Chapter 8 #2
Mia bit her lip, eyes misting. She hugged me back tight and warned fiercely, "Text me morning and night. Every day. If I don't hear from you for twenty-four hours, I'm calling the police. Got it?"
"Got it."
I dragged my suitcase out of the apartment. Mia followed me all the way downstairs. Before watching me get in the car, she shook her fist at Sasha standing by the door and yelled, "Watch her, you giant! If anything happens to her, I won't let you off!"
Sasha didn't even blink. He took my suitcase, shoved it roughly into the armored SUV's trunk, then opened the car door for me.
With a heavy thud of the door, I was completely cut off from my old ordinary life.
The car interior was cold as a freezer, soundproofed to an eerie degree. Sasha sat in the driver's seat, hands steady on the wheel, eyes forward.
To ease the suffocating atmosphere—like riding in a hearse—I cleared my throat and tried to make conversation.
"So... Sasha. Nice weather today. Traffic in Washington doesn't seem as bad as usual."
No response.
"What do you all eat at the estate? Do you have fancy meals that take chefs three days to prepare?"
Only the low hum of the engine.
"Did you get your vocal cords cut? Or does mafia training include a 'never talk to non-combatants' rule?"
Sasha remained statue-like, glancing at me coldly through the rearview mirror before looking away without giving me a single punctuation mark.
I mentally flipped him off and cursed him out thoroughly in my head.
Fine, you block of wood. If you love playing mysterious, I won't embarrass myself.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my novel's comment section. Though still sparse, it at least distracted me from my nerves.
After who knows how long, the car left the noisy city and turned onto a hidden private drive lined with towering ancient trees.
Tall black wrought-iron gates slowly opened at our approach. When the massive estate hidden deep in the woods along the Potomac River came into full view, my breath caught.
This wasn't a mansion. This was a medieval European nobleman's castle. Gray stone walls radiated solemnity and menace. Vast, perfectly manicured lawns stretched to the horizon. In the distance, a huge artificial lake glittered.
The car stopped smoothly on the wide circular drive in front of the main building.
Sasha got out and opened my door.
As soon as I stepped out, I saw a group of people standing on the marble steps.
The man in front wore a well-tailored dark blue casual suit with no tie, hands casually in his pockets.
His silver hair gleamed in the sunlight, and his handsome face with its sharp jawline still wore that infuriating, careless expression that said he controlled everything.
Nikolai.
Behind him stood a middle-aged woman in a dark uniform with severely combed hair and a serious expression, along with several young women in matching maid uniforms. Their eyes flashed with obvious curiosity when they saw me, but they immediately lowered their heads with restraint.
"Welcome to your new home, firecracker." Nikolai strode down the steps, those dark gray eyes locked on me, mouth curving in a smile that made my heart race.
He walked up to Sasha and casually took my beat-up rolling suitcase with the broken wheel from Sasha's hand.
The gesture made the servants behind him gasp softly.
I jumped, startled.
What? Was this some Pakhan taboo? Like he couldn't help a helpless woman with her crappy luggage?
Sasha showed no surprise. He bowed slightly and quickly disappeared toward the estate's side door.
"Come on. I'll show you around your domain for the next year." Nikolai naturally freed his other hand and placed it lightly at my waist, leading me up the steps.
The stern-looking middle-aged woman stepped forward and curtsied slightly. "Ms. Cole, I'm Sophia, the estate manager. If you need anything, please let me know anytime."
"Hello, Sophia." I smiled politely.
Nikolai carried my luggage and walked ahead. Sophia and a young maid named Mary with big eyes who looked sharp followed exactly five steps behind us.
Stepping into the main building's entrance hall, the sheer opulence hit me like a wave. Overhead was a soaring dome with gorgeous classical murals. Underfoot was thick Persian carpet you could sink into. The air smelled of premium cedar and faint lilies.
I didn't gasp like a country bumpkin. Actually, I was screaming inside. But this wasn't the time for screaming. I calmly pulled out my slightly worn Moleskine notebook from my bag and uncapped the pen.
This was a writer's instinct entering a new material goldmine.
"Rococo arches... massive black walnut staircase... servants' uniforms are charcoal gray..." I walked while muttering quietly, pen flying across the pages.
Nikolai caught my actions from the corner of his eye but said nothing, just slowed his pace slightly.
We passed through a long corridor hung with classical oil paintings. When we reached an enormous stained glass window depicting some religious myth in brilliant colors, I couldn't help stopping and looking up at the light fractured into rainbow patterns.
"Incredible..." I let out a soft exclamation.
I thought with his sharp tongue, he'd definitely mock my unsophisticated yokel reaction. I was already preparing my comeback.
But Nikolai just stopped beside me and glanced at the stained glass.
"Everyone sees different things in this world, Vivienne." His voice was flat, without that superior arrogance, carrying instead a kind of weathered calm. "It's just sand that's been melted at high temperature and reshaped. Nothing special. You're the one who gives it meaning."
I froze.
I turned and looked at his cold profile with some shock. I swallowed and wrote his words verbatim in my notebook. "Just reshaped sand"—my mob Pakhan prototype occasionally dropped philosophical lines like this.
We continued forward.
At the end of the corridor was an extremely heavy double oak door with a two-headed eagle emblem as the brass handle.
Out of writerly curiosity, I instinctively reached out as I passed the door, wanting to experimentally press that exquisite-looking handle.
"That's not on the tour."
Nikolai's low voice, carrying a warning edge, came from behind me without warning.
My outstretched fingers stopped less than one inch from the handle.
"Oh, of course." I withdrew my hand nonchalantly, even naturally tucked back a stray hair by my temple, then right in front of him drew a huge question mark in my notebook.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Nikolai press his brow.
But whatever.
God knows he promised me mafia material.
No taking it back now.
When we reached the central courtyard garden, a gardener pushing a lawnmower passed by and stopped Nikolai to say something. His tool accidentally brushed Nikolai's suit sleeve, smearing a huge mud stain on it.
God.
I instinctively held my breath.
How did it go in the movies? Mob boss pulls out a gun and shoots his subordinate for dirtying his clothes?
My heart pounded from this bloody imagination.
But Nikolai didn't lose his temper at all.
He didn't even frown. He just glanced down at his ruined cuff and casually waved his hand, signaling the gardener to continue.
Sophia immediately stepped forward to help Nikolai out of his jacket, saying with practiced efficiency, "I'll fetch you a fresh jacket, sir."
Nikolai nodded. Sophia left quickly.
While Nikolai stood waiting, the young maid Mary who'd been silently following me suddenly leaned close to my ear.
"Don't be afraid, Ms. Cole," Mary whispered in barely audible breath, eyes sparkling with irrepressible gossip.
"The master isn't like those terrible rumors outside.
When I first started working here, I was scared to death, thinking one wrong look and I'd get thrown in the river.
But actually, as long as you don't cross his lines, the master is... quite reasonable."
I raised an eyebrow and gave her a "has he brainwashed you?" look.
Mary winked her big eyes at me playfully.
I watched Mary retreat with half-belief, but that suicidal curiosity and investigative urge grew wild like weeds in my chest.
Twenty minutes later, Nikolai—now in a fresh black jacket—finished showing me around the maze-like estate.
We returned to the spacious central hall.
Nikolai, hands in pockets, said casually, "Got it memorized? This estate's layout is complicated. I don't want my fiancée wandering the halls tomorrow morning starving because she can't find the dining room door."
I blinked, closed my notebook, and recited fluently, "From the main hall where we're standing, the left wing's first floor has the drawing room and library.
Past two corridor corners hung with sixteenth-century paintings, the south-facing guest rooms are on the right.
At the end upstairs is an absurdly flashy billiard room with purple-labeled ebony cues.
The right wing has servant quarters, the secondary kitchen, and an all-glass conservatory full of those precious Italian roses. "