Chapter 4 #2
I’m technically more comfortable than I was the night before—I have pajama shorts and a tank top to sleep in, I’ve showered, and two more meals were brought to me.
The same young woman brought me a fresh turkey sandwich with salt and vinegar chips and more water for lunch, and then baked Thai chili salmon, a green salad, and a glass of white wine that tasted very expensive for dinner.
I asked for books or something to occupy my time, but nothing was brought to me, which meant the rest of the day was spent sitting, pacing, and trying not to spiral.
Now, I can’t make myself fall asleep. I lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the mansion settling around me.
There are footsteps in the hallway outside my door, doors opening and closing.
Male voices speaking Russian, sometimes sounding conversational, other times more tense.
Around two in the morning, I hear voices outside my door, speaking English this time. It’s hard to make out the conversation exactly, but I hear snippets.
“—can’t believe he shot Privyet—”
“—can’t you? His father would have.”
“—about damn time he started acting more like his father. Can’t hold the organization if he doesn’t have respect.”
“—Petrov's name means nothing if he won’t back it up—”
I wonder who they’re talking about. Andrei?
He’s clearly the one in charge, but these men sound restless, like they’re questioning him.
Like they’re upset about the shooting… or maybe think it was a long time coming?
I can’t be sure. I hear the name Petrov again when they switch to Russian, spat with a sound that comes very close to contempt, I think.
There are footsteps at one point, and the talking ceases.
I hear Andrei’s voice, speaking Russian, low and cold, and my muscles tense instantly, my heart rate picking up.
His voice is sharp and harsh, but the sound of the foreign syllables on his tongue is sexy in a way that none of the other conversations were.
There’s a growl to his voice that feels as if it vibrates into my bones.
My thighs squeeze together involuntarily, and my eyes widen. I stare up at the ceiling, trying not to listen and mentally cursing myself. I am not going to start fantasizing about my captor.
But it would help if he didn’t look and sound like walking sin.
It sounds like there’s a guard change. More muttering, later. I finally drift off around five a.m., and when I wake a few hours later, it’s quiet again.
The next day passes equally as boring as the first, but my tension is rapidly escalating as the deadline nears.
Another young woman in the same uniform brings me my meals, but I have a hard time doing more than just picking at it.
I shower again, change clothes, and try not to think, but my mind feels more and more preoccupied with every passing hour.
Late in the evening, after dinner, I hear voices at the end of the hall. They switch between Russian and English, the tone that of a barely contained argument.
I bite my lip. Trying to listen in more might be a bad idea, but I’m curious. I’m horribly bored, locked in this room. And maybe I’ll hear something that I can use, if this all goes wrong.
Andrei’s men made it sound like knowing things was more likely to get me killed. But I can’t stop myself.
I go to the door, and lean against it, trying to catch anything I can understand.
I hear fragments. I think I hear someone say territory.
Then something that might be south or border.
A phrase repeated twice that sounds urgent.
One man's voice rises, angry and insistent, before another cuts him off sharply, the tone brooking no argument.
Then silence again, followed by footsteps moving away.
Then, from a bit further, I hear Andrei.
"I don't care what Volkov thinks. The territory stays ours. Tell him if he pushes harder, he'll regret it."
A pause. Then, lower but no less intense: "No. We handle it my way."
Another pause, longer this time. I can feel the tension in the silence. "I said no."
There are footsteps, and a door closing somewhere down the hall. Then more silence.
I sit by the window in the dark, watching shadows move across the grounds below.
Cars arrive and leave at odd hours as the guards change.
It feels like there’s something else going on…
maybe something to do with whoever was supposed to be kidnapped instead of me?
I don’t have enough to go off of, but it feels like Andrei doesn’t have as tight a hold on things as maybe he’d like.
I think of the gunshots I heard, the bodies on the ground.
I’ve had a sick sense in my stomach that those men might have been the ones who failed to get the right person, and got me instead.
I try not to think about it too much, because then I feel guilty…
like it’s my fault somehow they grabbed me instead of whoever was supposed to be brought here.
But I wonder if it has anything to do with a power struggle. Andrei sounded like he was arguing with someone about his decisions. A boss with all the power doesn’t need to argue, does he?
I don’t know how all this works, but I can’t stop turning it over in my head. I should be focused on my own situation, but I'm curious. I can't help it. What kind of man is Andrei? What kind of organization is this? And what's happening that has everyone so on edge?
The next morning, I hear it again. This time it's closer—right outside my door, close enough that I can make out individual words.
"...resources stretched too thin..." a voice says in heavily accented English. "He's not ready for this kind of pressure..."
"Quiet," another voice hisses. "She might hear."
“She’s asleep at this hour.”
"Still. Quiet."
The footsteps move away, but not before I catch one more fragment: "...Volkov won't wait much longer..."
I sit very still, my heart pounding.
He's not ready for this kind of pressure.
They're talking about Andrei, about whatever crisis is brewing just beneath the surface of this compound. And they're worried.
I slip out of bed and look outside, at the guards milling around. This morning, the time is up. Surely someone is going to come and get me soon, to take me to wherever the handoff is. Soon, I’m going to go home.
It doesn’t matter what’s happening in Andrei’s world. I won’t ever have anything to do with him again, in just a few short hours.
—
Just after I finish breakfast, Andrei comes into the room without knocking.
I glare at him, pushing my chair away from the desk. “I could have been naked,” I say flatly, and his pale blue eyes darken for just a moment, his jaw tightening.
“Then it’s a good thing you’re dressed.” His voice is even, giving nothing away, but I swear his eyes flick over me for a brief second, taking me in. Does he think I’m…
Oh for fuck’s sake, Liesl, shut the fuck up.
I’m about to find out if I’m being ransomed or not. I shouldn’t be thinking about whether or not the mob boss keeping me captive thinks I’m hot.
I lick my dry lips without meaning to, and his gaze flicks to my mouth. It takes everything in me not to glance down and see if he’s had some reaction to me. My skin feels like it’s buzzing, and has since he stepped into the room. My heart is beating too fast. But that’s because of nerves… right?
Not because I can see his shoulder and arm muscles straining against the tight material of his button-down, or because his suit trousers fit his thighs perfectly… oh God.
There’s a bulge at the front of his trousers, against the fly. He’s not totally hard, but I can see it… the sign of his arousal, pressing there against the fabric. And if that’s him only just starting to swell…
I swallow hard, dragging my eyes back to his face. His jaw is clenched, as if he couldn’t smile even if it killed him.
“Your father has asked for two more days,” he says finally.
My heart almost stops in my chest. All thoughts of how attractive my jailor might be flee from my head. “He—” I swallow hard. “Does that mean you’re going to kill me?”
He stares at me for a long moment, his jaw working. “No,” he finally says. “I agreed to let him have two more days.”
The relief washes through me so fast that I don’t even wonder, at first, why my father might have needed two more days.
“Oh,” I whisper, sagging back into my chair.
“Um… thank you? But…” I think of the conversations I’ve heard outside my door.
“Won’t your men be pissed? That you didn’t follow through on your word? ”
Andrei stares at me for a beat, and then another. His eyes widen slightly, as if he’s trying to figure me out, and can’t. There’s the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like a laugh is trying to come up from somewhere inside him, and fails. “Are you asking me to kill you?”
“No!” I exclaim. Fear jolts through me again. “No… no… of course not. I just, I heard…”
His eyes narrow. “What did you hear?”
Shit. I’m not good at this. I have no business being a mob boss’s captive. I can’t keep my fucking mouth shut. If he thinks I know things I shouldn’t, he’ll change my mind and kill me. “Nothing,” I say quickly. “I just… I can tell things aren’t going well around here.”
Both of his eyebrows rise simultaneously. “Can you.” It’s not a question. His voice is thoroughly deadpan, and I have a feeling I’ve taken a wrong turn in this conversation, but I can’t scramble back from it.
“You just… look tired.” I blurt it out, hoping to get back on a track that won’t end with me bleeding out in the courtyard.
Just the thought makes me feel like my breakfast might come back up, but I don’t think puking on his expensive rug in front of him will make him much more personable toward me.
“I look tired.”
“Yes.” I nod vigorously. “Your shirt is wrinkled. And you look like you didn’t sleep well.”
“I didn’t know you cared.” His voice is dry as the desert.