Page 50 of Prince of Control

“I understand. I just want to assure you in advance that we will be following the rules you gave us.”

“Okay, son. Appreciate that.”

I end the call.

Well, that’s all I can do. I don’t know where else I can head off problems. If the police decide to come and search us, I can make sure they don’t find anything, but having cops move through the house checking IDs will ruin the party vibe.

I did everything else by the book. Got a permit, registered the party with campus administration, ordered wrist bands to make sure no one underage gets a drink. We don’t always follow those rules, but this time, we’ll have to be totally above-board. No designer drug sales, no dungeon play.

My phone buzzes with a text from Anya.

Brash called Lara this morning. Check the files.

Blyad’.

I stop and open the file folder on my phone where Anya sends all the records from Lara’s phone. I quickly scan the transcript. There’s a voice recording, too, but I don’t have time to listen now.

She told him she’s married now and refused his help. I hang onto that piece of information.

At what point is it safe for me to tell her the truth?

Not yet. Not until she’s secure with me. She still doesn’t trust me yet.

But the longer we go on with her believing this lie, the more manipulated she’s going to feel. She’s already furious about feeling like a pawn in her father’s schemes. How will she feel when she hears he didn’t trust her with the truth about it all?

Fuck. I hate all of this.

No, not all of it.

Because if Adrian hadn’t made up the lie about Lara being betrothed to me, I may have never met her. I wouldn’t have a beautiful, intelligent wife right now who feels like the person I’ve been waiting my entire life to meet.

I tuck my phone in my pocket and head to my next class.

As I walk up toward my statistics class–the one with Professor Vasiliev, who hates me–I slow my gait.

He’s standing outside his door, and talking with him is a short dumpy kid with unkempt curly hair and medical tape in an X over his nose.

Denis Penkin. Talking to Professor Vasiliev.

Sure, they’re both Russian. It could be that simple. Except they look over at me with a look of pure contempt.

Fuck.

They’re in this together.

Vasiliev has ties to the oligarchs, too.

That’s a problem.

Denis walks away before I get there, but I can’t help it–the mudak brings out the violent side of me. I let Vasiliev see it. Gone is the respectful student. I show him what I truly am. What he already knew about me. I’m a killer. A criminal. A man who will use violence to protect what’s his. I lift my upper lip in a snarl and stop in front of him.

“Friend of yours?” I growl in Russian, tipping my head in the direction Denis left.

He maintains his composure, uncowed by me. “Sit down, Baranov.”

I hold my ground, staring him down. Showing him I don’t give a fuck about his grades or his class or his opinion of me. If he’s working with Denis Penkin to spy on or harm my wife, I will end him.

He looks balefully back at me.