Chapter 6 - Tatiana
I cried until I was worn out, not a tear left in me. Making my way into the adjoining bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face and then took a good look around me for the first time. It was a lovely prison.
The bathroom had white marble everywhere, shiny chrome fixtures, and sparkling glass.
The mirrors were framed in dark wood, and the drawers were stocked with all kinds of high-end lotions, toothpaste, body oil, and even a small first aid kit.
I dabbed a bit of pain-relieving cream on the lump sprouting from the middle of my forehead like some kind of stunted unicorn horn, and tried to force a smile.
Anything to make this situation not so bleak. It looked like a grimace, and I turned to the closet. Plush black towels were stacked up in neat rows, along with a thick bathrobe hanging on a hook.
I didn’t want anything to do with Konstantin Fokin, but I didn’t want to be wearing my disguise anymore, either.
A few of the buttons had come off the cheap blouse in one of my struggles to get away from him, and my cheeks grew hot thinking about my bare flesh being exposed to his hot, glancing touch as he wrangled me.
Like I was little more than a rag doll. There was no chance of physically overpowering the man, so what chance did I have?
Ignoring the luxurious robe for the moment, I went back into the bedroom and tentatively sat on the edge of the bed, my hand smoothing idly over the soft cashmere throw draped across the bottom half.
What did I know about Kon that I could use against him? How to find a way out of here that didn’t involve brute strength?
For as far back as I could remember, he was always there, around the periphery of my life.
He was always Papa’s friend, and while Kon was the boss, he never threw his weight around or acted like my father was his subordinate.
But orders were orders, and wherever Kon wanted to try his hand at world domination, my father was always close behind.
The most recent place was Tokyo, and things seemed to go well for a while. Kon and Papa had the magic touch when it came to making money. Kon had a cursed touch at making enemies.
Now I was in my current predicament, left alone in our big house in Moscow with only the cook and my dour guard who followed me to work at Master Bakhtin’s studio.
I shuddered, new tears threatening to start when I thought of the current project he was letting me work on.
A glorious tapestry meant for the house of a high official.
I could almost feel the threads beneath my fingers and rubbed at the calluses I’d earned from my hard work.
Were those days gone for good now? What did this new life hold for me? Surely I couldn’t be Kon’s prisoner forever. Was I even his prisoner?
What else did I know about the man who tossed me over his shoulder and locked me in this room?
My thoughts went back to the feel of his rock-hard chest pressing against me as he held me close, wrapped in the iron bands of his arms. My cheeks burned again, and I shook my head, forcing myself back on track.
Unlike my father, Kon was brash and reckless.
Fearless. I had gone to school with his daughter Sofiya, and she had just as much of that raw confidence.
Sofiya was always kind to me, even though she ran with a different crowd.
Thanks to my father keeping me so sheltered, I would never have been allowed to some of the parties she politely asked me to attend, so I would never be excluded.
But she always made sure I was at her birthday parties and the occasional sleepover, and made sure to congratulate me if I won an honor at school.
I sometimes envied her for being so free, while at the same time agreeing with Papa that Kon wasn’t doing her any favors by bringing her into the family business.
One he assured me was full of danger. Still, she never seemed afraid.
Why should she be with someone like Kon as her father?
While I was part of the same elite groups, I was always on the outside, not allowed to be part of anything the Bratva kids had going on. Anyone whose parents made their money in a more legal way still knew who I was and didn’t want to get mixed up with anything unsavory by association.
I was mostly fine with that, with a couple of close friends who were the kids of my dad’s employees. It certainly wasn’t a sad or lonely childhood. I didn’t remember my mother very much, and Papa made sure he was always there when I needed him.
Until now. And that was because he had no choice. Of that I was sure.
It wasn’t until college that my outsider status caused me any trouble, and I found myself the target of a nasty bullying campaign.
One word to Papa, or even Sofiya, and it would have ended.
But only because those kids would have been ended.
I didn’t want that, and tried to ignore it, but it escalated and escalated, as unchecked cruelty always does.
To them, my silence equated to weakness they could exploit, never knowing their lives lay in the palm of my hand.
Who wants a responsibility like that? I learned young, no matter how Papa tried to shield me, that death was forever. No coming back.
So I quit school and found an apprenticeship with Master Bakhtin in the finest textile studio in Russia. I loved it and longed to be back there right now.
Or did I? None of this was anywhere close to what I was used to, but I was still amped up on adrenaline from my amazing escape attempt.
My forehead had dialed back to a low throb, and my feet were still burning from tearing across filthy LA terrain with no shoes, but I had acted on pure instinct for the first time in my life, and it felt good.
It was a failure, but I could regroup. Use this new situation to my advantage somehow. Couldn’t I?
I had no choice. I was stuck with Konstantin, literally stuck with him. One thing I was fairly certain of was that he wouldn’t harm me, at least not the Kon I knew. The Kon I thought I knew, anyway. If he was involved with my father’s disappearance, then I didn’t know anything.
The very man I was obsessing over flung open the door, filling the space with his huge body.
I nearly fell back onto the bed, but stayed swaying on my feet, holding my arms across my chest to keep the red blouse from flopping open.
He did a quick perusal of me, his face set in stone, but somehow still causing me to feel hot everywhere his eyes landed.
“If you want dinner, it’s on the table,” he said, turning and leaving.
Also, leaving the door open. Not much of an invitation, but I realized immediately that I was hungry.
Starving after the insane day I just lived through.
And that was something to be positive about, still being alive.
It would also be a good idea to scope out the rest of the apartment for escape routes or anything I could use as a weapon, so I hurried after him out of the bedroom.
I had barely noticed anything on my ignominious way in, but I gaped all around me now.
I was no stranger to wealth, but my father wasn’t one for anything opulent or fancy, and we lived simply in our giant mansion.
This place was the dictionary definition of opulent and fancy, sleek and modern, but also packed with artwork and furniture that might as well have been sculptures.
and rounded out with a stunning view of the city skyline outside the wall of windows.
I found myself moving toward the lights winking on all over the inky night sky and placed my hand on the sliding door leading out to the balcony. We were dizzyingly high above the ground, so there was no way out. Still a breathtaking view, though.
As I glanced all around, Kon snickered from where he leaned against the bar leading into the kitchen.
“Don’t bother,” he said. “There’s a guard in the entryway outside the front door, another at the elevator in the parking garage, and a team patrolling the perimeter.
” He pointed to the hallway leading to the front door.
“Camera there and one outside on the balcony.”
“Is that all?” I asked sarcastically, trying to hide my disappointment. “Well, it’s a beautiful prison you have set up here.”
“It could just as easily be a not-so-beautiful one,” he said, voice ripe with meaning I understood all too well.
Not the Kon I thought I knew.
“Come on,” he said, his tone lightening. “I didn’t make these dumplings, so you can be assured they’re delicious.”
He must have had a Russian cook, because the dumplings both looked and smelled scrumptious.
I was so nervous about trying to get into Riku’s lair that I skipped lunch and hadn’t eaten anything since early that morning.
I sat down and waited for him to nod at me before digging in, causing him to chuckle at my enthusiasm.
“I wondered if you still liked that,” he said, pouring me a glass of wine.
As if I’d drink alcohol around him. “Still my favorite. Wait, how did you…?”
“Sofiya always made sure her friends had the foods they liked.”
I nodded. “She was always sweet like that. Good memory though,” I said, wondering if he wanted to be buttered up.
“I always remember things that can be useful one day.”
I lowered my voice to mimic him. “Might need to kidnap that one someday, better take note that she likes lamb dumplings.”
His roar of laughter caught me off guard.
It was so infectious, I joined in, somewhat awkwardly.
And oh, goodness, was his smile something else.
I wasn’t used to being the center of attention, least of all by someone larger than life like Kon.
When he stopped laughing, I asked what his sons were up to, and we had something that resembled a civil conversation. Maybe even a pleasant one.
Was I a prisoner or not? All that talk about guards and cameras, but now this nice meal and friendly chitchat.
“So what have you been up to?” he asked as he got up to grab a pint of ice cream out of the freezer for dessert.
Was he seriously asking me that? I stared at him, and he rolled his eyes.
“Besides getting yourself into mortal danger, I mean.” He shook his head as he scooped out some caramel swirl into two bowls.
“I still can’t believe you were wearing that and trying to—” he cut himself off, as if the subject ruined his appetite.
He slammed the bowl down in front of me but left his portion on the counter, and his eyes were dark again, steely gray. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms, as if waiting for me to say something to defend myself.
Like he was waiting for me to thank him.
“You honestly think you did me a favor by abducting me off the roadside, don’t you?” I asked, a fresh burst of anger blotting out any desire to keep things friendly.
“If you mean the rescue I pulled off when the head of the Yakuza was within seconds of grabbing you himself? Then, yes.”
He really meant it. Every word. He was so assured that he was right and I was wrong, and I never wanted to punch anyone more in my life.
“Despite what your father did,” he added when I remained silent.
I jumped up so fast my chair toppled over. “Do you really believe Papa screwed you over?” I demanded, kicking the chair for good measure since I didn’t dare kick Kon. Some of my fire was doused when his dark eyes didn’t even flicker. He was stone cold, staring at me.
“I have an empty bank account to prove it,” he answered. “Grigor isn’t what either of us believed him to be. But are you?”
A whistling sound was all I could get past the fist that clutched my chest. Fury so strong I couldn’t breathe, let alone rail at him the way I wanted to, had me paralyzed. Trapped in that cold, assessing glare. How could he think any such thing about Papa? About me?
Before I passed out, I turned and stormed back to the room he’d assigned me and slammed the door, as if I was keeping him out and not him keeping me in. A couple of minutes later, that illusion was shattered when I heard the lock click from the outside.
Definitely a prisoner.