Chapter 5
I makemy way through the cold stone walls of the tunnels to the crypt where Grigori was to take Nikoletta. Every second she’s out of my sight deepens my sense of dread. It was all I could do to turn her over to him. It’s not that I don’t trust him; I just trust me more.
Hunched over and aching, I shuffle through the shortest, narrowest section of the passageway, the part that runs alongside the crypts under Old Saint Patrick’s church. After I pass two more corners, I feel for the false wall that leads to the makeshift dwelling in the family crypt running along the south side of the property. The passage through to this section is a bitch, but it’s the only section where we’ve managed to tap into the water and sewer system. At least then, if we have to lay low for a long period of time, we can survive.
When my fingertips snag on a rough edge along the painted stone walls, I stop. Digging my fingertips into the crumbled gap between the pseudo door and the concrete, I give a firm push. The fake stone slides into the crypt, the foam sealant we use to make it look like it’s sealed giving way with a scrape.
My hand lands on my gun at the sight waiting for me. Grigori is leaning over Nikoletta’s still body on the bed. Something deep and possessive snaps inside me at the sight of him looming over her and in two steps I’ve got him by the collar. Dragging him off the bed, I throw him against the wall and level my barrel at his forehead. “What did you do to her?”
Palms up, he cranes his neck where I see claw marks and dried blood soaked into the collar of the dress shirt and sticking to the fabric. “Easy. She passed out after she tore the shit out of my neck. I still managed to get her down here. You’re welcome.”
With a click, I tip my gun back. “Watch it.” Grigori might get away with that sharp-witted tongue with me, but other members of the Bratva wouldn’t put up with it.
“What happened?” I whip my jacket at his chest which he catches at the last second.
“Panic attack, I would guess. The minute we got in that closet she freaked, but when I opened the panel in the floor and she saw the darkness, she folded on the spot.”
Dropping down on the bed next to her, I run my hands over her clammy, chilled skin. Her face is so pale and she’s shivering. Jesus.
I get to work peeling the cape from her so I can get her tucked under the covers, but when I draw back the fabric from her shoulders, I find scrapes along her shoulder blades. Red, raw lines with dirt still caked in her skin. At the view of her marred skin, the swell of anger swirls with the adrenaline still surging through my veins and I have to will myself to stay where I am. “Where did these marks come from?”
Never in all the days I’ve spent protecting her has she ever looked like this and despite seeing no other way to get her to safety, I can’t help but blame myself for it.
“I had to drag her through the narrow section of the tunnel. I tried to keep the cape under her, but there’s a couple pieces of rebar.”
I shoot to my feet and advance on him.
He backs up and holds his hands up. “One of them caught on the cape, but not on her. I promise, boss.”
This child—no, woman—she”s a woman now. A reckless, impulsive, beautiful woman who will get herself killed taking risks the way she did tonight on that stage. To even step foot in the spotlight was beneath her, but to bare herself to the men there—over my dead body would anyone ever see her like that again.
We fucked up. We didn’t prepare her for just how nefarious this world could be. No matter what recesses of the world she finds herself in, she will be hunted, a prize for whoever possesses her. She”s vulnerable because we didn’t teach her how to be ruthless, cunning, and disciplined. Passionate and spirited, she lacks control. And now, evil more sinister than we ever could have imagined is seeping through the cracks in this family, and she’s ill-equipped to protect herself from it.
The day will come when Nikolaj will head this family with intelligence and responsibility. He’ll be a fearsome force, but until that day, we’re all hunted, Nikoletta most of all.
“You’re alive,” she whispers as she reaches for my face and rests her palm along my cheek.
My shoulders slumping in relief, my rigid muscles ache with the constant tension and worry for her. “You think so little of me that I’d fall so easily?”
“Guns. So many guns firing,” she mumbles before licking her lips. She blinks, her gaze dropping to my arm, her eyes widening. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.” And it’s not. I don’t even feel it. Nothing more than a flesh wound and nothing compared to the injuries I’ve sustained over the years.
“What now, Kostya?” Her gaze darts around the room where burning candles are scattered throughout.
“Nikolaj is coming. I got in touch with him on my way here. Moretti’s dead and his men will be looking for retribution. So we stay here until we have reinforcements.”
She pushes up onto her elbows, her thick waves sleek only an hour ago now a tangled mess framing her face. If this were any other time, any other place, she’d look like a woman thoroughly fucked from where she sits in the center of the bed.
With a wary gaze, she blinks rapidly, her eyes adjusting to the dim light as she gazes through the stark room. Not that there’s much to see. A shelf of pantry foods that don’t require refrigeration, several cases of water, a sink, toilet, and a claw-foot tub.
I’ve been in worse places with no food or water, surrounded by dirt and death. This room, despite being a crypt, is comfortable and dry—a paradise compared to where I’ve been, but I have to wonder what she sees. Raised in wealth, she’s only ever slept on lavish sheets, a mountain of feather pillows—her bedroom alone bigger than most modest family homes. She travels by private jets and luxury cars with buttery soft leather seats and bulletproof glass.
This room is where her extravagant lifestyle dies.
Her bottom lip trembles, but she fights back the fear, her teeth sinking into the flesh to keep it still as she takes a few deep breaths. “It’s so dark.”
“We’ll light more candles.” I brush a lock of hair away from her eyes and settle my palm on her cheek. “When you’re ready, we’ll get you cleaned up.”
“And you’ll tell me what’s going on. Why you’re no longer at my father’s side. Why you stand with Nikolaj.” Her fingers lock on my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip, reassuring me she’s coming out of it and she’ll be fine.
I’m staring into the eyes of a Romanoff through and through, and despite her impulsiveness being enough to get us both killed, in moments like this, I have to remember, although having been taught to be demure, she’s been bred to be ruthless in her own right, even if not like her brothers.
“We’ll talk, Pcholka.”
NIKOLETTA
The minute Konstantin leaves me alone to speak to Dmitri and Grigori, I shiver once again. The ceilings can’t be more than six feet tall from the way Konstantin has to round his shoulders and hang his head.
His men glance at me on occasion, but before long, they head out the narrow, short opening, back out to the tunnels. Konstantin sprays the edges of the wall panel and slides it back into place.
“What is that?”
“It’s a sealant. It spreads and settles, making it look like the crypt hasn’t been accessed in years.”
“Are we trapped in here?” My heart climbs into my throat, fluttering like panicked wings, making me lightheaded. I clench and unfurl my fist endlessly while I close my eyes and count.
“We’re not trapped, but it’s not safe out there. Not for you. So we wait.”
This is the one thing that will crawl inside my head and fuck with all the recesses of my mind until I break.
How many years did Vlad torture me like this? Locking me in the dark. Sometimes a room. Other times a closet. The spaces growing smaller and smaller while he toyed with me, tortured me—filled me with fear of the unknown.
Every time, I waited for relief, for someone to find me while I wondered when he’d finally push it further. Screaming in the darkness, clutching at my throat, unable to temper my panic. By the time he and Nikolaj were sent off to a private school in Vermont, fear plagued me to the point I needed lamps scattered throughout my room to sleep at night.
But there are no lamps here. Just candles. How long before we have to douse those too? The heaviness in the room settles on my chest. There’s not enough air and before I can stop it, the edge of hysteria takes hold and every breath feels like it might be my last.
My vision goes black, my body heavy, the only sound the blood pounding in my ears and Konstantin. His voice is muffled, edged with fear, and so far away.
Keep breathing. Keep breathing. Keep breathing.
My throat burns. Drained of every ounce of energy, my arms turn to lead next to me on the bed.
Warm arms lift me, and I want to curl into him, but the darkness won’t release me from its grip. Seconds go by—maybe minutes—his warmth disappears and my body is lying against something cool and hard and slowly more light fills the room.
Tears spring to my eyes as my throat opens with a burn that makes it impossible to speak. Then there’s water. Cold water rushing under me. My eyes snap open and he’s there, with one hand under the water as it grows warmer, the other along my cheek.
Mouth tight, his skin pale, he watches me. I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.
“Just breathe.”
He lays his palm flat on my chest then, right between my breasts. The water on his palm soaks through the thin fabric and I shiver under his hand. His dark eyes leave mine, his gaze falling to the way he’s touching me.
We’re locked there, both focused on the rise and fall of my lungs. My nipples tighten painfully, and more than anything, I wish he’d touch me. The water rises, the skirt of my dress floating in the water around me, exposing my thighs.
“Did you bring clothes with you in that bag?” His voice is quiet and low. Pained.
“Yes.” The word is a whisper on my lips. My skin is on fire, the blood rushing under it flowing to all the right places, leaving me throbbing and desperate to be touched by far more than just his hand. I squeeze my thighs together, the ache only growing with every passing second.
The grimace is swift and he yanks his hand away. I catch the glint of his knife in the candlelight before he fists the side of my bodice where it meets the slit above my hip and slices clean through. Gliding the tip under the straps, he slices them away too until the fabric sinks to the bottom of the tub under me.
“I hated that dress,” he mutters, sheathing the knife once again.
I sink down deeper in the water, craving the warmth on my skin. “No, you didn’t. You just hated that other men saw me in it.”
He doesn’t look at me. Keeping his eyes averted, the cords in his neck flex. “You’re lucky, Pcholka. If it wasn’t for your panic attack, I’d have you over my knee right now as punishment for what you’ve done tonight.”
“Your idea of punishment would only guarantee I’ll do it again.”
He freezes next to me, his fingers turning white with the force of gripping the edge of the tub, the air pulsing between us.
When I settle my fingers over his, tracing along his index finger, his fingers flex—but then he’s on his feet and walking away.