Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
We all know why Volkov is there. It’s a silent but very real threat. If I don't get married, he attacks. And yes, we lose money and assets but he's not above kidnapping or hurting my mother. He won’t give a fuck about retribution.
I have to get married.
“We were just looking at the calendar," Volkov says. "I've suggested a little trip back to Mother Russia. You know we have family there. Your mother says she misses it, Mikhail. Your father never allowed her to go back to Russia."
Of course he didn't. Enemies, history, former lovers. Russia was ripe with memories of my father’s past. My mother, though…
"It's hard to believe it's been thirty-seven days since your father's death," he says. "I offer my condolences." He speaks in Russian to my mother, and I clench my hands into fists.
"Leave her alone."
"Leave her alone? What are you talking about? We're just here for a little visit. I wondered if there was an invitation somewhere along the line that I've missed?"
I make a fist. “If you hurt her, old man…”
“Mikhail,” my mother says gently. “You’re too distrusting, son. We’re just having dinner. Come see me this weekend, will you?”
I close my eyes briefly. I can see her now. The matriarch of our family, strong yet graceful, sitting upright with her impeccable posture. People call her a timeless beauty, but it’s her indomitable strength they truly admire. Her decisions are made with a blend of intuition, wisdom, and strategic foresight.
Now, though. Now that my father’s gone, I value her input, but final decisions rest with me.
“Of course we’ll have dinner,” I tell her. “Though I’m arranging for you to come to me. I have a surprise for you.”
I can practically feel Volkov’s tension.
“Oh, excellent,” she says with a smile. “I love surprises.”
I get a text from my assistant, Chantelle.
We have your information, sir.
I nod to Aleks to open the door.
“This weekend,” I promise her.
“What’s this weekend?” a higher-pitched, clear feminine voice sounds on the line. Polina.
I can hear the contempt in her voice when she addresses Volkov. “Oh. Who let you in?”
I blow out a breath and speak loud enough for all to hear.
“My wedding, sestrichka.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Aria
I wake from what feels like the deepest sleep of my life with a start.
Where am I? I blink at shadowed furniture and drawn shades. Tatiana’s living room. I’m still fully clothed, my glasses askew. I must’ve fallen asleep on her couch. How strange. I never do that.
It was quite a day, though.
I push my glasses back on right and stumble to my feet. Last night, I came back to Tatiana’s and told her everything. She assured me we’d find another way, but I could tell she was nervous. I don’t blame her, really. I basically put a big ol’ target on her residence.
I knew I had to find another place to go since she’s at risk now that I’ve outed myself like an idiot to the Romanovs.
We had a drink together…and I guess I fell asleep.
Disoriented and bleary-eyed, I drag myself to the guest room, strip down to a tank and panties, then brush my teeth and splash water on my face before I turn and face-plant onto the bed.
I close my eyes, but memories of that truly embarrassing interaction with Mikhail Romanov plague me. I can still see his cold, calculating gaze. His heavy hands, resting casually on the desk, marked in ink. I can still smell the scent of pine and leather, unapologetically masculine. If I ever smell that scent again, I’ll forever see large, calloused, inked hands resting on a gleaming desk. Hands that have no doubt committed unspeakable crimes.
Then why can’t I stop thinking about them? About him?
I can’t shake the feeling that Mikhail Romanov is a man that would stop at nothing to get what he wants.
And then the sharp, cold way he dismissed me like I was dirt on the bottom of his shoe. I told myself it was only business, but I’m still not truly immune to the biting sting of rejection. I guess that’s something you don’t outgrow.
I’m so tired I can’t think of that now, though. I flop around in bed, my eyes closed, and finally manage to conjure up sleep when something startles me fully awake.
I blink in the darkness. What was that? I swear I heard someone breathing right in this room beside me.
Was that in my mind or dream state or…is there someone here?
I sit up straight, my heart tripping against my ribcage.
Did Tatiana hear that? I wait so long in the silence, my eyelids heavy with sleep, that I convince myself I imagined it, or it was some sleep-induced delusion. Still, my heart’s racing.
I go to roll over when I’m struck with the sudden feeling I’m not alone in this room.
“Is somebody there?” I whisper, my voice husky and my mouth dry. How much did I drink last night?