Page 17 of The Russian's Revenge Bride
“So,” I said, settling back down on the bed and gesturing for Anya to take the chair. “About that shower.”
She sat down, crossing her legs with practiced elegance. “I can probably arrange something. Clean clothes too, though you’ll have to make do with whatever I have that fits.”
“Thank you. Seriously, you have no idea how grateful I am.”
“Don’t thank me yet. This whole situation is….” She trailed off, looking toward the camera in the corner with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“Completely insane?” I suggested.
“That’s one way to put it.”
I followed her gaze to the camera, wondering if Maxim was watching our conversation. Probably. He seemed like the type who would want to monitor every interaction, control every variable.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
Anya nodded.
“Do you think your brother’s plan is going to work?”
She was quiet for a long moment, clearly weighing her words carefully. “What do you think?”
“I think he’s going to figure out pretty quickly that William Beaumont gives exactly zero fucks about his daughter.”
The words hung in the air between us, bitter and true. Anya’s expression didn’t change, but I saw something flicker in her eyes. Understanding, maybe. Or pity.
“You really believe that,” she said.
“I know that. My father is a lot of things, but sentimental isn’t one of them. He’ll write this off as an acceptable business loss and move on with his life.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
I laughed, the sound harsh in the elegant room. “Okay with it? No, I’m not okay with it. But I’m realistic about it. William Beaumont didn’t build his empire by making emotional decisions or putting family before profit.”
Anya was looking at the camera again, and I wondered what she was thinking. Whether she was starting to doubt herbrother’s plan, or if she was just processing the reality of my situation.
“He did it out of love,” she said suddenly.
“Who, my father?” I shook my head. “Maybe in his own way, but not enough to risk himself for me. Not enough to negotiate with the Bratva.”
“No. Maxim. My brother loves his family more than anything in this world. It’s his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The idea that the cold, calculating man who’d drugged me and dragged me to this basement prison was motivated by love seemed impossible to reconcile with my experience of him.
“He’s doing this because he thinks it will bring him justice for something that happened years ago,” Anya continued. “But I’m starting to wonder if it’s really about justice, or if it’s just about pain.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes, when you hurt for long enough, you start to think that making other people hurt will somehow balance the scales. But it doesn’t. It just creates more pain.”
Her words carried the weight of personal experience, and I found myself studying her face more carefully. There was something there, some old wound that hadn’t quite healed.
“You don’t approve of what he’s doing,” I said.
“I love my brother. I always have and always will. But that doesn’t mean I have to agree with his choices.”
“Then help me convince him that this won’t work. Help me make him understand that holding me hostage isn’t going to accomplish anything except destroying more lives.”
Anya stood up, smoothing down her sweater with practiced elegance. “I’ll get you those clothes and arrange for a shower. But Eleanor? Be careful what you ask for. My brotherisn’t the type of man who changes his mind easily, and cornered animals are dangerous.”