Chapter 12
AMALIE
“What should we make today?”
Sasha shrugs. “How about monsters?”
“Scary ones?”
He shakes his head quickly. “Friendly ones. With really big eyes. And lots of colors.”
“Big-eyed, friendly, colorful monsters,” I repeat with a nod. “I think we can handle that.”
Mornings in the Barinov mansion are mellow, with soft light pouring in through the tall windows, the world outside still white with stubborn late-winter snow. Sasha and I have just finished breakfast and are now on our way, side-by-side, to the art room, our footsteps quiet on the polished floors.
“Yeah,” Sasha says. “We can.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. My heart squeezes just a bit. It’s only been a couple of days, but Sasha really seems like he’s warming up to me. He’s still shy and quiet, but when it comes to art, I’ve practically got him to chatterbox status.
Well, almost.
When we round the corner toward the grand staircase, Andrei steps into view, blocking us from going down. His shoulders are square, his gaze razor-sharp—always on high alert.
“Stay upstairs,” he says, his tone not unkind, but quite stern.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Visitor.”
Sasha stiffens beside me. His small fingers grip my cardigan and he moves behind me. “Andrei, who?”
Before he can answer, the double doors at the entrance swing open. A man steps inside.
He’s impeccably put together, dressed in a charcoal suit, dark overcoat, and black dress shoes polished to a mirrored shine.
He’s middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair groomed to slicked-back perfection.
His pace is unhurried, like he belongs here.
He pauses just inside the entryway as if he’s evaluating something.
Then he looks up. Right at me.
His eyes are a cool gray that’s beautiful but unsettling. Something about the way he looks at me, like he’s sizing me up with just a glance, makes my skin prickle. I’ve never met this man, but I already feel seen in a way I don’t like. As if he’s memorizing details for later.
Then his gaze moves to Sasha, who is half-hidden behind me. The little guy clamps both hands onto my sweater, hiding his face as best he can. My heart leaps into my throat.
Beside me, Andrei speaks in a low and clipped tone. “That is Nikolai Garin. An old associate of Roman’s father.”
The slight hesitation in his words speak louder than the words themselves. The name Garin. I commit it to memory and file it away.
“He’s not welcome here uninvited,” Andrei continues. “You can imagine how Roman feels about people stopping by without an appointment.”
“So why is he here?”
“He invited himself.”
Garin flashes a polite, prim smile at one of the house guards. Then he looks up again. His gaze lingers longer this time, his eyes settling on Sasha. It’s hard to make out his expression from where I stand, but it looks like recognition.
My chest tightens. I shift, subtly placing more of my body between Sasha and Garin.
Sasha peeks around my hip and whispers, “I don’t like him.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
Roman appears. Relief washes over me at the sight of him. He’d slipped out of bed early this morning, heading to work without a word.
He strides into the corridor like a storm in a suit. Last night he’d touched me in a way I’ll never forget. But this version of him is different. It’s all Bratva, the man who has killed others.
“Nikolai.” His tone is low. Dangerous enough to chill the room.
“Roman,” Garin replies with a smile. “A pleasure.”
I sense a clear tension between them right away, immediate and electric and one that spans decades.
Roman’s gaze flicks up to the balcony, but only for a second. His eyes find Sasha, then me, reading everything in a single heartbeat. His jaw sets.
Garin follows his line of sight, glancing at the two of us. I don’t understand the look he gives Sasha, but I don’t like it. And Sasha feels the same way.
“Come,” Roman says. “We’ll talk in my office.”
Garin nods to us then follows Roman down the hall. They vanish, the office doors shutting with a heavy thud a few moments later. Sasha presses into my side.
“Papa doesn’t like him either,” he says, his voice a whisper.
“You’re right,” I say, smoothing Sasha’s hair. “I don’t think anyone does.”
My stomach knots. I have no idea who this man is, but he represents everything Roman wants to keep out of his house and away from his boy.