Chapter 14 #2
I can’t actually miss a criminal, a killer, a man who kidnapped me and would—or has—done so to others, who steals and lies and rules through fear and violence.
It’s just the sex.
I need to call someone, I think as I walk out into the hall.
I backed off last time because of the possibility Andrei is testing me, but I need to hear a voice that isn’t his or one of his men, or my father.
I need to remember what’s out there beyond this mansion before I get lost in whatever is happening here.
I hurry up the stairs to the library, and go straight for the phone before I can talk myself out of it.
I need to hear a familiar voice. I need to connect with the world outside this mansion, even if just for a few minutes.
Remind myself that I existed before this, that there's a version of me who went to Pilates and yoga classes and had coffee with friends and didn't miss a man who kidnaps people for a living.
I pick up the phone and dial the first number that comes to mind before I can talk myself out of it.
Isabelle answers on the third ring. Her voice is so bright and warm and achingly normal that I almost hang up, my heart pounding at the risk I’m taking. "Hello?"
"Izzy," I manage, my throat tight. "It's me."
There's a pause. "Liesl? Oh my god, where have you been? I've been trying to reach you for weeks—your phone goes straight to voicemail, your doorman said you haven't been home, I was starting to think something terrible had happened. Are you okay? Where are you?"
The questions come rapid-fire, concern bleeding through every word, and I close my eyes against the sudden sting of tears.
"I'm okay," I interrupt, forcing my voice to stay as steady as I can make it. "I'm fine. I just... I've been dealing with some stuff."
"What kind of stuff?" Her voice sharpens with concern. She was always protective when we were younger—I can still remember the time she confronted a girl who was spreading rumors about me. "Are you in trouble? Do you need help? Because I can—"
"No." The word comes out too fast, too sharp.
I soften my tone. "No, it's not like that.
I'm... I'm in a situation. A relationship, kind of. It's intense and messy and I don't really know how to explain it." My chest tightens. It’s not even close to the truth, but I can’t tell Isabelle what’s really going on. She’d try to do something about it if I did, and I don’t want her caught up in this.
I could never live with myself if something happened to her because of me.
I just needed to hear a friend. Even if I have to fudge the truth to keep her safe.
"A relationship?" Isabelle sounds skeptical. I can picture her face—the way her eyebrows draw together when she's worried. I can imagine her biting her lower lip. "Liesl, you've been completely off the grid. That's not normal relationship behavior. That's—"
"I know how it sounds." I close my eyes. "I know it looks bad from the outside. But I'm okay. I promise. I just needed to hear your voice."
There's another pause, longer this time. I can practically hear her thinking, weighing whether to push harder or let it go, whether to respect my boundaries or bulldoze through them because she’s worried I'm in danger.
"Okay," she says finally, and I can hear the reluctance in her voice. "But if you need anything—and I mean anything—you call me. Day or night. I don't care what's going on, I'll help you. You know that, right?"
"I know." My throat tightens. "Thank you."
"Have you talked to Giulia? She's been worried too. We should tell her you're okay, at least. She's been calling me every few days asking if I've heard from you."
Every muscle in my body goes tense. "No. Don't tell Giulia."
"Why not?" Isabelle sounds confused now, the concern creeping back in. "She's your friend. She deserves to know you're safe."
"Because..." I search for an explanation that makes sense and doesn't reveal too much. "Because her family is complicated. And my situation is complicated. And I don't want to drag her into something that could get messy."
That’s at least partially true. Giulia's father is the head of one of the major mafia families in the city—everyone in our social circle knows it, even if we don't talk about it directly.
If she knew what was happening, if she told her father that Alexander Baumann's daughter was being held by a Bratva organization and that he was allying with another Bratva family, it could expand this war into something catastrophic.
More families would get involved. More alliances would shift.
The violence could spread like wildfire, consuming everything in its path.
I'm protecting Giulia by keeping her in the dark.
I'm also protecting Andrei. The realization makes my stomach clench.
I'm making decisions to protect a man who kidnapped me.
I'm thinking like him, calculating risks and consequences, understanding that in his world—the same world Giulia lives in—every connection is a vulnerability and every person you care about is a weapon someone can use against you.
"Liesl," Isabelle says carefully. I can hear the worry bleeding through her attempt at calm. "Are you sure you're okay? Because this doesn't sound okay. This sounds like you're in over your head with something dangerous."
I bite the corner of my lip. "I… that's not not true. But I'm handling it. I just... I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"
There's another long pause, and then Isabelle lets out a resigned sigh. "I trust you. But I don't trust whoever you're involved with. And if anything happens—if you need me—you call. Immediately. Promise me."
"I promise."
We talk for a few more minutes about nothing important. Mutual friends I haven't seen in weeks. Upcoming events I won't be attending. The weather. Normal things that feel surreal in the context of where I am and what I'm doing, like I'm playing a part in a play where I've forgotten my lines.
When we finally hang up, I sit holding the phone for a long time.
I could have asked for help. Isabelle would have done anything I asked—called the police, arranged a rescue, contacted Giulia. She would have moved heaven and earth to get me out of here. But I didn't ask.
I didn't ask because getting Isabelle involved would put her in danger. Because anyone who gets between Andrei and my father ends up dead. I've seen what this war costs, and I won't add my best friend to the casualty list.
I'm protecting her. I'm also choosing to stay.
I head back to my room, but instead, I end up outside Andrei's door. I nudge it open, stepping inside again, and I breathe in, smelling the lingering hint of his cologne in the air. I sit on the edge of his bed and run my hand over the comforter, the fabric smooth and cool under my palm.
This is insane. I know it's insane. I should be using this freedom to plan an escape or find a way out, to contact someone who can help me instead of just listening to me lie about being okay.
But… I want him to come back. I want to see his face when he walks through the door and finds me still here. I want to watch his control slip, feel his hands on me again, rough and possessive.
I want things I shouldn't want from a man who's done terrible things. The truth settles over me like a weight, pressing down on my chest until it's hard to breathe.
I'm not trapped here by locked doors or armed guards anymore. I'm trapped by my own feelings. By the way my heart beats faster when I think about him. By the way I miss him even though missing him makes me complicit in everything he's done, every death he's ordered, every life he's destroyed.
Andrei represents everything I should be running from, everything I was raised to despise, everything that goes against every moral principle I thought I had.
And I'm not running.
I'm lying in his bed, waiting for him to come home, missing him like he's someone I have the right to miss.