Page 12 of Love to Defy You (The Dark Love #2)

Alek

The aroma of bacon grease wafts into the bedroom, and with a gasp, I shoot up straight in bed from a dead sleep. My heart thumps in my chest from the adrenaline, and my breath comes in heavy pants.

After the kidnapping incident on Saturday, I fired the housekeeper and the chef and collected their keys, so whoever is in my kitchen must have kept a spare for my attackers. The only time anyone will enter my home, staff included, is when I am here to let them in and supervise them.

I hastily shrug on a pair of sweatpants and charge out to confront the intruder, but when I round the corner into the kitchen, the only person at the stove is Willow.

She throws me a glance over her shoulder. “Oh, good morning, sleepyhead.”

I blink, but my muscles are still tense. “You’re cooking?”

“Uh, yeah. You fired the chef.” She puts a hand on her hip and returns her focus to the sizzling pan.

That makes more sense than an intruder breaking into my apartment to cook me breakfast.

“I didn’t know you could cook.” I plod barefoot into the kitchen to inspect her handiwork—scrambled eggs and pancakes sit on plates next to small bowls of fruit. The adrenaline rush leaves as fast as it came, leaving me exhausted but relieved. I take a deep breath and relax my shoulders.

“Yes, most of us peasants can cook, Alek.” She bumps her hip against mine. “I just wanted to celebrate our first day of classes with a nice meal.”

“So, I should cancel the meal delivery and let you cook all our meals?”

She drops the tongs in her hand. “Hold on, don’t cancel it—“ When I chuckle, she relaxes her shoulders. “You’re such an ass.” But she lets out a relieved breath.

I need her reassuring touch, so I wrap my arms around her waist. “I’d never make you do any servant work.” I plant a kiss on her shoulder.

“It’s not servant work. Most people do their own cooking and cleaning, you know.” She picks up the tongs and flips the bacon. “Oh, by the way, there was a letter for you in the foyer. I put it on the counter.”

I stiffen. “The foyer? Not the mailbox downstairs?”

“Yeah, someone must have slipped it under the door.”

No one should have access to our private entrance unless the front desk calls up first. I release Willow and search for the letter, which she placed by the refrigerator. It’s a black envelope with my full name scrawled in immaculate golden calligraphy across the front.

A knot of dread forms in my stomach as I pick it up. I sink into a seat at the kitchen island before sliding the heavy cardstock from the envelope. It’s a printed invitation with gold embossed lettering on black paper.

Your presence is requested at the Trial of Mortality on Saturday evening. Please arrive at the Weltner College quadrangle before midnight. Failure to appear will result in the ultimate sacrifice.

In death, we become gods. We are gods among men.

At the bottom of the card is a symbol—a lyre surrounded by a circle, with an arrow piercing through it at an angle.

“I’ve seen this symbol before,” I murmur.

Willow lifts the bacon out of the pan and drops it onto each of our plates. She carries them over to the island and slides one in front of me before taking her seat. Her brows knit together as she stares at the invitation. “Hold on, that’s the same as Mikhail’s tattoo.”

“Fuck, you’re right.” I hold the invitation closer to my face.

Mikhail didn’t always have that tattoo, and to be honest, I didn’t even notice it until Willow pointed it out. The guy gets new ink every other month.

But if Mikhail has this symbol on his arm, does that mean he’s involved with this secret fight club below the school? If he were, surely he would have warned me.

Except my father didn’t warn me, either.

If my father were a part of this like they claim, would he have had a tattoo as well?

I think back, but I can’t recall a single time I saw my father with short sleeves.

He never wore casual clothing in my presence; I only saw him in a suit or his military uniform.

Even on summer holidays, he wore a white button-up shirt.

The more I try to deny it, the more questions arise.

Willow plucks the invitation out of my hand and reads it. “I don’t think you should go to this. Not after what happened.” She runs her thumb over my lip, but the wound is still tender, and I shake her off.

“Let me call Mikhail.” I stand up from my seat and pop a piece of bacon into my mouth. “Mmm, this is actually pretty good.”

“Did you think my cooking would suck?” She narrows her gaze at me.

“My love, you are talented at many things, but you have never shown a speck of interest in the domestic arts since I met you.”

Before she gets a chance to smack me, I head down the hall and retreat to the bedroom. My phone sits on the charger on my nightstand, and I yank out the cord before pulling up Mikhail’s name in my contacts.

But when I call, it rings and rings.

“Come on, asshole, pick up,” I mutter.

The call goes to voicemail.

“Call me, fucker. I need to talk to you. Now .”

The last time I was on campus, it was in the middle of the night. The courtyard was empty then, but this morning, it’s bustling with activity—students rushing to class, reading under trees, or tossing flying discs on the lawn. An idyllic picture of academia.

All of them are blissfully unaware of the cellar door hiding in the brush or the underground tunnels beneath our very feet.

Willow squeezes my hand. “Hey, are you okay?”

I tear my gaze from the bushes and glance down at her. “Of course.”

She dabs at the concealer she applied to my eye this morning to touch it up. “Okay, well, see you at lunch?”

“Yes, I’ll see you then.” I lean over and kiss her mouth.

When she pulls away, the worry is wiped from her features. She adjusts her backpack and heads off toward her first class.

With one last glance at the brush, I hoist my backpack over my shoulder and head to my first class in the business school.

The building itself looks much like the rest of them with its stone architecture. Thick ivy crawls up the facade, and when I reach the top of the front steps, I pass beneath a giant stone archway leading to the entry doors made of dark, thick wood.

Inside, the oval atrium has a display of marble busts depicting notable figures around the perimeter.

Above my head is a domed glass ceiling that allows the sun to stream in and provide natural light to the interior.

Balconies with archways mark every floor, and students and professors alike are making their way to and from classes.

I’m about to set off down the hallway on my left when I spot Mikhail on the far end of the atrium leaning against the wall while scrolling on his phone.

That fucker.

I make a beeline toward him, and as I approach, he glances up and meets my eye. His pale complexion grows two shades paler, but he doesn’t try to run.

I grab the collar of his shirt and get in his face. “So, your phone works after all?” I say in Russian.

His throat bobs when he swallows. “I know what you want to ask me, and no, I didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone.” He nods at the bathroom door on our right. “Let’s talk in there. We’re attracting attention.”

A quick sideways glance reveals no fewer than five students staring at me with wary expressions. I release Mikhail with a shove and storm into the bathroom, where I drop my bag on the floor.

Mikhail follows me inside and locks the door behind him. “Anyone in here?” he asks in English.

No answer.

I lean against the white subway tile on the wall and fold my arms. “Explain,” I say, switching back to Russian.

He drops his book bag on the floor next to mine and rubs the back of his neck. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” I say. “Were you there that night? Was my father involved in this? Was your father involved—?”

Mikhail holds up a hand. “Slow down. I’ll answer all your questions as best as I can, but there’s only so much I can tell you.”

I push off the wall and begin to pace the floor. “Oh, fuck off with that secret society nonsense.”

Mikhail heads down the row of stalls and throws each door open to check for occupants.

Once he’s satisfied, he turns to face me.

“This isn’t nonsense, Alek. This is real, and neither of us can escape it.

” He sighs. “Both of our fathers were in the brotherhood at their university in Moscow. The moment you and I were born, our fates were sealed.”

I pause my pacing and round on him. “What the fuck does that even mean? Speak plainly.”

“You will go through the trials just like your father and grandfather did at university,” he says. “And one day, your sons will go through it, and their sons after that.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want any part of this.”

“You don’t have a choice. Neither did I.

This brotherhood... it’s made up of the world’s most influential people.

They run everything—banks, governments, business conglomerates—and their sons are expected to continue their legacy.

If you refuse the call...” He takes a deep breath.

“If you refuse the call, they’ll kill you. ”

“Be serious, Mick. Do you really expect me to believe that?”

A crease forms between his eyebrows. “It’s true.”

I let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, really? Are you saying that this brotherhood kills the sons of the world’s elite if they don’t cooperate and no one notices their absence?”

Mikhail nods. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Did you already forget the skulls you saw down there?”

“Come on, those were fake.”

“No, they weren’t!” He lets out a frustrated grunt. “The brotherhood has ways to cover it up. You have no idea how powerful they are. Every father knows the risk when they send their son off to university. It’s the price they pay for becoming a god.”

“A god? Do you hear yourself? You’re brainwashed.”

“Not a literal god.” He grabs my arms and shakes me.

“A symbolic god. These people run the world. They decide who to instill as world leaders. They decide which countries to overthrow and which corporations will become the next Fortune Global 500. They puppet everyone else the way the gods puppet man.”

I push his chest hard, and when he stumbles back, he releases me from his grip. The two of us stand here, staring each other down as our heavy breathing echoes off the tile.

“Why didn’t you warn me?” I ask. “Why didn’t my father warn me?”

His shoulders droop. “Because we couldn’t. We’re sworn to secrecy. But I’ll protect you if you let me. Like I’ve always done.”

“Is that what you were doing Saturday night?” I step forward and shove my finger into his chest. “Protecting me while someone smashed my face in?”

“You and I both know you can handle yourself in a fight.” Mikhail walks over to one of the sinks and turns on the faucet to cold, then splashes water on his face.

“These trials aren’t easy, but if you cooperate, you’ll make it out the other side with your life intact. But I need you to do what they say.”

I meet his gaze in the mirror. “You know following orders isn’t my strong suit.”

He gives me a withering look. “Yeah, I know. But you’re gonna have to get over it if you want to live.”

It’s so outlandish I can’t believe it, but I’ve never seen Mikhail, the perpetual buffoon, be this serious about anything in his life. Doubt weaves its way through my mind, making me question everything I thought I knew growing up.

Is that how my grandfather became the first president of Andarusia? Because he was part of this elite brotherhood? Is that why my father took over next? Is that why Grigor assumed I would follow in his footsteps, because he knew I’d be initiated into this secret society?

Grigor once told me, When you are ready to take over, Russia will ensure our victory. They always do.

But was it Russia? Or was it this secret brotherhood puppeting Andarusia from the shadows?

Before my father died, my future was already decided for me. I would one day become the president of Andarusia like my father before me and his father before him. But when I was exiled from my homeland, the future opened up to opportunity.

All I want is to figure out who I am and what I want to be, and I plan to do that with Willow by my side.

But my father’s ghost haunts me from the grave, and this secret society is just a cruel reminder that I can never escape him or the destiny he laid out for me.

Mikhail approaches and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Look, the next trial will be easy, but they’ll get harder. It’s nothing you can’t handle, but you’re going to have to make some tough choices. Do things you won’t like.”

“Such as?”

His hand slips from my shoulder. “I’ve already said too much. Just... be there on Saturday night. Make sure you’re early, just to be safe.”

“Fine, I’ll play along. For now, anyway.” I spin around to face him. “But I need to know how they have access to my apartment.”

“I could tell you,” Mikhail says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But then I’d have to kill you.”

I shake my head. “Of course you’d turn this into a joke.” Making light of serious subjects has always been in his nature, even if it’s at the most inappropriate times. I cross the bathroom to retrieve my backpack and sling it over my shoulder. “I need to know if Willow will be safe while I’m gone.”

“She’ll be safe. I’ll send Josie over to keep an eye on her if that makes you feel better?”

“The last time Josie hung out with her, Willow came home drunk off her ass.” I pause. “Hold on... did you ask Josie to take Willow out on Saturday so she’d be out of the apartment?”

“Perhaps.” Mikhail rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Anyway, I hope this doesn’t mean I’m uninvited for Christmas? We missed you at the chalet last year.”

Mikhail and his parents spend every Christmas with my family at our ski chalet in the Swiss Alps, until his mother started to skip the trips as we got older. But last year, Willow and I spent the holiday with Mr. Baker and his fiancée in Dresden touring the Christmas markets.

I sigh. “Yes, you’re still invited. But I’m banning all parents this year. That includes yours.”

“Hey, you won’t hear any complaints from me. A parent-free Christmas sounds heavenly.” He glances at the floor and kicks a small pebble on the tile. “Does that mean Ana will be staying with your mother in Paris?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I answer. “Why?”

“No reason. Just curious.” He heads over to pick up his book bag. “Anyway, I’ll see you later. Remember, don’t be late Saturday. I’m serious.” Mikhail slides the lock on the door and exits, and when it shuts behind him, the heavy thud echoes in the empty bathroom.