Chapter 12
CLAIRE
“This way, please,” the butler said, gesturing for me to follow him up the staircase.
I frowned in the direction of where Mikhail had walked away, leaving me to follow his orders, nothing else said.
Dragging my withering glare from the way he’d gone, I cast a look at the guards at the door.
I wasn’t so stupid as to try to get past them. I wasn’t so dumb that I could plan on begging them to let me out of here. They wouldn’t defy their boss.
Defeated, I trudged after the butler until he showed me to a lavishly decorated and elegant guest suite. He gave me a brief, monotone tour of the area, showing me the attached bathroom and adding that clothing and anything I needed would be delivered to the suite.
That was it.
He showed me in here as if I were a guest and left.
The second he closed the door after himself, I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and unlocked it.
This was insane. This was wrong. I couldn’t just go along with any of this and stay and…
Fuck.
As I looked at the screen, ready to do the common-sense thing of calling for the police, I stopped my finger. It hovered over the keypad. Not only was there no service or reception for me to call out from this building, but I also recognized that I couldn’t.
How could I call for the cops when they wouldn’t be able to get in here?
How could I alert someone to save me when Mikhail had been the one to actually rescue me from death?
How…
I slumped to the bed and buried my face in my hands. Shaken all over again, I let the enormity of the situation really sink in.
I was here because I had to be. I had made the mistake of getting involved. Now that I had, I had to stick with this Mafia man just to be safe!
Memories of the moment flooded into my mind.
Flashbacks of being so startled. Of feeling like I’d pass out.
Of fearing that bullet piercing my skin.
Sitting there and hugging myself, I hated that I wished for that small flicker of security that I’d felt when Mikhail put his hand on my back.
He wasn’t supposed to be a source of comfort.
He wasn’t supposed to be the one I’d seek out for protection.
That Italian thug had targeted me because of Mikhail!
Antsy and irritated, I did my best to breathe through another start of a panic attack. I couldn’t just sit here and let the images and memories play on a loop in my mind’s eye. I couldn’t just—
I shot to my feet and exhaled a harsh breath. I had to do something. To move. Otherwise, I’d only spiral further. As I swallowed and felt the ache of where that man had almost choked me to death, I ran my fingertips over the skin. It would be raw and red from the abrasion.
Turning in the direction of the bathroom, I sighed and wondered if cleaning up could give me the illusion that I could wash away the reminders of the incident.
All showering did was make me tired. The up-and-down adrenaline rush and the aftermath of a fight-or-flight instinct had me sleepier, too.
After I gave up on the hot, steamy bathroom as a way to feel better, I got dressed in a pair of sweats from the dresser and crawled into the bed.
Closing my eyes, I steadied my breath and tried to keep my hopes up.
Tomorrow. I can try to figure out how to get out of this mess tomorrow.
To my surprise, I woke up rested. Dreams of that man and nightmares of gun violence had me tossing and turning all night, but I was proud of the fact that I toughed through it and didn’t try to seek out anyone in this house. Going to Mikhail for comfort was the opposite of common sense.
But as I sat up and felt my stomach grumbling, I faced the reality that I needed to act now.
Finding more clothes, I got dressed to head downstairs somewhere and find food. The door wasn’t locked—I’d checked—but I was under no impression that I could go wherever I wanted in this building. Whether I was a guest or a captive hostage, I wouldn’t be allowed to have free rein here.
Mikhail was the boss.
I cringed as I reached for the door, loathing the command and control he had over me.
He was waiting for me downstairs in an enormous dining room. Following the scents of coffee and breakfast was all the guidance I needed.
“Sleep well?” he asked, looking up at me from reading on his phone, seated like a king at the head of the big table.
I glowered at him. “I should’ve been sleeping at home, in my own bed.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” He gestured for me to sit. “Who knows what would’ve happened if I hadn’t shown up when I did.”
I gritted my teeth and sat, furious at how right he was.
“I wouldn’t have been in this position to begin with if it weren’t for you.”
He nodded. “Yes.” Without showing any emotion behind that statement or elaborating, he clasped his hands together and pressed his steepled pointer fingers at his chin. “I will look into keeping my enemies away from you.”
“I can’t just stay here,” I protested. “Not forever. I have a job. I have a life.”
“For now, it’s in your best interests to tell your superiors at the hospital that you are taking a leave of absence.”
I wasn’t in the mood to restart that fight that I didn’t belong here. I got it. He was uniquely able to keep me safe from those men. “Fine.” I swallowed my pride at submitting at all. You cocky bastard. “For now,” I emphasized.
He almost smiled but didn’t make eye contact.
Arrogant, cocky, bossy man!
“I received the details about a leave of absence yesterday, something that was already in the works.” Heaving out a deep breath, I mentally cringed at manipulating anyone like this.
“I will contact my supervisor and give the implication that I will be leaving for that.” I stabbed a piece of food, hesitant to eat it just yet.
“If I don’t, people will question my absence. ”
“Good idea,” he said, and I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or humoring me or if he actually wanted to praise me.
“But only for now. Until you can…” I furrowed my brow. “Until you can make sure no one will be after me because I treated one of your men.”
He nodded, again not looking at me. The temptation to see him and make eye contact goaded me to force him to face me.
“I can’t call or contact anyone, though,” I added dryly.
“Already trying to escape?” Now he glanced up, smirking. When I didn’t relax my expression and react to his tease, he said, “I will contact my team to permit you to use your phone under a secure router, under supervision.”
I curled my fingers into a fist as it sat on my lap.
Before I could retort to that highhandedness, two men entered the room.
I hated that I recognized both. They both smiled at me, seeming surprised that I was here.
“Hey, Doc,” the younger one said.
Sensing that the other one, who more resembled Mikhail, was the serious guy, I lifted my chin to show him I wasn’t afraid. “Did your friend make it?”
“My cousin, actually,” he replied, unperturbed, as he took a seat to join us. “Sergei’s recovery is going well and he is home since the surgery was completed.”
“My brother’s too tough to kill that easily,” the other guy said as he sat as well. “But at any rate, thank you for your help in keeping him alive to fight another day.”
I rolled my eyes. “Like I had a choice,” I muttered.
“This is Andre,” Mikhail introduced, gesturing at the serious one. “My son. And this is Roman, my nephew. Sergei, the man you were threatened to expose, is his brother.”
I winced and pressed my hand to my forehead. “Isn’t this one of those situations where the less I know, the better?”
Andre grunted a laugh. “If that were the case, you sure as fuck shouldn’t be here as our guest.”
I lifted my face to glare at Mikahil.
Like. I. Had. A. Choice.
The asshole only smiled, not making eye contact, and resumed eating. Once we were finished with the awkward—albeit delicious—gourmet meal, Mikhail arranged for me to contact the hospital that I was leaving on my tentatively pre-arranged sabbatical.
It felt like a crime, too gregarious of a lie to commit to, but I wouldn’t argue with the need to stay alive and safe.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Mikhail said afterward, “I have a meeting to attend.”
He backed up, leaving me standing there in the hallway. I gaped at him, annoyed and frustrated. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
He shrugged, not looking back. “Martin can show you around.”
I ground my molars together and despised this distance.
A guest, my ass.
“I’m a prisoner,” I muttered as I crossed my arms.
“Oh. You too?” a woman said.
I turned, surprised to hear another woman, and with that much snark behind her words. A teenager stood behind me, near the closed doors to another room.
“Who are you?”
“Another prisoner,” she shot back wryly.
Now that she was speaking louder and with more sass, I could identify her. She was the one I’d heard shouting at Mikhail when I came to check on his wounds. Not his much-too-young lover. His daughter.
“I can only imagine what being his daughter could be like,” I quipped.
She gave up on opening the door and faced me fully. Blonde, slender, and with similar blue eyes, she was a beauty. But so young.
“It’s worse than anything you can imagine,” she replied, full of scorn. She licked her lips, approaching me warily and sizing me up. “Why are you here?”
That was a loaded question, and I wasn’t in the mood to tell her. Staring her down did the trick. She cracked under the silence stretching between us, but I had to remind myself she wasn’t an adult I could view as a threat, but a child. She couldn’t be any more than fifteen.
“I was wondering how long it would take for him to bring a parade of whores through here.”
That’s too far. Stepping into her space but with enough distance that I couldn’t touch her, I funneled all my anger and irritation into the sharpest glare I could find the energy for.
“Don’t assume you know me.” It was the only warning I could string together, shared in a low and firm tone. I didn’t wait for her to react or reply. Turning quickly, I strode off in the direction of my guest room.
She could stew on that. She could think whatever she wanted of me.
I was no whore. I was not a plaything for her father.
The implication that Mikhail had many lovers shouldn’t have bothered me, but as one day turned into two, then three, and four, I despised how much time I spent on wondering if that was factual.
If he had many women here. If he was a player and slept with whomever he pleased.
He didn’t approach me, only watching from a distance when he was in the building. He never seduced me, tracking my every movement when we ate meals together in silence. My tongue burned with the need to ask him what was going on, if I could go, and what would happen to me after I took off.
He wasn’t here often, and I saw no evidence of any woman coming to visit him. In my downtime, I read. I relaxed. I napped and tried to be idle.
It was no use, though, and I began researching more about the mission I hoped to take off for. I searched for jobs, eager to get out of this city.
Being idle wasn’t who I was. My curiosity and need to explore and see what else was out there remained constant, though.
Seeking out Mikhail’s daughter, to have someone to speak with, I meandered too far toward the back of the house one evening.
Too far into the nefarious world of Mafia men.
After pushing a door open and assuming I’d end up somewhere near the kitchen, where the house staff prepared meals, I stopped short at the sight before me.
A man was on his knees. Red-faced, his hands cuffed behind him, and his hair gripped by an Orlov guard, the captured man gritted his teeth as a hot brand from the stove was pushed into his flesh.
Oh, fuck.
Oh, fuck!
I stumbled backward, shocked by what sounded and looked like a torturing session.
Accusations about being a traitor fell upon my deaf ears.
Retreating so I could spare myself the sight of such a horror, such a crime, I could only hear the drone of my pulse loud in my ears.
I could only feel the rapid hit of oxygen I sucked in.
This wasn’t right.
This wasn’t the way the world was supposed to be.
It was ingrained in my soul, in my head and heart, to be the savior, to help others in pain, not to watch others cause such misery and injury.
I blinked quickly, so stunned at walking in on this scene.
My elbow swung back, pushing into the swinging door. Every step I placed behind the last one was shaky. Like I was walking on uneven terrain, not a smooth, polished floor.
Dizziness swarmed in my head. I panted, finding it so hard to breathe.
As I fell backward, uncharacteristically weak with this urge to faint, I swallowed hard and rested against the strong arms of whoever’d happened to be near to catch me.
“Claire.”
I closed my eyes at his voice. At Mikhail. He was there, holding me up so I wouldn’t fall to the floor. He was with me, bracing me against him.
“It will be all right,” he said, his gruff voice hard but oddly soothing.
Like the juxtaposition he’d been since I met him, this confusing oxymoron of being a horrible man at the same time he was a decent hero, I cringed.
How could I have fallen from what was once so real and normal to seek comfort from someone like him?