52

Maria
We ride the elevator to the penthouse like strangers who haven’t been introduced. Mikhail stands in one corner while I lean into the other. I don’t dare look at him, but I can sense him glaring at me periodically.
I could’ve introduced Mikhail to Mercy. But I sat there like a terrified lump and said nothing. The last time I saw Mercy, I told her I was in trouble. Now she finally saw why.
Mercy is always fearless, with a sassy mouth. But not tonight.
She looked scared out of her mind. But behind the fear, there was unmistakable hate. She kept glancing over at Mikhail the rest of the evening, but he ignored her.
Like a coward without a spine, I kept the peace by staying silent. Why? I should’ve said something. I should’ve stood up for her. Why didn’t I?
I keep my eyes on the floor as the elevator continues moving.
The truth is, I know if I had done anything other than staying quiet, Mikhail would’ve shot the bar to pieces to get me back. Mercy knew who Mikhail was. I remember her expression when she saw Larissa’s credit card.
Once again, I’m the only one in the dark-a sheltered little dummy.
Mercy was right about me.”You gotta have some backbone in this city. Otherwise, someone’s bound to take advantage of you.”
The elevator doors finally open, and I walk into the living room. I’m determined to do something before it’s too late. But one look at Mikhail’s cold eyes, and I know it’s already too late.
My voice trembles as I cautiously tiptoe into dangerous territory. “Mikhail … I need to call my dad.”
His jaw clenches as if he bit into something bitter. His eyes lock on mine as he stalks toward me, and I back against a tall shelf.
“You can’t be serious.” His voice is a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Do you take me to be a fool?”
“No,” I reply in a shaky voice. “I don’t. But I?-”
Before I can complete my sentence, he slams his palm against the shelf, making both me and the rare objects on display shake.
“Your father can’t be trusted, Maria!” he shouts. The force of his voice startles me. “And I’m starting to wonder about you!”
My heartbeat speeds up in my chest as I try to handle Mikhail’s rage. I’ve never seen him so unhinged with anger. Even at the wedding shower, when he killed a man, his actions were measured and calculated-applying just enough violence to get the job done.
But this?
He’s like a man gone insane.
But I can’t back down now. I stand up straight and try again.
“Please,” my voice trembles, but I continue. “I know my father isn’t who you’re looking for. My family isn’t like that.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize my mistake. What exactly am I insinuating with “like that”? That Dad isn’t like the wild bunch of criminals killing and stealing for the Bratva?
“Maria,” he warns, his voice dangerously low.
I swallow hard. “Just one phone call,” I plead. “We can put it on speakerphone if you don’t trust me.”
The muscle in his jaw ticks. He leans so close that his breath tickles my face as his voice-low and nasty-growls above me.
“When will you finally understand?” he scoffs. “Your precious father is just as dirty as the rest of us, Maria. He’s not what you think. The tower’s about to come crashing down, and it’s going to take you down with it, princess.”
“That’s not true,” I tell him desperately. “He’s always home. He doesn’t drink. My dad is not who you think …”
A mirthless laugh bursts from Mikhail’s mouth, cutting me off.
“Do you know what I think?” His powerful arms frame me between the shelves, trapping me in a space that I cannot escape from. “I think he kept you hidden away because he’s a traitor, Maria. You know nothing because he needed you dumb and naive. Because it was easier to handle you this way.”
A hard slap would’ve been kinder than those words. I feel tears stinging against my cheeks, but Mikhail doesn’t care. I can see itin his eyes. He only wants to hurt me. He steps closer until his face is practically pressed against mine.
Instinctively, my hand goes to my throat.
Mikhail stares at my hand, and for a moment, he seems calmer, saner.
But then he grabs me, shaking my shoulders as if the truth will come falling out.
“Where is he, Maria? I know you sent him a message!” His fingers dig into my flesh. “If he’s so innocent, why isn’t he knocking down these doors to get his precious daughter back? Why does he continue to allow you to be my prisoner? My plaything?”
His thumb brushes against my shoulder, sending an unexpected surge of desire coursing through me from the touch. I know he feels it too, because his grip tightens ever so slightly-enough to cause me to gasp, but not enough to make me scream.
His green eyes drill into mine, blank and emotionless.
And for the first time in his presence, I am scared. A deep, visceral fear that bubbles up from a primitive part of my mind. As if I suddenly am made aware of just how tiny I am compared to him.
How easily he can hurt me.
How easily he can break me.
But then he blinks and the blankness is gone, and he pulls back. But his hand remains on my shoulder.
I twist away from him with a strength that surprises us both. “Do you really believe my father is a fucking criminal like you?” Hysterical with fear, I can only scream at him. “If you want to know the truth, then you’ll let me call him!”
I want him to respond, to do something-anything-to prove that he cares enough about me and what I’m telling him to try and put it to the test. But he doesn’t do anything. To make things worse, he starts to turn around.
“Look at me!” I shriek at him like a banshee-desperation mixing in my voice. “Don’t turn your back on me, you coward!”
Perhaps there’s a hint of truth in that accusation. But now’s not the time to ponder this anymore. “Look at me!”
Finally, he looks back, and his green eyes are shining. Gasping for air, I dig my nails into my palms as my nerve slips for just a moment. I waver on my feet, ready to rush toward him before he can change his mind.
But I do not. With one final baleful look toward me, he turns on his heel and walks away.
Tears cloud my vision and I slip down until my legs puddle on the floor. But then I hear his footsteps returning, and a powerful hand extends before me.
Like a lovesick fool, I place my hand in his, and he effortlessly picks me up off the floor.
The two of us are silent as he marches me back to my room-my prison. Without a word of good night, he watches as I step in and closes the door gently behind me. I half expect the lock to turn, signaling that I’m back right where I started. But it never does.
He cares about me enough not to lock me in here like an animal. Small comfort that is.
Alone, my thoughts begin to race, searching for one reason after another as I try to figure out the cause of Mikhail’s awful behavior.
What happened to make him hate me in a day? Should I have told him about Mercy? But how does that matter? I don’t want my cousin in this mess, held captive by the Bratva along with me. And she wouldn’t have thanked me later.
As I sit on my bed, I replay all our conversations in my head. It’s clear that he doesn’t trust my father, but why? But more importantly, how can I convince him that my dad is innocent?
I close my eyes as I lie back on the bed. I try not to imagine Mikhail’s perfect face and the sweet looks he gave me before this awful day.
“No!” I sit up and pound my fists into the mattress in defiance.
Because whether I want to admit it or not, Mikhail is right about one thing:
Where is my father?
He should’ve done something by now. Mercy hasn’t been keeping any of this a secret. But that means … I take a shuddering breath. That means there might be a kernel of truth to the accusation Mikhail is making.
A new fire starts burning inside of me like a torch that refuses to be extinguished in a storm. Whatever the truth is, I cannot rely on others to tell it to me. I need to find it on my own accord.
The room suddenly feels too small, stifling me with its overwhelming silence. I need to do something. Anything. I’m no fucking damsel in distress. All the things I’ve done leading up to today are proof of that.
I fell off the side of a high-rise and lived to tell the tale. I made a pact with a killer and I’m still alive. I stood toe-to-toe with the Bratva wives in upstate New York, and I’m still here.
So why am I scared now?
“Keep your secrets, Mikhail,” I mutter under my breath as I hurry toward the door. “I’ll find out the truth, with or without you.”