Chapter 19 Mila
Mila
Three weeks of captivity is all it takes to convince a man that you’re going insane.
I watch Alexei across the table at one of Moscow’s most exclusive restaurants and marvel at the fact that I managed to talk him into this.
Convincing him took days of planting seeds about how constantly hiding makes us look weak, how our enemies need to see that we’re not afraid, and that projecting strength matters.
The truth is that I just needed to feel human again, wear something other than yoga pants, and exist outside the four walls of that estate for longer than a university presentation that ended in bloodshed.
“You’re staring,” Alexei comments without looking up from his menu.
“I’m admiring the view.”
“The view being what?”
“A man who agreed to take me out like a normal person.”
He sets down his menu and looks at me. His blue-gray eyes hold something I can’t quite read. “You know this isn’t normal, right? There are six men positioned around the restaurant, plus two watching the kitchen. The team is monitoring all exits.”
I offer a shrug. “Close enough for me.”
I chose this dress specifically for tonight. Deep burgundy. Fitted. The kind that makes me feel like someone worth looking at instead of a protected asset. I spent an hour on my hair and makeup, doing everything I could to reclaim some sense of normalcy.
The effort was worth it for the look on Alexei’s face when I came downstairs.
“You look beautiful,” he tells me now. “I should have said that earlier.”
“You were too busy cursing yourself for agreeing to this.”
“Can you blame me? Every instinct I have says keeping you locked away is safer.”
“Safer isn’t always better.”
The waiter appears with our wine, but before he can pour, Alexei holds up a hand. “I’ll handle it.” His voice carries an authority that makes the waiter step back.
Alexei takes both bottles and examines the labels, checking the seals with the kind of attention that tells me this isn’t about wine preference and more about making sure nothing is tampered with.
He pours my glass first, watching the liquid like it might catch fire, then his own.
Only after he’s satisfied does he nod to the waiter to leave us alone.
“Was that necessary?” I ask.
“Everything is necessary when it comes to your safety.” He slides my glass across to me with the kind of control that reminds me who I’m sitting across from. “Drink.”
It’s not a request.
I take a sip and try not to think about the fact that my stomach has been weird for a couple of weeks now. Nausea comes and goes, and bloating makes my dress feel uncomfortable.
It has to be stress. Three weeks of isolation and constant threat would make anyone’s body react.
Regardless, I don’t drink anymore because it doesn’t agree with me.
“Tell me something,” I begin after the waiter leaves. “If you could do anything else with your life, what would it be?”
Alexei raises an eyebrow. “That’s quite a question.”
“Humor me. We’re on a date. Normal people talk about things like this on dates.”
“This isn’t a date.”
“It’s as close as we’re going to get, so answer the question.”
He takes a long sip of wine before responding. “I’d probably teach. Literature, maybe. Or history. Something where I could spend my days with books instead of guns.”
The answer surprises me. “Really?”
“Shocked that the criminal has dreams beyond violence?”
“Shocked that you’d admit it.”
“You asked, I answered.” He sets down his glass and rests his forearms on the table. “What about you? If you finish your doctorate and escape this world like you’re planning, what then?”
“Consulting work, maybe. International business analysis for legitimate companies. Something that uses what I’ve learned without requiring me to be part of a criminal organization.”
“You think you can just walk away from all this?”
“I have to believe I can. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
Our food arrives, some kind of seafood dish that looks incredible but makes my stomach churn. I take a small bite and try to ignore the nausea.
“You’re not eating much,” Alexei observes.
“Just not very hungry.”
“You’ve barely eaten the past few days. Are you feeling okay?”
“Fine. Just stress from everything.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but lets it drop. We fall into easier conversation. Books we’ve read. Places we’d like to travel. Normal things that normal people discuss over dinner.
For a few minutes, I pretend we’re just two people on a date instead of a captor and his captive, or a criminal and the daughter of another criminal family. Instead of two people whose futures probably don’t align, no matter how much we might want them to.
“I like this,” I admit.
“Like what?”
“This version of us. The one where we’re just Alexei and Mila instead of all the other things we have to be.”
“This version doesn’t exist outside this restaurant.”
“Maybe it could. If we wanted it to.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but something over my shoulder catches his attention. I watch his face transform, his jaw ticking in a way that means someone’s about to have a very bad night.
“What?” I ask.
“Don’t turn around.”
Of course, I turn around.
A man in his mid-forties approaches our table holding a drink and wearing a drunken smirk.
“Excuse me,” he slurs. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I just wanted to send this lovely lady a drink and introduce myself.”
Alexei stands so fast his chair nearly tips over. “Walk away.”
“I’m sorry?” The man’s smile falters.
“I said walk away. Right now. Before I make you regret approaching this table.”
“I was just being friendly. There’s no need for—”
Alexei crosses to him in two strides, grabs him by the collar, and shoves him backward. Not violently enough to cause injury, but hard enough to make his point. After the scene at the college, I appreciate the restraint.
“Listen very carefully,” Alexei growls. “That woman is mine. You don’t look at her. You don’t smile at her. You sure as hell don’t send her drinks and approach our table. Understand?”
“I didn’t know—”
“Now you do. If I see you within ten feet of her again, I’ll break every bone in your hand. If you speak to her, I’ll break your jaw. If you so much as glance in her direction, I’ll make sure you regret it for the rest of your considerably shortened life.”
The man’s face goes pale. He nods frantically and stumbles backward, nearly tripping over his feet in his rush to return to the bar.
The restaurant has gone quiet, and everyone is staring at us as Alexei stands there, puffing his chest out, and I sit frozen with embarrassment.
Alexei returns to the table, sits down like nothing happened, picks up his wine glass, and takes a sip.
“That was excessive,” I tell him. “He was just being friendly.”
“He was making a move on what’s mine.”
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are. And everyone in this restaurant now knows it.”
I want to tell him he can’t just claim me like property, and that his possessiveness is over the top and inappropriate.
But part of me is thrilled at being claimed so publicly and being protected so fiercely, even if the execution was problematic.
God, I’m as twisted as he is.
Alexei pulls out his phone and quickly types something. His face goes from satisfied to furious in seconds.
“What?” I ask.
“We’re being recorded. Someone in here has been filming us since we arrived. They just caught that whole display and posted it all over social media.”
My stomach sinks as the implications hit me.
That video will be everywhere within the hour. Every rival family, potential ally, and enemy will mark me as someone they can use against him.
When Alexei flips the screen in my direction, my face is clear in the footage—the woman who can make the second most powerful man in Moscow lose control in a public restaurant.
By tomorrow morning, the bounty on my head will triple, and every mercenary in the city will know what I look like. The protection he’s built around me just crumbled with a single, drunken stranger and a smartphone, and now, there’s nowhere to hide.