Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
FIONA
The warm water has washed away the grime, but not the dread curling inside me as I relive what I remember. What that piece of shit could’ve done to me.
I swear, I’m never drinking again.
My headache is little more than a dull whisper now, nothing like the hammering from earlier, and the soup his staff sent up after he left was exactly what I needed.
I’d never tried borscht before, the rich red broth with potatoes and beets, but it settled in my stomach with a warmth that felt almost comforting.
Back in the bed, I press my fingers to my temples while replying to more of Dana’s frantic messages, telling her I’m okay and with a friend. That seems to make her feel a bit better.
As comfortable as this bed is, I’m going to have to go home sometime soon. I can’t stay here anymore and pretend Aleksei and I are best friends now.
What a weird thought.
A hard knock comes, and I know it’s him before he walks in—with a shirt on this time. Unfortunately. He should look softer like this. Less dangerous, more human. Except he doesn’t. Not even a little.
Glancing down at his hands, I find my clothes neatly folded.
“You look better,” he says, stepping inside. “The color has come back to your face.”
“I’m starting to feel like myself.”
“That’s good. Here.” He hands me the clothing. “They’ve been washed and pressed.”
“Thanks.” They’re warm, smell clean and floral. “I think I’ll go home.”
His body instantly tenses. “No, you will not.” He moves closer, grabbing my chin, his thumb leisurely grazing my bottom lip. “You’ll stay until tomorrow. That way I can be sure you’re okay.”
His tone leaves no room for arguments, and quite honestly, I wouldn’t mind sleeping in this bed another night.
Especially if he held you…
No. Absolutely not.
But even though my mind wants to fight it, my body warms at the thought.
“How was the food?”
I’m immediately glad for the interruption his question offers.
“It was really good. Please thank your chef for me.”
“You’re welcome.” His smirk stretches.
I’m confused at first, my brows furrowing.
“I made it.”
My mouth pops open. “Really?”
“You sound surprised. Do I not seem like the kind of man who can cook a meal?”
A small laugh escapes me. “Not really, especially not one that doesn’t actually kill me.”
“See, it’s why I didn’t tell you it was me.” He laughs, dropping his hand away. “You wouldn’t have eaten it.”
“You’re probably right,” I admit with a reluctant laugh.
“Are you up to taking a walk?”
“Why?”
When I narrow my gaze, he continues. “I want to show you something.”
There should be hesitation. Maybe logic and distance and all the things I swore I’d uphold. But my fingers slide into his without resistance, and the moment our palms meet, heat blooms up my arm and settles in my chest.
We walk down a sweeping staircase, his hand in mine. Marble lies underfoot, iron banisters curling like black vines.
He doesn’t speak, and neither do I. But the silence crawls beneath my skin, winding tighter with every step.
Outside, the sun is too bright, the sky too blue. Like the world’s trying too hard to look normal. Something about it feels wrong, like it’s off-kilter, and I can’t explain why. But I feel it.
We pass through a glass door, and the backyard unfolds like something out of a painting.
But it isn’t a backyard. It’s an estate. Endless green stretching like it forgot the world beyond the fences. A stone fountain shaped like a lion glimmers in the distance, water pouring from its snarling mouth.
I narrow my eyes as figures appear in the distance. Some of Aleksei’s men, I think, standing in a circle.
“Where are we going?” I ask. “What are those men doing?”
He doesn’t answer me, just holds my hand tighter like he’s daring me to run. Once we get closer, the men turn to us, parting enough for me to see what was hiding behind them.
No, not what, but who.
A man. On the ground. Hand and feet zip-tied in front of him. Bloodied. Bruised. Barely conscious.
My pulse spikes. “What is this, Aleksei?”
“This,” he says, mouth twisting into something cruel, “is the man who drugged you.”
I take a step back, sucking in a sharp inhale. “No. No, Aleksei, I can’t…I can’t be here. I can’t be seeing this. Do you understand me?”
His fingers wrap around my jaw, his mouth nearing mine, his breath warm and calm. Too calm.
“You will see it. Because I want you to understand what happens when someone dares to hurt what’s mine. And you are mine, Fiona. Whatever twisted form this takes, you are a Marinova now. I will never let anyone hurt you again.”
He lowers me onto a stone bench, and I don’t even notice it until the cold bite hits my thighs. His hand cups my cheek as his gaze sucks me in. There’s something terrifying in it, but something protective too.
Then he makes it worse and kisses the top of my head with a gentleness that feels like it belongs to someone else.
The tenderness clashes so violently with everything I know him to be, it leaves me breathless.
It’s like being touched by two men at once—the monster and the guardian—and I don’t know which one to fear more.
“Please,” I whisper. “Let the court handle him. I’m begging you.”
He leans in, gaze unreadable. “You’re in my courtroom now, Ms. Prosecutor.”
As he steps toward the man, my clasp tightens on the edge of the bench, fingers digging into the cold surface.
He seizes the man by his hair, jerking his bloodied face upward into the fading light.
The man can barely lift his head on his own.
One eye is swollen shut, the other wide with terror.
A deep gash splits his cheek open, bleeding freely down his jaw.
His cries are broken, soaked in the kind of fear that only comes when death feels close enough to taste.
“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “Please. P-p-p-please don’t kill me.”
Aleksei keeps hold of the man’s hair, his voice almost gentle, but threaded with a fury so sharp it slices straight through me. “When I’m done with you, ublyudok, you will beg to die.”
His hand moves to his waistband, drawing out something that flashes silver before I register what it is.
A blade. Long. Curved. Gleaming like something unholy in his hand.
I go still. No part of me wants to see what comes next. But when I start to turn away, his voice lashes the air like a whip.
“No.”
My breath catches.
“You will watch, moya ptichka. You will remember. This is your husband. This is what he does for you.”
For a moment, our eyes collide, and I’m hit with the terrifying truth.
This is his promise. This is the real Aleksei. The murderer, the torturer, the bloodthirsty villain in every one of the fairy tales I read as a child.
When he slashes across the man’s forehead, it happens so fast, I almost miss it…until blood starts to spill like tears that will never dry. The man shrieks, the sound twisting into something inhuman.
I jolt, my fingernails scraping against the rough stone of the seat beneath me. I want to close my eyes and vanish. But I can’t. He won’t let me.
And some twisted part of me doesn’t want to.
The second cut is slower. It carves down the man’s arm, skin peeling back like paper too thin to hold shape. Crimson floods down his side, soaking his shirt. He howls, his legs jerk, body writhing like a wounded animal caught in a trap.
One of Aleksei’s men steps forward and hands him something. At first, I can’t tell what it is. But when Aleksei seizes the man’s trembling hand and the metal catches the light, I see it. Garden shears.
My stomach turns. I shake my head, begging him silently, praying he won’t.
He smiles, vicious and cold. And when the man tries to fight, Aleksei slams an elbow into his face. Cartilage cracks. More blood spills. Then, without pause, he clamps the pruners down and snaps.
A finger drops. A scream tears through the air.
I slap a hand over my mouth, gagging. I want to look away, but I won’t appear weak.
I’ve seen horrors in my line of work. Bodies torn apart by violence. The aftermath of human cruelty. But never like this. Not this close, not when I can taste the blood at the back of my throat.
He can’t kill this man in front of me. I’d be a witness.
Unless…
Unless that’s the point. Once we’re married, I can’t be forced to testify.
This performance isn’t just retribution. It’s strategy. A message. A warning. A vow.
And he’s making sure I don’t miss a second of it.
Aleksei doesn’t stop. He takes another finger. Then another.
The man’s screams crumble fast, turning into torn gasps and wet, stuttering sobs. The words he tries to choke out twist into nothing, falling away until only a rough whimper remains.
He’s losing too much blood. He won’t survive much longer.
“Are you still with me?” Aleksei slaps the man’s cheek, and his head lolls like a puppet cut from its strings. “Let’s wake you up.”
He chuckles. And that calm, amused sound turns my stomach more than the violence ever could.
One of his men steps forward, holding…a blowtorch.
Oh God…
My world tilts, nausea rises too fast to fight, and I barely make it to the grass before everything comes up.
“You don’t touch her!” Aleksei’s command tears through the air, thunderous and absolute.
Suddenly he’s beside me, his hand on my back. He crouches low, wiping my mouth with a cloth when I’m done, then tilts my face up to meet his.
“I will take you back. I think I proved my point.” His thumb glides over my cheek, a whisper of warmth that lingers longer than it should.
When his lips touch my forehead, I can’t bring myself to pull away, helpless to the strange comfort of it all.
He rises, and I force myself to look. Just in time to see the glint of his gun.
A single shot cracks through the air. Right into the man’s chest. The red in the grass spreads like ink on water.
But Aleksei doesn’t look down. He simply stands there, gaze fixed on me. And right now, I don’t know how to truly feel.