Chapter 11
MELANI
I collapse on the bed and lie there for a long time after Vanya leaves, my body still trembling.
What the hell was that? My brilliant plan to seduce him just bit me right in the ass. I didn’t account for my own inconvenient attraction to him.
How am I supposed to successfully seduce him if every time he touches me or even looks at me a certain way, I become putty in his hands?
I blow out a frustrated breath. What kind of big sister am I?
Guilt creeps in and does its work, draining the last traces of arousal from my body. The shame that follows is immediate and suffocating. Luciano is missing, and I’m lying here wet and wanting the man who might be responsible.
I roll out of bed, suddenly feeling filthy, and make my way to the bathroom. Turning on the water, I scrub at the wetness coating my inner thighs and folds harder than necessary, as if the friction could wipe the memory right off my skin. But my mind is already spiraling somewhere darker.
What if Luciano saw something he shouldn’t have seen and got killed for it? He might not have been as lucky as me.
Slowly, sickeningly, the thought takes shape— perhaps the only reason I’m still alive is because the threat is attracted to me. My traitorous heart gives an excited flutter anyway. Ivan Petrov. Attracted to me? I know I’m passably pretty, but a man like him could have supermodels if he wanted.
So why me?
I finish wiping myself down, then move to the toilet, flushing before heading to the sink to wash my hands.
I keep my eyes averted, not wanting to face my own reflection right now.
Instead, I open and close a handful of drawers in this overly extravagant bathroom, but there’s no soap, no toothbrush or toothpaste, not even mouthwash.
Nothing. A gilded cage with no amenities. How ridiculous.
Left with no better option, I rinse my mouth over a dozen times with water, scrubbing at it with my fingers until it feels as clean as it’s going to get.
Then I splash cold water on my face, letting the sting ground me, before bending to pick up my discarded skirt and panties from the floor.
My shoulders and arms still burn from their overnight imprisonment, but the ache is starting to fade into something more manageable.
I hesitate with my panties in my hands. The idea of pulling them back on makes my skin crawl, so I rinse them in the sink until they’re at least tolerable.
After that, I drape them over the towel bar to dry and step into my skirt—which is really a skort—silently thanking the universe for the built-in shorts.
Only then do I return to the main room, to the dining area where breakfast has no doubt gone cold. The impressive spread of fluffy pancakes, perfectly cooked eggs, and crispy bacon was clearly made by a professional chef and is probably delicious, but it tastes like ash on my tongue.
I chew mechanically, staring out of the window without really seeing the remarkable view. The Manhattan skyline that took my breath away last night might as well be a brick wall. I can’t muster up any excitement for it.
I got through step one: getting the cuffs removed. Now, how do I accomplish step two?
Being nice to him shouldn’t be too hard. And that’s the problem.
I shove a piece of bacon into my mouth and chew like I’m punishing it, like grinding it down will grind Vanya out of my thoughts too. Ivan. His name is Ivan. But ever since I heard his brother say it, Vanya stuck. Somehow, it suits him better. It’s more—
No, stop it.
I swallow hard and reach for the orange juice. One sip tells me it’s freshly squeezed—better than any orange juice I’ve had in my life.
What about Mamma? The question arrives with a renewed spike of anxiety. I was supposed to be home by five. Has it even crossed her mind yet that something might be wrong? Sometimes we can go two days without seeing each other because of the unpredictable nature of her work.
Can’t predict when some man will want to get his dick wet, I think bitterly, then shake the thought from my mind. Now is not the time to be resentful about Mamma’s work.
I probably still have two days before she realizes I'm missing.
Is that enough time? If I can seduce Van—Ivan—into allowing me free access to the hotel suite today, I could use that opportunity to look around and eavesdrop on conversations.
Somewhere in here, there has to be a clue about my brother.
There has to be. I sigh and push my plate away, no longer hungry.
My brother is still missing, and sure, my original plan got derailed on the very first night, but I wouldn’t be me if I folded that easily.
I’ve recalibrated and come up with something better.
And it has to work this time. I’m going to turn getting imprisoned by Ivan Petrov into an advantage.
I’m not a victim—I'm the predator. I nod to myself. Yeah, that’s the mindset.
If only he weren’t so attractive, dammit.
How do I seduce a man like that while keeping myself detached? Maybe there’s a way to keep everything cold and clinical…
The ghost of his breath fanning my ear rolls through me, and I shiver. No, Vanya’s desire isn’t cold. It burns hot. And if I’m not careful, it’s going to reduce me to ash.
“Fuck, I’m in trouble.”
I pace the length of the room and try to think of another way out of this situation that doesn’t include seducing him, but I can’t come up with a single viable alternative. What do I—who has absolutely nothing—offer to a man who has everything he could want?
The only thing I can think of is myself. My body. Like mother, like daughter.
“No.” I shake the horrible thought from my head. I’ve only ever been with one man. I’m nothing like my mother. Besides, Mamma isn’t that way by choice—she does what she has to, to survive.
The ugly truth sinks in for the first time: humans will do anything to survive and protect their loved ones. Even sacrifice themselves. And that’s exactly what Mamma did on that ship—what she’s still doing.
I need to get out of my head before I spiral completely.
I glance around the room helplessly, searching for anything that might serve as a distraction, but there’s nothing here that can do that. No TV. No books. No magazines.
Fuck it. Sudden determination propels me to the door. I turn the handle hard enough to make a point. Predictably, it doesn’t budge. I hadn’t expected it to, but irritation still flares as my fist slams against the wood. No answer.
My second fist joins the first, and I keep knocking, shifting from my knuckles to the heel of my hand when my fingers start to ache. I knock and knock until finally someone snaps from the other side, “Stop that!”
I raise my chin even though he obviously can’t see me. “Get me your boss. I have something to say to him. He’ll want to hear it.” The last part is added for good measure.
There’s a short pause, then, “Mr. Petrov isn’t here.”
I’m not sure if the man is lying or telling the truth. It’s the middle of the day—where else would a nightclub owner be during daylight hours?
“I know he’s home,” I bluff. “Get him to come in here right now, or I’ll throw myself out the window.”
“Nice try. But the windows have been locked remotely. You won’t be able to open them from that end.”
No way. I’m still not sure about his claim that Vanya isn’t home, but I walk away from the door to check the windows anyway. My lips part when I realize they don’t even have handles. They must be automatic. Huh. I make my way back to the door and knock again to grab his attention. “Are you there?”
An irritated sigh is my only answer, but at least it confirms he’s still listening.
“I want to see Vanya as soon as he’s back,” I demand, trying to sound authoritative rather than desperate. “Tell him I need to speak with him. It’s important.”
Silence.
With nothing left to do, I drag myself back to the bed and flop down dramatically. Looks like I’m stuck overthinking and second-guessing myself until Vanya decides to grace me with his presence.
His name is Ivan, damn it.