Chapter 13 Ivy #2
No, it’s not so terrible. If I’m being honest with myself, it’s actually quite nice—except for the being locked in with bars on the windows bit. My room is grander than anything I’ve ever stayed in before. The food, at least this breakfast, is amazing. And all these new clothes…
“I haven’t thanked you for the clothes,” I say suddenly.
He waves a dismissive hand. “There’s no need.”
“I haven’t thanked you because I’m not sure I appreciate it.
” When his green eyes meet mine, I feel as if he’s looking deeper than just the surface.
As if he can see right through me to my deepest thoughts and desires.
“I would rather have my own clothes.” A lie, but I don’t feel comfortable accepting gifts from him.
Even though he owes it to me since he stole me away from protective custody with only the used clothes on my back. But he’s Mafia. He’s a killer.
And he’s absolutely gorgeous.
The air of danger that surrounds him attracts me even more, which is crazy. I like safe men, like Frank. Guys who aren’t out killing those he disagrees with.
A lock of dark hair hangs over his forehead, almost to his right eye. I want to reach across the table and smooth that hair aside. His face is tanned, and that dimple in his cheek is distracting as hell. He’s tall, too, at least 6’3”, with a nice lean and muscular body.
But Konstantin is much older than me. Not that I have anything against older men, but he’s old enough to be my father and I don’t have those kinds of Daddy issues.
“Have you given more thought to becoming my wife?”
His question startles me and I choke on the tea I was just taking a sip of.
“It’s the best way to protect you,” he continues. “You’ll be safer than the president of the United States.” His mouth curves, not a smile, exactly—something colder.
The worst part is that I believe him. Not because he’s bragging, but because he doesn’t have to. His voice is flat, not loud, and it pulls at something deep inside me. His confidence is comforting, promising.
I look down at the hare in my pocket and curl my fingers around it like a worry stone. The wood is warm from my skin.
“And if I say no?”
He holds my gaze a long beat, then repeats what he’d told me earlier. “Then you’re dead.”
We eat in a quiet that is not comfortable and not hostile. It just is. The jam is tart, but delicious, and the bread is so warm and fluffy that it practically melts in my mouth.
When I’m halfway to full, I set my spoon down and lean back and stare at the samovar like I can read answers in the metal.
“Anya said she knew my father,” I say.
His eyes jerk up to mine, but that’s the only reaction I see. “She did,” he says.
My heart thumps once, hard. “How?”
“At the restaurant,” he says. “Long time ago.”
“Did you know him?” I ask finally.
“Yes,” Konstantin says after a brief pause.
I stare at him for a second, waiting for him to explain. But he doesn’t.
“How?” I ask. “From the restaurant or…?” I wave my hand in the air to encompass him and his estate, asking without words if he knew Dad through Mafia ties.
“Does it matter?” Konstantin asks, then abruptly stands. “Follow me.”
He takes me through a different corridor, past a small chapel, a room with a grand piano and a stack of sheet music with notes scratched in the margins. At a turn, Viktor steps out of the shadows, gives me the barest nod, and falls in behind us without being asked.
We end up in a room I haven’t seen yet—smaller than the library, older than the dining room, with books that look like they’ve been read, not displayed. A large window takes up most of one wall and I notice it’s stopped snowing and the morning sun glitters off the ice.
“Have a seat.” His hand sweeps out indicating several leather chairs arranged in the room. I choose one that lets me see him while also putting me close to the door in case I need a quick escape. Although where I can escape to is another challenge.
If I could even escape. Viktor stands in front of the bookshelf, studying the books in an obvious attempt to pretend he’s not here with us. He must feel my eyes on him because he turns and flicks his gaze at me. The quick smile he offers me is somehow comforting.
I turn my attention to Konstantin. “Did you bring me here to show me more of your… castle to try and bribe me into staying of my own free will?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Would that work?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Then no, I didn’t.” He scrubs at his jaw with a tattooed hand. “I brought you here for privacy.”
Leaning back in my chair, I cross my arms over my chest. Not because I feel like I need to protect myself, even though I do, but there’s a chill in the air that’s seeping into my bones. Viktor notices and starts a fire in the fireplace without a word.
“I know this is sudden and difficult,” Konstantin says.
He leans against the edge of his desk, his legs crossed at the ankles.
“But it’s necessary. If I thought there were another way to protect you, I’d do it.
But this is it. You need the protection of the Mikhailov name, and becoming my wife is the only way to get it. ”
I sag in the chair. I know he’s right. I’ve known it practically from the beginning, but I’m stubborn. I don’t want my life dismantled like this.
“What about the Witness Protection program?” I ask, still stalling the inevitable. “I’m supposed to start a new life, with a new identity, after I testify.”
“This is your new life, your new identity.”
My stomach drops to my toes. If Vadim’s men want to find me, they probably have spies inside the program who will give him my new location. I really don’t have another choice. Not if I want to live.
And I do.
“Fine,” I say, my tone a bit harsher than I intended. “I will marry you.”