Chapter 32
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
ALYONA
There’s nothing like waking up and not knowing where the fuck you are.
The last time, I woke up on a yacht. This time, I’m in a room that looks like it belongs in Buckingham Palace with its crystal chandeliers and gold trim. Kira still sleeps soundly in the bed beside mine. I’m nearly jealous that she’s still shielded from reality by the comfort of sleep.
Fragments of memories come back to me—the explosion, forced into a vehicle by strong, unyielding hands. A hood pulled over my head before my whole world went dark.
Cold dread percolates in my stomach. The bad guys got me after all.
But who are they?
And why aren’t I being held in a dungeon or something?
Soft, thick carpet cushions each of my steps as I make my way to the door. Locked. Expected that one. The windows are also locked. Peering through the glass, I find an endless sea of emerald-green treetops stretching into the horizon, and just beyond that, a massive body of water.
Something tells me we are far from Dubrovnik.
Which means we’re far from Leo and the others.
Kira stirs and her eyes flutter open. The same fear and confusion I feel is mirrored in her gaze.
I want to say something to assure her, to tell her that everything is fine, but she’s too smart for me to feed her lies, so I say nothing, but fetch a glass of water from the bathroom and bring it to her as she sits up.
“What in the ever-loving fuck?”
“Exactly.” I hand her the water, which she gulps down before rising from the bed. She completes a full 360, absorbing every detail of the room. “The door is locked, and so are the windows,” I inform her, “But it wouldn’t matter. We’re pretty high up.”
“This is not good.” Kira approaches the window, resting her forehead and hands on the glass. “I know where we are,” she says.
The tiniest match of hope flares inside me. “Well, that’s a good start.”
She spins on her heels. Her eyes wide with horror. “No it’s not. We’re in Russia.”
“How can you tell?” I ask, joining her at the window.
“I grew up here, I know a Russian estate when I see it.” She gestures around the room. “The over-the-top opulence. The Russian realist art. Also, those are boxwood trees. They’re native to the Black Sea region.”
My mouth goes dry, as Kira sits down on the bed, her head in her hands.
“Okay, so, we’re far from where we started, but it can’t be that bad,” I say, running a hand over her hair.
“We haven’t been separated. We’re in a lovely room.
I’m sure the food is excellent,” I say trying to coax a smile from her.
“I’m sure it gets a five-star review on Yelp. ”
“How can you joke about this? I failed you,” she moans. “I was supposed to protect you and I failed.”
“There was nothing you could do. They—whoever they are—came in with an army, blew the back off the house. These assholes are persistent.”
At this point, I’m just mad. I’ve wasted too much time being scared for myself and the people I love.
Now, the worst has happened: I’ve been taken, and Kira’s been dragged into this mess.
Well I refuse to turn over and play dead.
Heads are going to roll. “We need to find a way to escape,” I tell her.
“Did you not see the guards patrolling the perimeter? And even if we somehow managed to elude them, we’re surrounded by forest and sea. Where would we even go?”
“We could hide in the woods. Eventually, we’d come across someone who would help us.”
Kira shakes her head sadly. I hate to see my usually feisty friend, so defeated. “We’d just get ourselves killed trying to escape here. We’ll have to be craftier than that.”
“I suppose the smarter thing would be to figure out who has us and what they want.” My eyes go wide with alarm. “Do you think we’re being sex trafficked!?”
This finally elicits a humorless smirk. “Er, no. I don’t think it’s worth the trouble of sex trafficking a Kozlov and Nikitin. You know our brothers are going to move heaven and earth to find us. God, I hope they don’t do anything dumb.”
A knot forms in my stomach because I know without a doubt Leo won’t rest until he finds me. Yulian, too, but he has Rowan to think about, and maybe a baby on the way. He’ll do everything in his power to rescue us, but he’ll at least be smart about it.
Not Leo.
The thought of him dying to save me hits me like a gut punch. My anger from yesterday has dissipated, replaced with a tangle of emotions I can’t quite sort out. But I do know one thing—I can’t stand the thought of never seeing him again.
Before we can say anything further, there’s a click of a lock and the door opens. A sour-faced guard with white-blond hair stands in the doorway.
“Thanks for knocking,” Kira bites out. I elbow her because this guy doesn’t look like the friendly sort, but I’m secretly relieved to see some of the fight back in her.
But he doesn’t spare Kira a glance. He points at me. “Make yourself presentable. You have a meeting in half an hour,” he says in heavily accented English.
I rise from the bed. “Who will I be meeting with?”
“You will see.”
In an instant, Kira is next to me, her customary sass making a comeback. “What do you mean ‘make yourself presentable’? All we have is the clothes on our backs, and we haven’t brushed our teeth in way too fucking long. My mouth tastes like I’ve been drinking swamp water.”
His eye twitches at Kira’s outburst. “Everything you need is in the bathroom. Fresh clothes in the closet. I’ll be back soon. Be ready,” he commands, closing the door behind him with an efficient click.
“Yob tvoyu mat,” Kira yells at the closed door.
“What does that mean?”
“It means … ah, it’s probably better if I don’t tell you.” A worried sigh escapes her lips. “Are you going to be okay alone? I can throw a hissy fit and demand to come with you?”
“I don’t think Ice King out there responds to hissy fits. Anyhow,” I say, pulling my shoulders back, “this is my fight, and I’m going to go down swinging.”
She nods in agreement, but there’s doubt in her eyes because whoever I’m up against is nothing like anyone I’ve faced before.
My heels echo on the marble floors as I follow Sir Scowls-A-Lot, whose real name I've learned is Pavel, toward the other wing of this mansion. It’s deathly quiet here, as if speaking in anything but hushed tones is a federal offense.
The silence does little to steady my nerves, which have been on edge since I stepped out of the room.
I distract myself by smoothing the fabric of my dress, focusing on the task to help steady my racing mind. The guard stops in front of an ornate set of double doors and knocks once. He waits until a deep resonant voice invites us in.
The door swings open and my attention is immediately drawn to the powerful outline of a man standing with his back to me, looking out the window.
As he turns, I’m struck by his appearance.
I’d put him in his early forties with dark hair streaked with silver at the sides, framing a stern jaw.
High cheekbones and his deep-set blue eyes give him a distinguished look.
But the thing I most notice about him is the air of authority he projects.
Beyond his lean, muscular frame and ten thousand-dollar Savile Row suit, power seems to radiate off him in waves.
Who is he?
As if he can hear my thoughts, he tilts his head and asks, “Do you know who I am?”
“Yeah,” I huff. “The asshole who abducted me.”
This seems to amuse him for some reason.
“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” He studies me intently, his eyes roaming over my face as if he’s trying to figure out a secret.
I hold my ground, refusing to let him see the fear churning inside.
“But there is more to the story. If you’d care to sit down, we have much to discuss. ”
“I don’t care who you are. You’ve made my life a living nightmare, and I have nothing to—”
“Sit.” His voice is like a sharp whip, and I do as he says.
Once I am seated, he clears his throat, breaking the tense silence that has settled between us. “My name is Maxim Belov. Have you heard of me?”
The ground beneath me shifts, threatening to swallow me whole.
Belov’s name is known all across Europe—no, more than that, the world.
He’s what would be called an oligarch. He has his fingers in all the major industries—oil, power, telecommunications.
And in hushed whispers, it’s said he’s a major player in international organized crime.
I believe it. Because for all his perfectly tailored suits and sophisticated veneer, the man sitting across from me has the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. I should know, I’ve known more than my fair share.
While I’ve heard of Maxim Belov, I’ve never actually seen the man. He’s notoriously private and has somehow managed to keep his face largely out of the papers and off social media. Probably because he’ll kill anyone who dares disobey him.
“Of course I’ve heard of you, but that’s not the point.” I squirm in my seat. “Why am I here?”
“I think it is.” His eyes bore into mine, demanding my full attention. “I knew your mother many years ago. We had … an affair,” he confesses. “And you, Alyona, are the result of that union.”
I blink. Once. Then again. A bitter taste rises in my throat. This can’t be real. He must be lying.
“No … you’re not. I had a father and he died. He’s gone.”
A muscle in Belov’s jaw ticks as he holds up an envelope between two fingers. “I have proof.”
“Save the story, I’m not interested in an explanation.” He might be intimidating, but I won’t allow him to sit here and feed me lies.
“Alyona,” he commands. “Look at me. Can’t you see the physical resemblance?” I slowly lift my eyes to meet his, taking in his features. Really studying them.
Our eyes are the same deep shade of blue, but that doesn’t mean anything. And yes, we both possess dark, straight hair—but it’s a common Russian coloring.