Chapter 14
Alyona
Istare at my reflection like I’m trying to solve a puzzle that refuses to click into place.
The woman in the mirror looks like someone else entirely, but I’m in there somewhere.
The dress Kazimir chose clings to my body with unapologetic intent.
The gold fabric molds to my curves, and the slit slices high up my thigh in a way that makes my own pulse tick faster every time I shift my weight.
My breasts are pushed up and forward, full and almost obscene in their presentation, the neckline daring anyone who looks at me to stare too long.
I don’t recognize the person in the mirror staring back at me.
I also can’t look away.
A soft knock sounds at the door, but it doesn’t open. Nothing in this house happens without permission…unless you’re Kazimir Baranov.
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to breathe past the tightness in my chest. One week.
I’ve been here one week, and somehow that feels like both a blink and a lifetime.
The Baranov Estate has settled around me in ways I didn’t expect.
Its quiet order and controlled movements offering a strange, disorienting sense of safety.
I hate that part the most.
My phone buzzes on the vanity, and I grab it gratefully hoping the distraction is grounding for me. Devin’s name flashes on the screen, followed immediately by her message.
you look SINFUL. that gold makes you glow!!
I huff out a breath that’s almost a laugh, my shoulders loosening despite myself. She’s seen the photo I sent her earlier, snapped quickly before I could talk myself out of it. I can practically hear her voice through the screen. She’s all heat, encouragement, and unwavering loyalty.
I type back; I look like I’m about to be arrested for something illegal.
Three little dots, and then an almost immediate response: yeah but…sexy illegal. like extortion.
babe. if they arrest you, I’ll bail you out and steal the dress.
I smile, small and crooked, then put the phone back on the vanity as reality presses in again.
Tonight isn’t about me feeling beautiful or confident or even comfortable.
Tonight is about being seen, photographed, and catalogued as Kazimir Baranov’s fiancée.
And it’s happening whether I feel ready for that label or not.
I smooth my hands down the front of the dress, and try not to think about the last time he looked at me like I was something dangerous and inevitable at once.
It’s been days since that night, and I’ve done my best to lock it away, treat it like an anomaly, or a crack in the rules that won’t be repeated.
This doesn’t happen again.
Those were his words. He said them low and hard like he meant it.
Still, my body remembers.
The car ride to the casino is so quiet it almost feels like a punishment.
Although I’m not sure which of us is being punished.
Kaz sits beside me dressed in a dark suit that makes him look carved rather than clothed.
His presence is solid and controlled, but his attention is focused outward even when I feel it in brief, assessing glances.
His hand rests on the seat between us, not touching me, never touching me.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed by his restraint.
The casino is everything it promises to be, a glittering temple of excess and money, and air that’s thick with perfume and ambition.
As soon as we step inside, the attention on us hits like a punch.
Eyes turn toward us, whispers follow, and phones lift in an attempt to take discreet photos.
Kaz’s hand finds the small of my back, it’s firm and possessive, guiding me forward as though I belong exactly where he’s placed me.
Most of the crowd is from a younger generation of wealth.
New money. The kind of men who came to The Foundry looking for drugs we didn’t have and the kind of women they could marry who would smile sourly, pretending to accept their husband’s predilections.
When I glance up at Kaz I realize he’s at least two decades older than… well, almost everyone.
Somehow, he manages to look more sure of himself than anyone else in the room. It’s like he has the keys to this city, which in a way he does.
I tell myself to breathe. This is temporary. They’ll shut down this other cartel boss, and then it’s over.
Then I see him.
One of the men from The Foundry, his face instantly familiar in a way that makes my stomach knot. His gaze slides over me with recognition and something ugly underneath it. He smirks, leaning slightly toward Kaz as we pass. His voice is low, but not low enough for me not to hear.
“Didn’t know you had a thing for the help,” he says. His words drip with implication.
I freeze.
I feel it before I see it. Kazimir shifts beside me, his grip suddenly tightening while he simultaneously angles his body protectively between me and the man. But he doesn’t say a word.
His hand closes around mine, fingers locking with decisive force.
Before I can process what’s happening, he’s pulling me away from the crowd and toward a hallway that leads to the restrooms. There’s an alcove where cleaning supplies are kept; shadowed and inconspicuous.
He crowds me in there, his big body pressed against mine, all hard heat.
“Kaz—” I start, my voice pitched low and urgent.
“Don’t move.” There’s no room for argument in his tone.
The party is only yards, and I can hear people laughing and chatting. The flash of bulbs lights up Kaz’s face in sharp angles. He’s like a statue. What is he waiting for?
Then someone waltzes down the hallway. A woman, already fixing her hair with a plastered-on smile sinking to exhaustion. She sashays easily into the restroom.
Kaz steps away for a moment, leaning to look back out into the main room. Then his chin dips with approval. He steps back in, slow and calm, his arms caging either side of my face—his eyes locked onto my lips.
Is he going to kiss me?
No.
He said no touching.
Before I can overthink anything, someone else stumbles into the hallway humming and chuckling.
It’s the guy; the one who just insulted me, us, moments ago.
We hear the sound of the door to the men’s room open, then close.
Kazimir breaks his rule, which apparently doesn’t come into play in public, and takes my hand, leading me to the restroom.
My heart is pounding. Adrenaline buzzes under my skin, and I tug back, ready to demand an explanation.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Teaching,” he replies calmly.
The door opens again and we step inside. It feels wrong to be in here where urinals line the walls. The man is distracted unzipping his pants, but Kaz moves fast, faster than I expected. His arm locks around the man’s throat from behind, dragging him back before he can react.
A sharp, involuntary gasp escapes from me, and my hand flies to cover my mouth. Kaz presses him back against the tiled wall, a slim blade flashing into view, the point settling just beneath the man’s jaw.
“You will apologize,” Kaz says. His voice is soft and almost gentle. “And you will remember exactly why.”
The man’s bravado evaporates, and his hands shake as he drops to his knees. Blood wells at his jawline where the knife caught. Whether it was by accident or on purpose, I don’t know, but knowing Kaz…
Now, in this empty room with only a little more than a foot separating us, I can smell alcohol. This guy got the party started early. It must be what made him so insolent. He opens his mouth, looks up at me, and starts to say “I’m—”
“Don’t fucking look at her.”
The knife flashes, and the man cries out.
His hand clamps over the back of his neck, where blood slides down into the collar of his shirt.
He’s hyperventilating, but he doesn’t look up again.
“S—sorry,” he chokes out, fingers slipping in his own blood, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. You look beautiful—”
“Don’t comment on how she looks.”
There’s a dull thud, and I watch with wide eyes as Kaz’s boot slams into the side of the man’s head. A crack as he hits the floor, his eyes going dull and blood trickling onto the tiles.
I should feel sick. I should be horrified.
Instead, something dark and electric coils low in my belly.
Kaz straightens, and tucks the knife away as if this were nothing more than a correction. He then turns to me, but his expression is unreadable. He takes my hand again, brushing his thumb just once, but deliberately over my pulse point and leads me back out into the noise and light.
The cameras find us immediately.
His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against his side. His hand clutches possessively over my hip as the flashes go off. When he kisses me, it’s not tentative or polite.
It’s claiming and controlled and far too intimate for something that’s supposed to be pretend. It’s a secret. A secret between the two of us. It’s an acknowledgement that back there is a body and he’d do it again if he had to. If he wanted to.
I melt into the kiss before I can stop myself, my body responding with humiliating eagerness. When Kazimir pulls away I follow unconsciously, only a little embarrassed.
His brown eyes look like caramel with all the lights around us. And there’s a smugness to the set of his jaw, the way his hand sits at my lower back.
I step closer. Just for tonight.
As they all look at me the only thing I feel is strong.
Seen and strong.
“Wait.”
I freeze, only steps into the hotel suite. It’s sprawled out before us, all dark blues and grays, like midnight. There are constellations painted on the ceiling. Lush rugs under my heels make me long to kick them off.
Looking over my shoulder, I take in Kazimir and the way he fits into this space.
How does he do that? Like he owns it, all of it. In a way, he does; he’s an investor in the casino.
He takes a slow step toward me with his hands in his suit pockets, eyes assessing. A lock of silver-brown hair has fallen and brushes against his beard. I flex my fingers, wanting to touch him.
No touching.
No intimacy.
As if he heard my thoughts, he reaches out, and my breath catches.
But I don’t feel the touch of his fingers. They skim against the adjustable ties at the back of my dress. Then, one by one, he begins undoing them.
I feel the thick, luscious fabric loosen over my breasts, releasing them though it clings to my shoulders, barely covering me.
Kazimir slowly walks around me until we’re face to face. His eyes are locked on my breasts; his breathing is slow and deliberate. Before I realize it, he’s holding the knife again.
It flickers in the dim light of the room. He the flick of his wrist, he cuts the strap, and it falls away. I gasp.
A sly grin forms on his face, and he glances up to meet my eyes.
“Take off the rest.”
So he is still playing by the rules.
I shimmy out of the dress, but it’s not a flattering move. The fabric hugs my hips and belly, but eventually falls to the ground just like the blood did earlier in the evening.
The only clothing I still have on is a skimpy thong, cream-colored with gold lace, and strappy heels.
He smiles and reaches out again with the knife in a delicate manner. It’s as if he’s going to cut my panties right off me.
He hesitates.
“Go shower and then get some sleep. You had a long night.”
He turns and leaves me alone; aching and restless. The weight of everything I’ve witnessed and felt tonight pressing down on me.