Chapter Three
Dmitriy hated hot chocolate and he hated talking about his past, yet he was sitting on the sofa, sharing a drink he despised, recounting a moment in his youth. He had no fond memories of his parents.
They liked to hurt. When he was not good enough, or well enough, they would kidnap a homeless person and take their sick, twisted ways out on them.
They always went too far, especially with homeless people.
They were never careful, and more times than not, the person ended up dead.
The body would be disposed of, and then the cycle would continue.
During their fun with other people, Dmitriy learned to fight.
He learned to get strong and take the beatings.
He built that anger internally, and when the time was right, he expelled it.
His parents had been the ones screaming, begging, pleading with him to stop.
That day, the monster had been born, because he had felt nothing. Most screams didn’t affect him.
Joy and laughter meant nothing to him—until Anastasia. He glanced over at her and watched as she took a sip, enjoying the hot chocolate. It was why he always made sure they were fully stocked with the good stuff. He never wanted her to go without the drinks she loved.
“I can’t believe your parents did that,” Anastasia said.
“I’m not a liar.”
“I mean, you hear of bad stuff, and ... my parents, they were good.”
“They wanted to marry you off to a pig.”
“Up until that point, they were good. I don’t know why they were so insistent, and it wasn’t like anything bad happened.”
“No, that is true.”
“Whatever happened to Lionel? Was that his name?” she asked with a frown.
“He was found dead, snorting too much cocaine, surrounded by a bunch of prostitutes that snorted the same stuff,” Dmitriy said.
He was not about to tell her that Lionel Kalinsky had every intention of hunting her down and making her suffer.
He had wanted the Babkin bride, and would have her.
Dmitriy knew he intended to have her hunted, captured, and at his mercy.
Lionel would have tortured her, raped her, then sent her home in pieces.
He had done that to women who had shown him disrespect in the past. So, Dmitriy had offered him an olive branch: Leave the Babkin girl alone, and he would supply him with cocaine for the next five years.
Lionel hadn’t known that the cocaine given to him had been laced with poison.
Dmitriy didn’t know Lionel was going to have a party of prostitutes around him.
It had been quite a mess, but one he had cleaned up.
Anastasia had been able to live. He would later learn she had been cast out of the family, and for the next four years, he would watch her.
He needed to make sure she was safe, protected.
She had not dated anyone, had not gone to any nightclubs, or done anything stupid.
She lived what many might call a boring existence, yet she seemed happy. That was all he cared about.
“Wow, I had no idea,” Anastasia said. “I totally made the right decision there, didn’t I?” She let out a little laugh.
He took a sip of the hot chocolate, and it was just too sweet.
“You know, I would make you whatever drink you wanted,” Anastasia said.
“What are you talking about?”
“You think you’re acting all tough, but the look on your face every time you take a sip...” She winced. “It’s bad. You don’t like hot chocolate, yet you keep insisting on having it.”
“I like it.”
She raised her brows. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
“Fine, I don’t like it, but there is no reason you have to make me something else.”
“There’s no point in you drinking something you don’t like. Trust me, life is way too short to be doing things you don’t want to do.”
“Is this another Lottie philosophy?” he asked.
“No, this one comes from me.”
“And how do you know this?”
“Because I’m twenty-five years old, I’m a virgin, and you were sent to kill me. The moment Gnesin learns you didn’t kill me, do you think he is going to be happy with that?”
He looked at her, eyes wide. “You’re still a virgin?”
“Is that what you got from all that? What about the fact that Gnesin will kill you?”
“Do you think it is the first time someone has come to kill me? I’m used to living on borrowed time,” he said.
Her mouth fell open a little. “You’re not afraid to die?”
“No.”
“What are you afraid of?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say nothing, and up until he met Anastasia that would be entirely the case, only now it wasn’t. What he feared the most was losing Anastasia.
“I think it’s time we got to bed,” he said.
He expected her to argue, but instead she finished the last part of her hot chocolate, and he followed behind her as she walked down the hall. The robe she wore hid the curves of her ass.
Anastasia was not a slender woman. She had hips, curves, and nice, large tits.
Her body was a fucking dream. One he wanted to get his hands on, and he felt a tightness in his dick.
He ignored it, because now was not the time to be thinking with his dick.
Now was the time to be focused on the shit with Gnesin.
Something wasn’t right.
Something didn’t add up.
Anastasia stepped into her room, and turned toward him, that pretty, innocent smile on her lips as she looked at him. “Good night, Dmitriy.”
He nodded and waited for her to close the door.
She was still a virgin. He should have known she was still innocent. Anastasia had lived a boring life. And now, she was living with him.
****
The following day, Anastasia was not surprised to find the cabin empty.
Dmitriy was gone. He had to do whatever his job demanded.
She made herself a morning coffee and sat at the window, staring out across the frozen forest. The ground had that thin layer of frost, like a threat of winter.
She needed to go out and tend to the garden.
Some of the winter vegetables needed to be checked on, and she wanted to harvest some carrots.
There was a lot she wanted to do. Instead, she was sat at her sewing table, looking out across the front yard, thinking about Dmitriy and the truth bomb she had let fall last night.
What woman told a man she was still a virgin?
A more interesting question, what woman told the man who kidnapped her and killed her family, that she was a virgin?
She was attracted to Dmitriy. It had to be some kind of Stockholm syndrome or something.
The truth was, he was following orders. She got that. She just couldn’t figure out what her family had done to get on Gnesin’s bad side.
Her father had cast her out, as per the rule. She had disrespected him and refused to follow the rules. She only ever saw her father again when he would break those rules to visit the artisan supermarket where she worked, a job she had loved.
She hadn’t been there for six months, and she doubted Dmitriy had called in for her, so that job was long gone. Instead, he kept her alive.
She blew across the mug of coffee and tried not to think about Dmitriy. It wouldn’t do her any good to think of him. He was a killer, and she didn’t know why he had kept her alive. He had no secret desire to want her, or be with her.
He just couldn’t kill her. She had never done anything to hurt anyone.
She ran fingers through her long, blonde hair. She had been meaning to get it cut so many times, but she couldn’t bring herself to keep the appointment. She always cancelled the day before, giving the hair salon time to book someone else in her place.
Why was she thinking about her hair?
Finishing her coffee, she was not in the mood to cook herself breakfast, and instead made her way out into the yard and got to work removing some weeds, covering the plants, checking them for diseases and cleaning off the bugs.
They were all gross. Wrinkling her nose, she was consumed with her work on the plants, which was where Dmitriy found her.
She hadn’t cooked breakfast. There was no way it was after six in the afternoon as the sun was still up, but it hadn’t heated.
She was on her knees, cleaning up a plant bed, ready for spring.
“What are you doing out here?” Dmitriy asked.
“Working. What are you doing home?”
“I need to talk with you,” he said.
This made her frown. Was this when he would finally kill her?
Anastasia didn’t want to die. She certainly didn’t want to have her life ended by a man she was attracted to.
That just seemed like a cruel twist of fate, not that she told him that.
She got to her feet and made her way inside, removing her gloves, waiting for the panic to set in.
But nothing happened. Not a single thing.
She was ... calm. Collected. If she was going to die ... no, hell, no.
“What did I do wrong?” Anastasia asked. “I know I was not the nicest hostage, but you did kill my whole family. Why wait six months? Why give me this chance to live if all you’re going to do is kill me now?
Is this some kind of sick and twisted game or plot you have going? Do you have cameras? Is this a game?”
He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Anastasia frowned herself. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“No, what makes you think I am going to kill you?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.
She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. She had never been so mortified in her life. This was not fun and not fair. This could not be happening.
“Why aren’t you?”
“Because I don’t want to,” he said.
That wasn’t really a good enough answer, but Anastasia was confused. “Why do we need to talk?”
He ran fingers through his hair.
“Gnesin. I need to know everything you know,” Dmitriy said.
She was surprised. “But I don’t know anything. I have not been around that circle in four years.”
“I know your dad visited you.”
“How?” she asked.
“That is irrelevant right now. I need you to tell me if there was anything suspicious about your dad the last time you met him.”
Now she was wishing she had taken the time to eat something.
Anastasia blew out a breath and thought back to the week before Dmitriy took her.
It had been an ordinary day. Six months ago placed them toward the middle of spring, maybe even the early part, and it was warm, so she wore a short-sleeved shirt.
It had been busy in the supermarket. Her father rarely came when it was busy.
She ran a hand down her face and shrugged. “Dad was always a little ... hesitant. He was breaking the rules when he came to see me. I knew this, but that was no different than any time before.”
“He wasn’t on edge? Looking around? Sweaty?”
Anastasia sat at the dining room table and looked at Dmitriy. “Why?”
“I have not seen or heard from Gnesin in a long time. For the last year, everything has come via cell phone communication.”
“Is that weird?”
“Yes and no. When there is a threat to his life, he often moves from safe house to safe house, never giving anyone a location.”
“Even you?” Anastasia asked.
“Even me. Only a select few people move with him, but whenever I have asked for an audience, I get it.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Anastasia frowned.
“I need you to think back to your dad.”
“Look, even if something does ring alarm bells, that would all lead back to you. You did kill him?”
Dmitriy nodded. “But I was given the order twenty-four hours before I got you.”
She couldn’t help but gasp. “That was all it took to ... kill them?”
“Gnesin told me they were traitors,” he said.
Anastasia put a hand to her mouth. “My parents were a lot of things, but they were one hundred percent loyal to Gnesin Bratva. My dad loved me, and he still cast me out.”
“But he still came to see you,” Dmitriy said.
“Well, what about my parents’ house?” Anastasia asked.
“What?”
“My parents always said a traitor is burnt to the ground. No one within the Bratva wants anything to do with a traitor’s possessions. Their house, everything is burnt to nothing. I assumed my home was gone.”
Dmitriy sat back.
“Is it gone?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then that makes absolutely no—” She didn’t finish as an alarm came from Dmitriy’s cell phone.
Within the last six months, Anastasia had never heard an alarm like that. She watched Dmitriy tense.
“We’ve got company.”