Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“I will agree to your request, on one condition,” Viktor decides. “The girl is still a virgin, yes?”
I choke out an affirmative.
“If you want to prove your word,” he says, “then allow Mischa to bed her. I want the sheets hand delivered to Manuel. It will be his last chance to fall into line before we start hacking her into pieces.”
My vision turns black, but I feel myself nod. “It will be done.”
“Nika says you can bake something for this evening,” Nonna informs me as she sets up breakfast on the table in my room. “It will need to be done soon. Perhaps after you eat.”
“What’s happening this evening?” I ask.
“Dinner party.”
She gives no further explanation and leaves the room. It doesn’t seem likely that Alexei would return for dinner after the last fiasco, so I’m banking on another Vory associate. By giving me meaningless tasks like baking, I’m certain Nikolai thinks he can keep me out of trouble. But given that he’s been avoiding me, I wouldn’t know for certain. His orders are handed down through Nonna because he is too much of a coward to face me himself.
I intend to demand my time in the gym as usual, but as it turns out, Nikolai has other plans. When Nonna returns after breakfast, she insists I accompany her to the kitchen before I’ve even had my shower. And unlike last time, she hands me a long list of specific items she wants me to make.
“This will take all day,” I protest.
“Then you better start now,” she says. “Dinner is at seven.”
She turns away and prepares to work on her own list. As frustrating as it may be, I know she’s also just doing what she’s told, so there’s no further point in arguing. We work together in silence, and I was not mistaken in my estimate. It does take all day.
My feet ache, and I’m covered in flour when I finally pull the last item out of the oven. Baked apples with sweet filling. It is only one of the four desserts we prepared for this evening, in addition to the breads and salads and meat dishes. I have no idea who could possibly be so important to deserve the amount of food we have prepared, but I hope they appreciate it.
“Nakya.”
I turn to find Nikolai watching me from the doorway, and my heart slows. His face is expressionless, and the ocean in his eyes has turned to ice. I have seen that look on a man’s face before. I had seen that look when my father handed down orders to his own men. That same numbness came over them when a job needed to be done, but it wasn’t something they were particularly fond of doing.
And right now, it looks like Nikolai is about to do a job he doesn’t much care for either.
“It’s time to go upstairs and get dressed,” he says. “Come.”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer. I follow him through the house and up the stairs, exhausted and weary of another formal dinner. He is already dressed for the occasion, and it isn’t his usual jeans or motorcycle boots. Tonight, he is wearing all black, from his slacks to his button up to his oxfords. A dangerous style for a dangerous man.
Meanwhile, I am unshowered and messy from the labor of the day. Luckily, he seems to be too distracted by his own thoughts to notice.
“There.” He points to a dress already laid out on my bed. It isn’t one I’ve seen before, but I’m almost certain it might be one of Nonna’s. It’s beige, and it’s ugly. “Put this on, quickly.”
“I have to shower,” I protest. “I haven’t had time to do my hair or makeup—”
“No.” His tone is unyielding, and I’m confused. I went to all the trouble of cooking a feast fit for royalty, yet he believes my appearance is not of importance. My father would have never allowed me to attend a dinner in my current state.
I cross my arms and hold my head high, determined to take a stand. “I’m not going to dinner without cleaning myself up first.”
“Put the dress on,” Nikolai says through gritted teeth. “Or I will do it for you.”
I hold my ground, mostly because I don’t want to believe him. I’m not wearing that dress, and I’m not going to meet guests in this state. But my captor has other plans, and he stalks toward me with tension rippling through every visible muscle. Instinct makes me cower when he grabs my arm, and I try to turn away from him.
“Enough,” he barks. “I would not hit you. I have never hit you.”
The storm is back, and I’m afraid to meet his eyes for fear of what I’ll find there. But when I do, shock punches the breath from my lungs. It’s a storm of a different color. Sorrow so deep and violent, it chokes every bit of blue in his irises, turning them to gray.