13. Sienna
SIENNA
T hat guy can absolutely go fuck himself. I've never seen anyone with such calm rage in their gaze, especially when about to kill somebody. Not that I'm within the circles that kill people, but even if I were, I would be terrified of Nikolai.
I should be terrified of him.
Except, for some reason, I’m not.
I'm just pissed off at how demanding he is.
I don't even know why I went out of my way to save those two men. Who knows, perhaps he wouldn't have actually killed them, but my instinct says otherwise.
And now, here I am, wearing gray sweatpants and matching sweatshirt. I won’t dress up for somebody like Nikolai, even if he did purchase me a bunch of pretty dresses. I'm not his little fucking doll .
I try to remind myself to be more rational, but there’s just something about Nikolai that evokes the most feral side of me.
All my life, there’s been pressure to be the perfect woman, but with him, I want to be everything but.
It’s as if my twenty-nine years of submitting to others’ expectations has finally cracked, and I’m directing all my newfound defiance toward him.
And, fuck, does it feel good even as it frustrates me.
A soft knock comes on my bedroom door, and before I can tell him that he's not welcome, Nikolai lets himself in.
He doesn't look surprised to see me in my sweats. He looks immaculate, as always, in a tight-fitted black dress shirt and slacks.
“I couldn't have handpicked a better outfit for you myself,” he says, looking mockingly over to the stacked pile of books on my bedside table.
I'll be frank. I'm losing my fucking mind in here, and when Agata offered me a bunch of books written in English, I took them.
“We had an agreement, did we not? Or are you a person whose word can't be trusted?”
I scoff. “That's rich coming from a literal criminal.”
He shrugs. “I've never lied about who and what I am. Now, either you come with me willingly, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder. The choice is yours.”
I fold my arms over my chest, knowing full well that he’ll make good on his threat .
“I'd like to make an amendment to our agreement,” I say. He arches his scarred eyebrow. “I get a TV in here so I can catch up on my shows.”
The silence hangs in the air for a moment. Then he throws back his head and laughs.
I’ve never seen anything more horrifying yet beautiful. If I were to imagine a real-life villain, they would look exactly like Nikolai. But I don’t let him intimidate me. “And I get daily phone calls to my friends.”
This grabs his attention, his striking green eyes menacing from that angle.
“For somebody who says they aren't a princess, you certainly act like one. I don't have to give you anything.”
“No, you don't. But I thought you were enjoying this education on how to act like a civil gentleman and learn the art of negotiation.”
He takes two steps into my space and looks down on me. “There is nothing gentlemanly here.”
I keep my composure, trying my best to not be intimidated by a man who probably eats bones for breakfast. “Whether kidnapped or not, my time is still valuable.”
The corner of his mouth tilts, and it's the tiniest of tells that he finds my demand amusing. My heart begins to flutter with hope, and I internally reprimand myself for having such a response.
“You get to call your friends once a week. One call for five minutes. And you can watch your shows in the evening, but only when I'm here to supervise.” My lips part to argue, but he cuts me off. “And we both sit on the bed.”
“I'm not having you in my bed.”
“Then your reality TV can wait.”
“How dare you assume that I only watch reality TV,” I argue, and his brazen expression reminds me he's been my stalker for the better part of three months. Truth be told, I do mostly watch reality TV.
He raises his pinkie. “Do you agree to the amendment?”
I release a frustrated breath. “Fine.” I hook my pinkie around his.
“I should have you sucking my cock for how kind I've been to you,” he says, and heat immediately pools between my thighs. “Now, change into one of those nice dresses I bought you.”
“Say please,” I bite back.
His green eyes darken into something lethal, and the last time he looked at me like that, he had me up against the bookshelf, grinding the spine of a book against my pussy.
A heated flush runs over my body and straight to my core. Nope, we're not going down memory lane. I quickly turn toward the walk-in closet.
“This isn't a show. You'll stand outside the door like a gentleman.”
He aims another ruthless smile my way. “But I’m not a gentleman. ”
“And I’m not a stripper.”
“Perhaps not, but I could make you give me a personal show.”
Another rush of heat assaults me, and I grind my jaw, irritated by the fact that I'm constantly giving in to this man.
I pull out one of the pink dresses I like the most, then glance over my shoulder to find that instead of leaving, he's taken his usual seat in the corner of the room.
I roll my eyes. This man truly is insufferable.
So instead, I go into the bathroom and slam the door.
This is the first time I've eaten in the dining room, which seems extreme in size for only two people.
I find the lion head hoisted above the fireplace to my left tasteless.
A chandelier hangs above the long wooden table that seats twelve.
The surface is set with flickering candles and fine silver.
Two guards silently stand outside the door, and another two stand inside.
The presence of the guards always unnerves me, and I wonder how many men are actually here.
Nikolai pulls out a chair for me to the right of the head of the table, and I try my hardest to attempt to be civil, very much wanting the privileges that I demand.
Although we've agreed on it in a childish manner, my reward is dependent on my behavior.
Someone like Nikolai thrives on that type of control.
But I'm not a stupid woman. I'll do anything for my reality TV. Anything to escape being alone with my thoughts.
He takes a seat at the head of the table as Agata enters with a trolley full of food. She offers me a nod in greeting and then begins to dish out what appears to be seafood risotto.
As she does so, Nikolai pours us each a glass of white wine. I study the two guards standing in the room. They glance in my direction, but their good sense tells them not to allow their gazes to linger too long.
I wonder what they make of all this. I mean, I’m a prisoner, yet I’m not truly treated as one.
I’ve had the distinct feeling that not all of them are on board with my treatment.
And it unnerves me the way some of the men watch me when Nikolai isn’t around, reminding me that I haven't seen any other women here but Agata.
“You may both leave,” Nikolai says, not looking over his shoulder, as if he could feel their gazes. They share a silent look, then nod and leave the room, closing the wooden doors behind them.
“If you require anything further, please have one of your men advise me,” Agata says, placing a hand on Nikolai's shoulder. I'm surprised by the act of affection between the two. I wonder what history they might have.
“Thank you, Agata, it smells delicious. Enjoy your evening.”
“Good night, Miss Falcone,” she says, and excuses herself.
A heavy tension settles between us, and I look down at my food, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart. When I’m with him, I often feel like I can’t breathe properly. Like every fiber of me shifts to accommodate his frosty presence, which alters my way of thinking.
“Do you suddenly not like risotto?” Nikolai asks.
The problem is that risotto is one of the most common dishes I order at restaurants. This man knows everything about me, and yet, I know so little about him.
“How long have you and Agata known one another?”
“You're curious about me?” he asks, picking up my fork and pointedly holding it out to me. I understand it’s a trade-off.
So, I accept it as I say, “Not particularly, but since you know so much about me, I think it's only fair that you tell me a little about yourself.”
“There's not much to know.”
I roll my eyes. “Surely, you didn't just randomly hatch out of an egg and become a killer.”
The hint of a smile teases his lips as he takes a forkful of his food. “No. On the contrary, after I hatched out of my egg, I had to fight amongst my siblings and come out as the only victor.”
My stomach sinks until I notice he’s still smiling. “Your jokes are awful.” I prod at my food.
He picks up his wine glass, swirling it thoughtfully. “I'm not one to often joke. How about this? I answer one of your questions, and you tell me something about you that I don't already know.”
I pick up my wine glass and take a sip. “Very well.”
It might make this time more digestible.
He leans back, satisfied. “Agata and I have known one another for twenty-eight years. She's been loyal to me, and I treat her accordingly.”
My eyebrows furrow. Twenty-eight years. That’s a long time. Is that his way of saying she’s the only person he likes? “How old are you?”
“I'll answer your second question once you take a bite,” he insists.
I do as he says. The moment the risotto touches my tongue, a quiet moan escapes me. Fuck, that's good. Agata easily could compete with some of the best chefs in New York.
He hides a small smile as he takes a bite himself. “Thirty-six.”
Thirty-six .
“Strange, I thought you had the attitude of a sixteen-year-old boy and the body of a fifty-year-old man. ”
His foot lightly taps at the edge of mine, spiking my heartbeat. “Careful, mishka , you don't want to play with fire right before dessert.”
Despite forcing me to eat, he doesn't seem too interested in it himself as he leans back, observing me instead. “My turn. Why do you eat so little?”