Chapter 15 Sera
SERA
Dimitri has moved me to a mansion. A sprawling hunk of stone and marble perched on the edge of Lake Michigan.
I can’t stop gaping as Alik’s henchman leads me up a flight of stairs and down a seemingly endless hallway to my room. Sorry—rooms.
“Get settled, Miss Sera,” he says. “Your things will be here shortly. The cook will deliver your meals whenever you’re hungry, just call down on the house phone.” Dimitri points at a delicate white and gold old-fashioned rotary phone on the table near the door.
“And, as promised.” He holds out my gun, giving an appreciative nod when I take it from him with a practiced grip. Then, satisfied with having done his duty, the bald giant leaves.
More than a little confused, I watch Dimitri vanish down the main hallway before I turn to inspect the luscious space.
I’m standing in a small marble-floored foyer with a series of rooms fanning out in front of me.
The central and largest is the living room, full of plush furniture, colorful throw pillows and blankets, and a wood-burning fireplace so large I could sleep in it.
Off to the right is what looks like a combined kitchen/dining room, complete with French cafe-style dining table and chairs and a stove with more dials than can possibly be necessary.
On the left of the living space is a bedroom dominated by a massive four-poster bed and double doors that lead into what is, no doubt, the largest bathroom I’ve ever seen.
In the bedroom, I get an odd flutter in my stomach when I see the fairy lights draped artfully over the top of the bed. They’re gorgeous, twinkling, and far more professionally done than the ones Dr. Ruiz was so thoughtful to tack up in the apartment.
I wonder if she told Alik why I needed them, or if he realized on his own why I can’t be alone in the dark. The longer I think about it, the worse the fluttering in my stomach gets. Unsettled, I force my attention away from the lights and back to my surroundings.
Whoever designed the suite was clever because every window has a view of the lake, and every room except the bathroom has doors leading to the balcony that runs along the rear of the house. The size of the suite rivals that of the apartment we just left, yet everything feels so much softer, cozier.
“Safer,” I whisper, like I can hide away here for as long as I like. Or as long as Alik allows.
The last thought knocks me from my fanciful cloud, and I came hurtling down to reality with a thud.
This space is huge, gorgeous, and still entirely Alik’s domain.
I might’ve been wide-eyed with wonder when we arrived, but I didn’t miss the veritable army of men staked throughout the grounds and house.
This killer view of the lake comes with heavily armed guards standing between me and every exit.
All of whom report to a man I find more confusing by the day.
Just thinking about Alik sends me into a whirligig of contradictory emotions; attraction, hatred, comfort, and anger turning my stomach sour within minutes. I haven’t slept enough, definitely haven’t eaten enough.
Thankfully, Dimitri wasn’t kidding about the cook. One call and fifteen minutes later a portly woman delivers a tray of steaming food to my room. She barely speaks, and what little she does say is in Russian. No sooner does she leave than I’m hit with a fresh wave of loneliness.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying and failing to fight off a chill. Then I remember the bathroom and the giant soaking tub. In addition to being large, the room is well-appointed. There’s even a teak stool that doubles perfectly as an impromptu picnic table.
It’s not long before I’m shoulder-deep in hot water and lush bubbles, testing the limits of my still-shaky stomach with my favorite comfort food: a cheeseburger and fries.
I’m several minutes into what might be the best soak of my life when a memory percolates up out of nowhere.
Of me and Alik and a bathtub. Me trying to claw my way past unconsciousness and so much pain.
Him washing away the blood and dirt so gently I could’ve cried.
He was so solid behind me. Thick planes of muscle that made me feel safe despite being so vulnerable.
His strength and heat so potent I swear I can feel him in the bath with me now.
“Cazzo!” I spring out of the tub. Water splashes everywhere, drowning what’s let of my meal, turning it to inedible mush. Dripping, I make a beeline for the bedroom closet, not even a little surprised when I find it stocked with comfy clothes that look vaguely my size.
I don’t know if Alik made the purchase or one of his minions, but these clothes are not meant to impress.
From the matching joggers and sweatshirts, down to the basic cotton underwear and thick wool socks, it’s all soft and cozy.
I’d appreciate the effort that’s gone into making me comfortable if I wasn’t so worked up.
Once dressed, I’m too restless to stay cooped up in my suite a second longer. I try the door handle, releasing an audible breath when it opens without resistance. Alik didn’t order Dimitri to lock me in. Maybe because the house is so big I couldn’t find an escape route even if I tried.
By the time I’ve gone up and down at least three different staircases, I’ve stumbled across two formal sitting rooms, a giant living room with one wall entirely taken up by a TV, a dining room that can seat thirty, a game room, a movie theater, a bunch of empty bedroom suites, what I’m pretty sure is an actual ballroom, and one locked door that, when I tested the handle, earned me a scolding in Russian from a big dude at the end of the hall.
Somewhere between that room and the fountain in the glass-ceilinged central courtyard, I discover another set of stairs leading to the basement.
It’s darker here, the air thicker, chilled by the moisture that can only come from being underground. I’m almost to the final step when I hesitate, afraid I’m about to willingly walk into a hellhole like the one in Rocco’s house.
No. There are no guards, no sounds of people screaming. No sour, metallic bite to the air.
In fact, the only thing I smell is chlorine.
Eyes closed, I inhale deeper. Yup, definitely chlorine. I can pick up the sound of running water too. A few twists and turns and dead ends later I find the source of the smell and experience giddy enthusiasm for the first time in years.
This insane house has an even more insane indoor pool.
Entirely enclosed under what must be the center of the building, Mediterranean tile walls curve up into arches over what looks like an Olympic-size pool.
Between the arches, the ceiling is painted blue to mimic the sky, the vibrant color reflected in the water below.
The pool itself is surrounded by teak flooring, white chaises in a tidy row on one side, giant palm trees bathed by some kind of special lighting on the other.
At the rear of the pool is the source of the running water sound—a waterfall that cascades down from a height of at least eight feet, breaking into the serene surface of the pool in a ruckus of froth and bubbles.
Just seeing it makes me giggle. Giggle. Something I was sure I’d forgotten how to do. But swimming—there’s no way I’d forget that.
I’m Italian. A sun-worshiping, beach-loving child of the Mediterranean. There isn’t a body of water that I’ve met that I haven’t loved. Not even the freezing waters of Lake Michigan can bum me out when I’m desperate for a swim.
This utterly gorgeous pool? It’s the stuff my dreams are made of.
I strip off my sweatshirt and sweatpants and don’t bother testing the water before diving in wearing only my bra and undies.
The instant I’m below the surface the entire world disappears, leaving me with nothing but silence and the comforting weight of water.
I lose count of how many laps I do, the repetitive movement and subtle ache in my muscles forcing my brain to shut off.
When the ache becomes a burn, I do another dive below the surface, holding my breath until I clear the other side of the waterfall.
When I come back up, I’m hidden from the rest of the room by a wall of water.
The pool is shallow here, the water stopping just below my chest when I stand.
I’m about to rest against the edge when I hear footsteps on the other end of the pool’s deck.
I hold my breath. The footsteps stop and for a moment I think the person has turned and gone. Then, the person—a man—starts talking. I’m too far away to identify the voice or what he’s saying, but I can tell by the cadence he’s pissed.
A feeling I share when I hear the unmistakable sound of someone diving in.
For the first few minutes I stay where I am, frozen, hiding behind the waterfall. Praying that he—whoever he is—won’t notice I’m here. But the longer he swims laps, the longer I wonder about who else in the house would have the freedom to use the pool when there’s a captive to keep from escaping.
The guards must work in shifts, I rationalize.
There’s no way they’re all on duty twenty-four/seven.
Alik is an autocratic ass, but even he isn’t that controlling.
Maybe, maybe, I silently pray, it’s just a guard enjoying an off-duty swim.
Maybe it’s even Dimitri. Maybe the big bald guy won’t even notice if I slip out of the water and scurry away…
A fantasy that drowns when a frustratingly familiar head rises above the surface on my side of the waterfall, muscle-bound shoulders eating up the space between me and any chance of escape.
I barely stop myself from cursing out loud when a wet Alik fills my line of vision.
His hair is slicked back and darker now, a deep brown with just a few glints of gold shining through.
Water droplets cling to his eyelashes and navigate the sharp planes of his face.
The in-pool lighting casts his torso and arms in a hazy glow, the water doing nothing to conceal the thick ropes of muscle that band around his chest and stomach.
Or the intricate lines of ink that seem to hug him from the back, an unidentifiable image painting his sides and the edges of his chest.
I’m studying those lines, trying to see them more clearly when Alik clears his throat. “You’re staring.”
I glance up, really hoping my face doesn’t look as pink as it feels. “You’re invading my personal space.”
“It’s my pool, Marya.” He’s closer, the water weaving between us like thread around a spindle.
“That’s not my name, Alik.” I retreat as far as I can, the pool’s ledge a hard line across the middle of my back.
“But it suits you so well, moya voitelnitsa,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting down to where my chest is exposed above the water line. And where my once-pink bra has become waterlogged and completely transparent.
There’s no way I’m not blushing now. Alik can see my nipples. The same nipples I put on display during my little revenge performance for his cameras.
I want to dissolve in humiliation, but he slips closer, shrinking the space between us until there’s barely an inch left. “What are you doing?” I hiss, trying not to drool over the brutal lines of his shoulders. God, I wish they weren’t so damn lickable.
“Such a good question. What am I doing?” His eyes are near black, his pupils so wide there’s nothing left but a ring of blue. “The one thing I swore I wouldn’t.”