Chapter 3
I slammy clenched fists on my dressing table, making the makeup and brushes rattle with the force. It’s as if my fantasy conjured him out of thin air. Only now, he owns me.
Two years have passed since the last time I saw my godfather—my Konstantin. Two years since he picked me up clean off my feet to hug me, where I buried my face along his neck, letting his shoulder-length hair hide me from my father’s harsh scrutiny.
Kostya, my nickname for him from the time I learned to talk, hugged me tighter and longer that day than ever before and I let myself fantasize that maybe the same feelings coursed through him as they did through me. Not that it mattered. Now that my father found out my secret, I was lucky to be going to Paris. There were far worse alternatives.
In the end, I choked back the lancing pain, like a part of me being carved out with a hot blade, and let him go before my father could suspect him of something. He’d been at my father’s side my entire life—since they were kids according to the stories they told us growing up. His best friend, his right-hand man, the brother he chose. Kostya never broke my father’s trust. Not once. But if my father got it in his head that he might have, that’s all it would take. Bonds would break and blood would spill.
He’ll take me back to my father now. Without a doubt. He’ll tell him how he found me on the stage, selling my body—my innocence.
When my father finds out he bought me, he won’t believe it to be coincidence. He’ll go right back to that day when he found my diary—my fantasies right there in black and white. The ways I dreamed my Konstantin—a man thirty years my senior—would touch and take me.
Nothing will stop the wheels from turning in my father’s head, and my godfather would pay with his life.
I have to tell him the truth. The mortifying truth before he can contact my father. At the very least, then he can protect himself.
His touch lingers with me even now. I sensed him in the darkness and told myself I was crazy. When he took my hand, my heart leapt into my throat, but I dismissed my reaction as nothing but longing. When he tied my bodice back into place, I thought I was hallucinating his scent, but then his voice, the deep rumble washed over me.
Every part of me came to life. For one singular moment, I forgot about the danger, the fear, the promise of a future mired in pain, and lost myself in the nearness of him.
Did he watch me the whole time? When I bared my breasts to them, did honor have him turning away? Did I disappoint him?
My heart pinches at the thought. He has to understand I had no choice.
“Save a little for the rest of us, why don’t you. Slut,” Stacy says as she makes her way past me.
I’ve been careful to control my temper, but with my nerves raw, my body awakened by Konstantin’s touch, and the danger looming, my control fractures. A snarl bursts from my throat. Fisting my fingers around the metal nail file under my hand, I spin on her, snatch her by the back of the hair, yank her head down, and press the tip of the file into the delicate skin under her eye.
The chatter around us dies on a series of gasps. Someone runs out of the room, her heels clicking as she scurries away, no doubt running to Silas.
Good.
Anger and fear war in her jaded blue eyes. Her chest heaves and her fingers lock on my wrists like she has a chance of stopping me. I let her fear wash over me, relishing every second she cowers before me, wondering what I’ll do to mar her beautiful face. In this moment, we’re the same. Both facing looming uncertainty and the guarantee of pain.
This is the Romanoff in me. The part of me deep inside I’m afraid to let run free. The broken part of my soul desperate to turn away from everything good, ready to set fire to her dreams, and embrace her legacy of blood and death.
“Call me a slut one more time and I’ll scoop that pretty little eyeball out of your skull. Understand me?”
A whimper breaks free and she nods carefully, the tip of the file biting into her skin just a bit.
Letting her go, she crumples to the floor and the other dancers rush over to help her up and drag her to the other side of the room.
Silas storms in and spins in a circle, making eye contact with each of us. Pushing his suit jacket back, he rests his hands on his hips. “What the hell is going on in here?”
I shrug a shoulder, grab my lipstick, and swipe a fresh coat over my lips as though nothing happened. “Same old, same old.”
KONSTANTIN
“Gentlemen. My apologies for keeping you waiting,” Silas says as he finally joins us in his office. He runs a hand through his hair as he circles around his desk and gestures for us to sit.
“We’ll stand. Is she ready?”
He scoffs. “Yeah—” He meets my hard gaze and stammers, “Uh, yes. Sorry. She’ll be joining us in just a few moments.”
Something has the man rattled. My lips twitch as I bite back a grin, wondering what my Pcholka might have done to knock him off-balance.
“I’ll hold the payment for forty-eight hours. You do understand, I’m sure. I have to make sure she follows through on your investment before I compensate her.”
“Understood.” The money will be out of his possession by sunrise, but he doesn’t need to know that. I flick a glance to the door. Where the fuck is she? There’s no way she would abandon the money. Without it, where would she go? What would she do?
“I require a damage deposit. In the event you return her in less than presentable condition.”
“Waive it.” Eyes locked, neither of us blinks. Music thumps through the walls in a muted, dull thud.
“I’m a businessman. This is?—”
I slam my palms down on his desk and loom over him. The words he’s forcing me to say to get her out of here only adding to the promise of certain torture for him later. “She’s a whore. You have half a million dollars, most of which is your fee, I’m sure. You have plenty to keep you satisfied no matter what condition I return her in. You will waive your deposit.”
My men move into place beside me, their hands tucked in their jackets and on their weapons.
His eyes dart between them. When neither of them so much as blink, he snaps his gaze back to me and bows his head slightly. “As a courtesy for your first purchase and generous full price offer, I’ll waive the fee.”
Straightening before him, I smooth my fingers over the lapels of my jacket. “Excellent.”
A soft knock at the door draws our gazes and seconds later, Nikoletta steps in wearing the same dress she performed in. How the hell am I going to get her out of here without someone spotting us?
Her blazing copper eyes meet mine and she juts her chin, proud and defiant. And thankfully quiet. Dmitri’s gaze widens with recognition and slides to mine. I don’t have to say anything. I don’t have to so much as move; with one look, he knows to stay silent.
No doubt he’s already piecing together a plan in his head which is exactly why he’s always by my side.
We still need to get out of here before anyone recognizes her, because if we don’t, we’ll have a war on our hands. A cabaret full of men who’ll be all too willing to brave snatching her to claim advantage with the Romanoff family. I like to know my opponent and here, there are just too many unknown variables.
“Jacket,” I snap.
She dares to narrow her eyes on me, the little shit. “I don’t have one.”
“Find one.”
Silas comes around his desk and curls his hand around her upper arm. “Behave.” The word is barely audible, but punctuated with the way his fingers dig into her flesh.
I’ll slice his tongue out first. Followed by each and every finger on those bold fucking hands of his.
She drops her bag to the floor and steps out. Less than a minute later, she’s back with a cape.
A fucking cape.
Actually, that might be good.
Slipping it from her fingers, I wrap it around her, satisfied when the fabric swallows her whole, leaving very little skin exposed. Pulling the sides together, I cinch them in place with the belt. My lips brush her cheek as I lean in where only she can hear me as I draw the hood over her hair. “You’d do good to lose the attitude. The childish bullshit will only get us all killed or worse. You’re lucky I’m the one who bought you.”
She pulls back, hatred in her eyes. “So you can return me to my father? I’d rather die.”
My little bee. Feathering my thumb along her cheek, the band squeezing my chest ever since her father exiled her to Paris and away from me loosens a fraction. She’s lucky I’m the one who found her tonight. She’s angry now. Trapped. Her plan thwarted, but she knows, deep down, she knows with every fiber of her being, I’ll never hurt her. Her virginity will remain hers.
Cupping her neck, I bring her in where only she can hear me. “There’s so much you don’t know. Just know this. You’ll never be your father’s possession again, Pcholka.”