64

Maria
“I need to talk to my father.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Lara says, her brow furrowing in concern.
I grip her hands. “I need to know the truth from him,” I reply. “Mikhail tells me his real name is Zakhar Budanov. There’s a photograph in his desk. I … I deserve to know!”
Larissa’s face pales as she pulls her hands out of my grip. Her hands clutch the sheets as if anchoring her to the moment.
“Please, Lara,” I plead. “I need to hear it from him.”
Larissa nods slowly and releases the bedsheets from her grasp. “Yes,” she says quietly, her gaze distant. “You do.”
I stare at her, perplexed, but her face is unreadable. She knows too much but doesn’t want me to figure it out. I take a deep breath, wondering if I should push her, but I decide against it. Whatever Larissa knows, it will remain a secret, at least for now.
Larissa takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “You should come home with me,” she says firmly. Standing up, her posture is regal and defiant. “And you must be careful, Maria. If Kolya were to find out about the pregnancy or your plans to talk to your father …”
“I know,” I whisper and glance at the bedroom door. “Do you know anything about my father? Zakhar Budanov?”
She nods, staring past me and out the window at the skyline. “Only that he was once the Avtoritet. Desmier would know more …”
“But Desmier is dead.” I shake my head, my voice tight as I finish the sentence for her.
Larissa walks over to the window and places a hand against the glass, her eyes searching the horizon. Seconds pass before she can speak again.
“Pack a small bag,” she says, not turning around. “Or better yet, pack nothing. Give Kolya no reason to suspect you.”
I feel a pit in my stomach. She’s going to lie for me, and I know it hurts her to do it. She loves her brother. But in this moment, I know she’s chosen me over him.
And that means the world to me.
“Thank you, Lara,” I murmur.
“We don’t have much time.”
It’s a moment of deja vu that’s too real. I walk over to the closet, get out a small duffel bag, and pack enough clothes and toiletries for a week.
No one stops us when we walk to the elevator together. Dominika doesn’t even look in our direction but keeps the staff busy and distracted with their work. Larissa has her own driver who escorts us to her car-a spacious silver BMW.
It’s a long drive out of Manhattan, and we drive past signs for Holtsville. I wonder how things would’ve turned out if I hadn’t run away that night. If my father hadn’t kept secrets from me. If Mikhail never came into my life. And if I had never fallen in love.
Would I be happier alone in my bedroom in Holtsville and dreaming of living in New York City?
I close my eyes and lean my head against the window. I doze off, and when the car stops, we’ve arrived at Larissa’s Long Island estate. The sunset casts a warm glow over the sprawling gated property. Her heavily guarded seaside sanctuary seems worlds away from the chaos of the penthouse, and a strange peace washes over me.
I can only hope that everything will turn out okay.
“Welcome to my humble home,” Lara says with a smile, gesturing toward the elegant mansion in front of us. It’s surrounded by a lush garden filled with towering tropical plants in containers that offer a sense of seclusion and protection.
“Let’s go in.” Lara places a supportive hand on my arm. “You must be exhausted.”
I let her lead me toward the front door, and as soon as we enter, I’m surrounded by scents-vanilla, lavender, and citrus. The aroma is relaxing, and I breathe deeply, letting it soothe me. This home perfectly reflects Larissa’s warmth, and I feel even closer to her.
The interior is elegant, with white marble floors, gilded chandeliers in almost every room, and antique furnishings. The ceilings are high with ornate molding, and paintings hang on the walls-some abstract, others seascapes-but nothing as impressive as Mikhail’s collection. Everything screams good taste and isn’t flashy or over the top.
It’s tasteful and elegant, like her.
“Thank you, Lara,” I reply with gratitude. “This place … it feels safe.”
“Good.” Her gaze is deep. “That’s exactly what you need right now-somewhere you can think clearly and make the best decision without fear or interference from Kolya.”
“Where’s Rurik?” I ask, suddenly noticing his absence.
A shadow crosses Larissa’s face, and she hesitates before answering. “Probably in the garage,” she finally says. “It’s not near the house. He isn’t exactly thrilled with you being here. But he is stillmyhusband, and his devotion belongs to me.”
It feels like cold water has been dumped on my back. “Will Mikhail find out?” I ask her.
Larissa shakes her head. “Not from me. But Rurik is bound by oath to answer him truthfully.” She smiles. “Say nothing more than necessary, and there will be nothing to fear.”
“He won’t come and get me?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “He won’t disrespect me like that.”
As if on cue, Rurik steps into the house from a back door near an enclosed patio. One look at me and disapproval is etched into his face. He wipes his hands with a cloth he’s carrying. But instead of voicing his displeasure, Rurik simply inclines his head in my direction before disappearing outside again.
Lara sighs, watching him disappear out of view, then takes my hand.
She leads me down a wide hallway lined with photographs, and I notice a few pictures of Mikhail, Desmier, and Lara as children. One in particular catches my eye-Mikhail stands in front of a car, wearing a dark suit with a gun holster visible underneath his jacket. He looks young in that photo, not even a teen.
I stop and stare at the photo for a moment, wondering what he was like as a child. Mikhail looks serious and stern, but the sparkle in his eyes makes me smile despite how much I hate him.
“Your brother was always handsome,” I comment casually.
“Yes, he was,” Larissa smiles. “But also stubborn and pigheaded.”
I smile softly, amused by her spot-on description.
Larissa pauses and stares at the photo. Her gaze is distant, with a touch of melancholy as she looks at her brother’s image.
“He was a good and gentle soul once,” she murmurs. “And then our father intervened.” She glances at me. “And after Desmier left us, he changed. He forgot all that used to be good in his life and focused on pleasing our father. Foolish boy.” She whispers to the young child in the photo. “You could never replace Desmier in Father’s eyes, no matter how much of your own soul you destroyed.”
She wants to say more, but I don’t press her. Larissa leads me down a hallway to a bedroom with a king-sized four-poster bed draped in ivory lace. In the distance, murmuring waves lap at theshore. I notice the Juliette balcony and wonder if the glass doors are locked. The room is beautiful, but I’m too tired to appreciate it.
Larissa helps me settle into bed like I’m her child, and I let her. She tucks me in and kisses my forehead. “Rest up,” she urges, her voice filled with concern. “We’ll talk more in the morning about the safest way to contact your father.” She lowers her voice. “And it’s best if you call him after Rurik leaves, so that he suspects nothing.”
I wince. “I feel bad, Lara. Making you keep secrets from him.”
She smiles ruefully. “It won’t be the first,” she admits. “And it won’t be the last. This is what it means to live in the Bratva. Secrets. Lies. Betrayals.” She pauses, her expression somber. “But I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let something happen to you, Maria. Not now.”
Larissa turns off the lights and closes the door, leaving me alone in the dark.
It’s not safe here. I can’t help but feel a sense of foreboding creep in.
My thoughts turn to Mikhail, and I’m afraid of what he will do when he discovers my secret.
I need to talk to my father. He is the only person who can guide me out of this tangled web of fear, duty, and blind loyalty that is the Bratva.
I just hope it’s not too late.