Page 10 of Ruinous Need

LISETTE

I’M ON THE couch reading a book when I hear an ecstatic bark followed by a snuffling sound that means only one thing.

The dog is here.

I’ve been shaken up since Marianne’s death, and Viktor hasn’t tried to introduce me to Chekhov again.

In fact, he seemed so afraid of my tears that it’s like he’s been avoiding me altogether. I’ve been wallowing around the house like I’m some Victorian woman locked in mourning, without the dramatic outfits to go with it.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that if I don’t open them it’s not real. Who let him in? Who can even get in here? Does he have a door that I don’t know about?

“Chekhov?” calls out an unfamiliar, cheerful voice. With an… Italian accent?

“There you are, boy.”

The dog mercifully leaves the couch, roaming towards the source of the voice. But footsteps keep approaching over the wooden floor.

And I’m here, eyes covered, on the couch because of my stupid fear.

“Merc. Who the fuck is this?” This voice is lower, more dangerous. There are two of them. Two Italians. In Viktor’s apartment.

I peek through my hands. Two burly men are staring down at me with raised eyebrows. They look like they could be brothers, with their matching cropped hair and tattoos.

I guess I’m about to be kidnapped for the second time in a week.

The Bratva’s clearly not worth its salt as an organized crime business if the Italian mafia have found me this quickly.

“Are you here to take me away?” I keep my voice clear and meet their eyes. Unfortunately, it’s painfully obvious that I’ve been crying for days. “I won’t go without a fight.”

The taller one raises his eyebrows and folds his thick arms across his chest. “Take you away?”

He looks me up and down as though sizing up whether I really could fight him. I guess, in their business, anyone can be a threat.

The shorter one — Merc, I suppose — opens his palms in confusion, a grin stealing across his face. He shoots a glance at his friend. “Uhhh. No. We were more wondering if V finally found himself a girlfriend.”

As if. I’ve only known the man for two days, but there’s no way he has the emotional capacity for love.

I cut him off quickly. “I’m not his girlfriend.”

That only deepens their confusion. Maybe I should have said yes to smooth things over. It would have the added benefit of embarrassing Viktor. He doesn’t seem to like me much.

“Then who are you?” It’s the tall one again. He treats me like a tough interview subject who he’s interrogating. That’s probably his usual job, judging from the shrewd way he sized me up and the way he won’t let the subject drop.

I don’t think I should tell them anything. Viktor is part of the Bratva. He said I’m in danger if the Irish find me. These guys are not Irish. They’re Italian. I have no clue if they’re a risk.

“Why are you here?” I shoot back, narrowing my eyes. I flip my hair and stand up, hoping it will give me more confidence. “This is Viktor’s apartment.” I try to inject venom into my voice.

I fear the result is laughable, with my head only coming up to their shoulders.

But they take a step back.

“We’re looking after Chekhov while V’s busy with work.”

The taller one reminds me of Viktor. Saying no more than necessary. I can see why they’re friends. They probably sit together in gruff, manly silence and watch paint dry. Or shoot guns. Or some other boring pursuit.

“I guess the dog was outside because of you, huh?” The shorter one gestures to the couch where I seized up in fear.

I nod my head, embarrassed that my fear is so obvious. And a little shaken to learn that Viktor has left me alone for days without telling me. And then sent the Italian mafia over. Aren’t they supposed to be enemies?

“I don’t like dogs,” I reply, shooting a glance at the black monster being held back by his collar.He seems relaxed with these guys, which makes me think they’re regular visitors.

“Definitely not V’s girlfriend then.” The taller one nods, his lip twitching.

“What?” I shoot back, trying to keep my voice as crisp as possible.

“He loves this guy more than any human being.” Merc rubs the dog’s belly and I try not to flinch away as the dog squirms a little closer to me. “I think it would be an issue.”

The taller one is still looking at me with his eyes narrowed. “You still haven’t explained why you’re here.”

“Take it up with Viktor.” I hope that my bluff works. He never mentioned anyone else coming to his apartment. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to tell his friends.

The shorter one jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “We’re heading back out. Do you want to walk the dog?”

My heart pounds in my chest. They’re really offering to let me out.

The taller one isn’t looking so friendly anymore. “She doesn’t like dogs, Merc.”

“But she looks like she could use some fresh air.” He shoots a glance at me. “No offense.”

I wonder if it’s obvious that I’ve been rotting inside in sweatpants and a hoodie all week.I haven’t brushed my hair since I arrived. There’s no hairbrush in the bathroom.

“No, not at all.” I force my face into a smile and laugh to hide how much my pulse is racing. “You’re totally right. Fresh air would be great.”

Merc grins. “Cool. We normally go down to the park and do a few laps. Chekhov could go for the whole day.”

“That sounds amazing.” I’m already mentally planning out how to make a break from the two of them and reach the nearest payphone. Or hail a cab. If I can just make it to the nearest dance studio…

The taller one is frowning at his phone.

“You must do more exercise than just dog-walking right?” I ask Merc. He seems chatty. Maybe if I keep him talking he won’t catch on to how weird this whole situation is.

He seems surprised by the question but keeps talking to me about his work-out routine.

“Yeah, you’re kinda ripped,” I say absentmindedly. He looks chuffed.

I grab a pair of running shoes that look about ten sizes too big beside the door. Unless I wear the stilettos from my date, they’re the only shoes available. Viktor wasn’t exactly planning on letting me out for a walk.

But neither of these guys are watching me closely enough to clock the too-big shoes.

Merc is busy hooking Chekhov to the lead while the tall guy texts someone. I monitor the dog out of the corner of my eye.

We’re so close. The hallway door is in sight.

Just as we’re about to leave, the dog panting loudly with excitement, the tall guy goes still and holds up one tattooed hand.

“Ben?” asks Merc, his brow creasing.

Then Ben looks up and straight at me. His expression is faintly triumphant. The expression makes my stomach curl.

“I knew something was off.”

No.

He continues. “V says to take the dog and leave the girl. He’s coming back for you, now.”

Damn it.

I should have known better than to get my hopes up. “But—”

“Shut it, blondie. I don’t know who you are, but if V says we leave you, this is his place. And I don’t want to cross V.”

I don’t like Ben nearly as much as Merc.

Merc rests a hand on my shoulder and tilts his head at me. “Sorry. You must be pretty important. This job is top-secret. We don’t even know where he is right now. If he’s coming back for you…” He trails off and looks at Ben.

“Yeah, we definitely don’t want to cross him if you’re that important.”

I try to bolt for the door, but Ben bars my way with one muscled arm. “Don’t even think about it, blondie. If V’s this worried about you leaving, he will not be happy about us having to haul your ass back inside.”

“Please.” Panic rises inside me. The panic I’ve been suppressing all this time. I’m trapped. Alone. This was my one chance to run for it.

Merc holds his hands up and sidles out the door with Chekhov, mouthing the word “sorry” again.

After the door clicks shut, I throw myself against it, again and again until I’m pretty sure I have bruises.

I didn’t even know how much I wanted to leave until I got that close. I could taste freedom. And now it’s gone.

Viktor arrives home with a storm cloud over his head. I can practically see the anger rising from his skin.

“What?” I ask as he storms into the kitchen in silence and pushes me into a seat across the table from him. He scrubs a hand across his face, looking at me with those dead eyes. Like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“You tried to talk my friends into letting you out. That was stupid.” He talks to me as if he needs to explain slowly how dumb I am. That tone makes me want to rebel even more, just to see what he’d do to punish me. Heat curls in my stomach at the thought.

“It seemed smart to me. They didn’t know who I was.” I shrug and flip my hair.

“You tried to flirt with them.” He grits his teeth as he says it, and his eyes spark to life.

Coal to granite. Granite to flickering onyx.

Why does it sound like my flirting annoys him more than the fact that I tried to escape?

“I tried to use the resources I had available to me.”

“Which included flirting.” His eyes are searing enough that I have to look away.

“Maybe.” I shrug and smooth my hair to the side. He follows the movement closely. “I don’t see why you care.”

His face darkens. “I don’t.”

“Then let me go.”

He shakes his head, fixing me in that heavy dark stare again. “You’re important. To him.”

“If I’m so important, why isn’t he marrying me tomorrow? Why am I here, with you, instead of in Chicago with him?”

“The Pakhan doesn’t have to rush things.” He says it like it’s a line he’s learned, not like he believes it.

Three years for a marriage is hardly a rush, I want to point out. But I’m sure Viktor will say he’s just following instructions there too.

I change tack. “Why didn’t your friends know about me?”

He scoffs. “This may surprise you, Lisette, but I don’t normally babysit. Or hold captives who aren’t in the cells. It would stick out as unusual.”

“They were Italian. That must be controversial. What are you, star-crossed lovers?”

I mean it as a jab, but his lips twitch. It’s the closest I’ve seen him to a smile. “Star-crossed friends.”

“What if they report back to the Italians that there’s a blonde girl in your apartment? Am I not in danger then?”

“They won’t report back to the Italians.” The hint of a smile fades, and Viktor’s face is tense again.

“How do you know that?”

Viktor tries and fails to keep the edge of frustration out of his voice. I feel a rush of achievement. I’m wearing him down.

“Because I told them you’re my girlfriend.”

“I told them we weren’t dating.”

His eyes darken. “Maybe they’ll think there’s another reason you didn’t want to admit that.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Lisette. Like the fact that I’m more than a decade older than you and I’m a hitman for the Bratva.”

A hitman.

I guess it makes sense. The way he could grab me off the street without making anyone bat an eyelid. The way he took down the scar-faced man who tried to hurt me without breaking a sweat.

I’ve seen the clinical efficiency with which he carries out brutal tasks. His job shouldn’t change anything. I won’t let him make me afraid just because he’s killed people.

“And they know that? How can you trust them?”

“They’re my friends. And they hate the mafia as much as I hate the Bratva.”

“You hate the Bratva.” I say slowly, raising a finger to my bottom lip in mock thought. “Then why are you trapping me here on behalf of the Pakhan, Viktor?”

He slams his fist on the table and rises to his full height. I take in the way his grey t-shirt hugs nothing but solid muscle. The corded tension in his forearms as he forces himself to uncoil his fist and flatten his hand against the wooden tabletop.

“Enough questions. I will say this only once, Lisette. Do not escape. Your family will be in danger, from me, the second you set foot out of this apartment. Those are my instructions.”

It all comes back then. What the Pakhan told me on the phone.

My stomach churns.

I guess Viktor is the man who’s going to carry out his awful, bloody threats if I try to get out of the engagement.

The monster who’s been killing since he was a child. And this won’t just be killing, but torturing my family members until there’s nothing left. Carving away their body parts, making sure there is physical evidence of their suffering to show me.

Making sure I can feel every shred of their pain while remaining alive enough to hold up my end of the bargain.

The thought makes my stomach twist. I’d felt relaxed here. I might have been trapped, but at least my time was my own. At least no one was telling me what to wear.

But it turns out Viktor is actually a key component of the Pakhan’s web of influence. He’s the monster who will actually carry out the horrific deeds that the Pakhan orders to keep me trapped in this marriage.

My lip wobbles. I capture it with my teeth so I don’t embarrass myself with tears. I’m sure he can see them anyway, shining in my eyes.

I release it with a sigh that sounds more like a sob. “I agreed to marry. Not to be locked up with some asshole.”

He’s shaking his head again, the light gleaming off his tanned skin, the sharp edges of his cheekbones. It’s unfair that a killer can look so beautiful.

“That’s not how it works. Marriage is not like that in our world. You’re engaged, so you’re his possession.”

“I don’t want to be.”

“Irrelevant. At some point, you agreed. Or your father agreed for you. And now you’re his.”

Viktor’s voice hisses on this last word, those black eyes burning into me like smoldering coals. He’s standing over me, the lines of tension on his face close to snapping. Unbound rage comes off him in waves.

On instinct, I stumble back until I’m against the wall.

He nods once, his jaw tight. “Yes. You should fear me, Lisette. Remember that.”

He turns on his heel and walks back to the door, slamming it behind him as he leaves me alone in the apartment.

I stop speaking to him.

I refuse to care whether or not he’s home.

He won’t answer my questions, anyway. Instead, I resolve to focus my energy on escaping.

“You’re not talking to me now?” He questions me the next morning at breakfast. Maybe it’s more of an observation. I’m resisting the urge to reply.

I purse my lips and continue the crossword.

“Good. That’s wise.” But his dark brows drop as he lowers his gaze to his plate of food, his face closing down in something like disappointment.