Mikhail
I look over at Maria, and she wanders off into the gallery as soon as Nina leaves us. Her gaze moves from one piece to another, but she stops in front of the Kuzma Fedorov again, her eyes narrowing as she studies it intently.
I approach her and stand by the painting. Like it or not, she has to start speaking to me again.
She stares at me, maybe surprised I’m still silent, but then a tiny smile tugs at her lush lips. Like she knows a secret that I don’t.
“Did you know,” she starts, tilting her head, “that this painting is upside down?”
“Is it now?” I scoff, impressed with her bold claim. Standing beside her, I look at the painting with her. “Why do you say that?”
I expect a scowl, but Maria smiles beautifully, lighting her face up with joy. Her voice assumes a confident tone instantly, and Maria stands a little taller as she points toward the canvas.
“Do you see this line here?” she asks. “See how it curves? And then these two small dots below it? And the long line with two curlicues. Do you see it?”
She looks at me. Her smile turns even brighter as she bounces on her feet, anxious to answer for me.
I shake my head in honest confusion. “No.”
“It’s a face, Mikhail.” She turns back to the painting. “It’s abstract, but the curve is a smile, the two dots are the nostrils, and the squiggly line is the brow and the eyes.” She turns to me again. “See it now?” she asks.
I blink. “Now that you’ve pointed it out, I can’t unsee it.” I look at Maria, once again amazed by her insights. “Incredible.”
“Isn’t it?” she asks, turning toward me.
“I meant you,” I reply.
The cautiousness returns instantly. Maria’s hands clasp behind her back as she glances at the floor. The shade of lipstick is new. At least, it’s a shade that I don’t recognize on her. She senses me staring, and her eyes slowly lift to gaze at me.
We’re standing in my gallery, surrounded by masterpieces that speak volumes, but I want to know her story and nothing else.
“Tell me more about growing up with your father,” I ask softly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
She hesitates, her gaze flitting across the room, searching for the right words.
“It wasn’t easy,” she admits. “My father was suffocating. He never trusted me to do what I wanted to do.”
“I realize now it wasn’t my fault. Books and art were my escape.” She swallows, her eyes shining. “I could lose myself in the stories that art tells or immerse my emotions into the colors and shapes on a canvas. I had a way to escape mentally, and art made me want to connect with the world.”
“Art will do that,” I agree, feeling the connection with Maria strengthen as we stare at the upside-down painting.
In a way, both of us found solace in art-a safe refuge from the storm of losses around us. I move closer, and Maria doesn’t back away as her eyes hold my gaze.
“I thought I’d find that in New York,” Her smile is small but genuine, making something inside me ache.
“When I look at a painting,” I tell her. “It allows me to slip away. But then I screwed it up.”
Maria reaches for my hand and holds it. “You can’t control what other people do.”
For some reason, she’s trying to make me feel better. I accept her kindness with grace. Larissa gives me advice and encouragement, which I appreciate but don’t need. And Maria tries to give me tenderness and understanding that I don’t deserve-like a mouse willing to pluck a thorn out of a lion’s paw.
“I’ve ruined enough dreams,” I tell her quietly. “Promise you’ll try to trust me, Maria. Promise that you won’t try to run away.”
“I can’t promise you that, Mikhail,” she replies honestly, whispering. “Because the truth is, I don’t belong to you.” Her eyes lock onto mine with newfound determination. “I’m not a piece of art for you to collect and hang up in a gallery. I’m a person, and I will always want to be free.”
And in that moment, I am struck by how fiercely I want to protect her-not just from her traitor father, but from a world she doesn’t even understand.
From the Bratva.
And from herself.
“You will marry me,” I finally say. “And I will be the one to protect you as I promised.”
She glances over at me. “Because the Bratva is family, and you protect family?”
“Exactly,” I tell her.
“So, will that protection extend to your father-in-law?” she asks pointedly. “The alleged traitor?”
Clever girl. Maria watches me with those big eyes, and for a moment, I almost believe she’s as innocent as she acts.
“What aren’t you telling me, Maria?” I ask. “What secrets are you still holding close to your heart?”
“I told you all of my secrets, Mikhail,” she replies tersely.
“Not all of them.” I watch her closely. “To keep you safe, I need to know everything. Even the things that you think I shouldn’t know.”
“Maybe you can’t protect us, Mikhail,” she says softly, “Because if my father really is a traitor, then it’s not only him who’ll pay for the alleged crimes.”
She’s right. I reach over and gently brush a stray strand of hair away from her face. She looks so vulnerable and innocent that it’s hard for me not to trust her wholeheartedly.
“If you’ve been lying to me …” I start as the space closes between us.
“I have no doubt you would hurt me,” she finishes for me as her eyes lock against mine. “But if what you say is true, then you also need me.”
She has no idea how right she is in this very moment. Her body is pressed against mine, and I can feel her heartbeat thundering between us.
Don’t do it … My mind warns me, but I ignore the warning. Maria is a temptation that I can no longer pull myself away from.
Her eyes widen as I lower my head, but her lips part in anticipation of what comes next.
She freezes when my lips press hard against hers. Her hands lower and rest on my shoulders, but she doesn’t push me away. I taste the sweetness I wanted on her lips. And, breathing heavily as we part, I pull back to stare into those wide hazel eyes.
“Don’t ever betray me,” I whisper. “Promise me that.”
“No, Mikhail.” Her gaze is steady as she shakes her head. “I can’t betray you, because you won’t let me.”