guarded more fiercely than my own life.

My hand creeps to my stomach, protectively.

I push myself up, my legs trembling. The thin dress offers no comfort, no barrier against the chill of the room or the ice in my veins. I have to be smarter. Stronger. This changes everything. Igor won’t keep this secret for long, not if he thinks it benefits him or Mikhail.

I glance at the monitors, at the grainy images of the forest surrounding the house. Escape. The word is a whisper, a dangerous, seductive thought. But how? With Igor knowing, the leash just got shorter, tighter.

The moment I step out of the room, my mother moves toward me with an armful of folding. “What happened?”

“Igor knows,” I whisper, and she pauses staring at me when her eyes widen. “Where is he?”

“Fixing the kitchen light, I have to get the girls to bed. Mikhail has returned, he seems in a…” she shakes her head. “Never mind, go before Igor comes looking for you.” I wander out to the living area.

When I enter, Mikhail is on the phone and I move to the couch.

Just as I sit, I know Rebecca is in the girls’ room because I can hear her humming is off-key, gentle as she closes their bedroom door. Her footsteps don’t return. She stays with them. I don’t blame her. I would, too, if I could.

I sit at the edge of the living room, where the hard, cold floor meets plush rugs. My hands press against the thin fabric of my dress, trying to warm myself. The fireplace crackles across the room, and I don’t dare move closer. Not with him pacing nearby.

Mikhail seems like he is in a good mood.

And that terrifies me.

He pours himself a drink of vodka, neat—and starts talking to himself in Russian as he hangs up on whoever he was talking to. Laughing. Smiling like a man who’d just closed a good deal or crushed someone beneath his shoe.

That smile is worse than his rage.

I’ve learned to recognize the signs. The way his eyes glow colder, not warmer. The way he holds the glass loosely like he’s toasting to some victory. I don’t know what he’s won tonight, yet I know how he celebrates. Someone always pays for it.

“Strip’s about to fall,” he says, swirling the glass as he sinks into the leather armchair. “Leone surprised me tonight.”

My pulse stumbles.

What did he do?

Mikhail doesn’t usually talk to me—not like this, like we’re having a conversation. That’s the first warning.

The second comes when one of his men ducks to whisper something in his ear. Mikhail chuckles darkly, then flicks his fingers toward Igor who I didn’t hear enter behind me.

“Igor, television. Now.”

The remote’s already in Igor’s hand. He clicks it without a word, and the screen lights up with a local news station—footage of smoke pouring from a burning building downtown. The camera shakes slightly as it zooms in on the green neon sign melting into charred rubble.

Verdigris.

The caption reads: Breaking – Explosion at Verdigris Nightclub. No casualties confirmed.

I already know what this means. My breath catches. Leone did this. Because if that was Santos why was everyone given a chance to get out alive.

Mikhail claps his hands once, a sharp crack. “He knew they would retaliate, and he was willing to burn his own empire to keep me happy. How fucking poetic.”

The men around him laugh. I stay still, not wanting to draw attention to myself.

He leans back, tossing the rest of his drink down his throat. “Soon the strip will be mine. That little piece of neon trash was the last show. Now it’s ashes. If Leone doesn’t retaliate, it will make him look weak. Santos will be gone next.”

He looks so pleased, so sure of himself. He doesn’t even glance at me when he gives the next order.

“Igor. Return her to the basement.”

My stomach drops.

Igor turns, his expression blank as always, yet there’s something different in the way he grips my arm.

“I—” I barely get the word out before his hand closes over my elbow like a vice.

“She needs rest,” Mikhail adds absently. “I need to be up early tomorrow.”

He stands, and Rebecca finally reappears from the hallway.

Mikhail rises from his seat and stalks toward her, cups the back of her neck, and kisses her with his teeth. It isn’t affection. It’s ownership. He grabs her ass with one hand and shoves her toward the stairs, and she stumbles up them.

“Get ready for me,” he growls. “I’m tired.”

She nods quickly and disappears up the steps without looking back. My stomach twists and for once I’m glad I will be in the basement not wanting to hear whatever he has planned for her.

Igor yanks me toward the basement door.

“Don’t,” I hiss under my breath, trying to twist free. “I can walk on my own, you don’t need to hold my hand!”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. I already know how this ends.

The door creaks open, and I’m pulled down the stairs into the dark before being thrown into the cell reserved for me.