Chapter 6
Stella
I should put a stop to this. I should yank my hand away and tell Kirill to get lost. But instead, I find myself tightening my hold on his hand as he leads me out of class and into the hallway.
It isn’t until we cross campus and head toward the parking lot that I realize that whatever he has planned for me isn’t on school grounds.
Where it’s safe. Where I have fewer chances of doing something stupid, like jumping his bones.
“If you think I’m going anywhere with you, you’re gravely mistaken,” I say, quickly withdrawing my hand from his and retreating a few steps.
In two strides, he closes the distance between us and tilts my chin up with one careful finger. “Then leave. No one’s forcing you to do anything you don’t want to.”
Kirill’s black eyes glitter with pure challenge, as if waiting for me to bite. I don’t trust him, and that makes me want him more. Sometimes I really hate being wired like this. It would be a hell of a lot easier to walk away from assholes like him.
I take a moment to survey the parking lot, disappointment curling through me as my eyes land on a sleek black Mercedes-Benz S-Class, the predictable choice of a Russian oligarch.
“Fine. But I’m not getting in your car. I’ll drive behind you.”
“No need. We’ll take yours,” he replies, leaning in to drop a soft, maddeningly chaste kiss on my cheek as if it were the most casual thing in the world.
Damn it! I saw it coming, and instead of backing off like I should’ve, I let him kiss me, my heart tripping over itself at the unexpected warmth of that brief touch.
“Where’s your car?” he asks smugly as if sensing my inner turmoil. I tilt my head toward my red sports car. “I should have known.” His pleased chuckle follows him as he walks toward it. “Give me your keys,” he says when he reaches the door on the driver’s side.
“Fat chance that’s happening,” I say, bumping him with my hip to push him aside.
Instead of arguing, he chuckles under his breath and circles to the passenger side while I slip into the driver’s seat. For a second, I’m tempted to turn the key and leave him standing in the campus lot. Still, like most of my bad decisions, curiosity wins out.
After he buckles his seatbelt, I wait for instructions.
“So? Are you going to tell me where we’re going, or are we going to sit here all afternoon?”
“Just drive, Stella.”
Since he’s clearly in no rush to explain anything, I pull out of the lot and head into the city. After a few minutes, the silence starts to itch under my skin, too many unanswered questions crowding my mind, especially how he found me. “How did you know I went to UChicago?”
“A little birdie told me.” He winks.
“Will I ever get a straight answer from you?” I let out a frustrated exhale.
“I guess you’ll just have to spend more time with me to find out. Turn left here.”
Fucker.
I hate being in the dark. I hate being ordered around even more. Still, I keep my mouth shut as Kirill directs me through the city streets.
It isn’t until we leave the city’s limits and head into the countryside that worry begins to creep up. It’s barely five-thirty, but December darkness in Chicago doesn’t care about the clock.
If his intention is to lead me somewhere remote just to kill me, I will be furious.
The drive feels endless once the city lights give way to empty roads and shadows. Just as my patience reaches its limit, Kirill abruptly says, “Stop the car,” and is out before I can even brake fully.
The headlights catch a rusted gate and a weathered NO TRESPASSING sign as he strides ahead. He opens it, waves me through, closes it behind us, and climbs back into the passenger seat.
“What is this place? Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see soon enough,” he says, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Just follow the path.”
“You mean that dark, icy trail into the woods that seems to have come out of a slasher movie? That path?” I ask, staring at the narrow stretch ahead that seems to lead nowhere.
Kirill then leans in closer, his face mere inches from mine. “I didn’t think the great Stella Romano was scared of anything.”
“I’m not.” I stiffen my spine in defiance.
“Then this should be an easy decision for you to make. Either drive on or turn back. It’s up to you. Like I said… no one’s forcing you to be here.”
“You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that, Kirill?”
“Yes, milaya. You’ve been very vocal about your distaste for me.”
Apparently, not vocal enough, since he still seeks my company.
Or is it the other way around? I forget.
Since I’ve never been one to back down from a dare, I drive forward along the icy road, still dusted with the earlier snowfall, silently praying I’m not making a huge mistake by going along with whatever this is.
After a few minutes, he doesn’t have to tell me to stop because it’s obvious we’ve arrived.
Ahead lies a small lake, frozen solid and glimmering beneath a sky thick with stars.
We’re so far from the city that they shine like tiny diamonds scattered across black velvet, their reflections shimmering on the ice until it’s impossible to tell where the sky ends and the lake begins.
I’ve never seen anything more breathtaking. I’m so caught up in the awe of it that I don’t notice Kirill getting out of the car and coming around to my side until he’s opening my door and unfastening my seat belt.
“I could have done that myself.”
“I know you could have,” he replies softly, “but sometimes… it’s nice to let someone take care of you for a change.”
My brows furrow at the strange remark. I’ve never let anyone take care of me.
Ever. And there’s a reason for that. The rules were stacked against me from day one.
The boys in my family grew up with the luxury of independence, while my sister and I were expected to be agreeable, delicate, and dependent.
My mother and I have fought about that more times than I can count, mostly because I refuse to play by those old, patriarchal mafia-world rules.
I learned early on to take care of myself. Not because I had to, but because I refused not to. I chose independence and self-reliance because I refuse to be the girl waiting for permission.
That’s why I’m surprised my first instinct isn’t to slap Kirill’s hand away when he holds it out for me to take. Instead, my traitorous fingers move almost on their own, sliding into his as he leads me out of the car and toward the lake.
“So… what do you think?”
“It’s a lake,” I say flatly, pretending it’s nothing special.
Oh, but it is. The lake is surrounded by trees on every side, its edges lost beneath their shadows, as if nature had decided to keep this place secret.
It’s a quiet haven, far from the city’s chaos.
The closer I get, the more the noise of the world falls away.
Silence settles around me as the cold air bites my cheeks, and when I breathe in, the sharp, clean taste of it fills my lungs.
And the sky… God, that sky. I’ve spent so long surrounded by skyscrapers that I forgot what the night sky really looks like. Tiny stars and big ones fight to shine brighter, the crescent moon casting its perfect silver light across the ice.
“You’re impressed,” he says, smiling as his fingers still thread through mine. “Admit it.”
“I admit nothing. It takes a hell of a lot more than a pretty lake to impress me.”
“Liar,” he teases, tugging me gently toward the edge.
“Wait… what are you doing?” I blurt, tugging his hand just enough to halt him before he steps forward.
“We’re going to dance, you and I.”
“Dance? Are you joking?”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life. Besides, isn’t that what we’ve been doing all along? Dancing around each other?”
My lips press into a thin line, refusing to even engage with such a loaded question. There’s a fine line between wanting to kill him and wanting to kiss him, and I’ve been toeing it since the day I met him. And to my bitter resentment, the asshole knows it.
“Come, milaya. I’m not going to bite.”
“No promises here,” I groan, letting him pull me along for the third time tonight. But when the heel of my boot meets the ice, I falter, a thin crack of fear whispering up my spine.
“Wait—”
“Quit stalling,” he laughs.
“I’m serious. I can’t do this.”
“And why not? Afraid again, are we?”
“I’m not afraid, asshole.” I slap his chest—his very taut, muscular chest. It takes me a second to realize my hand lingers longer than it should.
Kirill’s smug smirk makes the slip feel ten times worse, so before he can say anything, I pull my hand back and clear my throat.
“I can’t go on the ice because my heels have been… modified.”
“And by modified, you mean…?” he asks, one brow lifting.
“There’s a small razor built into the heel,” I explain. “I’d rather not chop a hole through the lake and drown us both.”
“You added razors to your heels?”
“Tiny ones,” I clarify. “You’d have to look closely to even see the alterations.”
Kirill groans, his eyes darkening as if I’d just confessed something filthy. He then shakes his head as that familiar teasing smile returns.
“Take your heels off.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening.”
“You can wear my shoes.”
I glance at his black boots and laugh. “You mean break my neck trying to walk in those? They look five sizes too big.”
“I’m sure it’s not the first time you’ve walked in a man’s shoes and made them your bitch.”
That earns a real laugh out of me. “You want to give me your boots? Fine. But what are you going to wear?”
“Just hand me the damn heels,” he says with a lightness I haven’t seen from him before.
I steady myself with a hand on his shoulder while his hand automatically finds my waist, steadying me as I slip off each heel and slide my feet into his boots.
“You look good in my things,” he teases, coaxing another laugh out of me.
“Sure, I do.” I roll my eyes because I’m pretty sure I look ridiculous.
“I’m serious.” His eyes soften as he looks at me, his hand still resting at my waist.