Chapter 10 - Tatiana
Oh, thank God he was gone. The click of the door quietly shutting was like being released from a giant fist. I could breathe again, though raggedly.
The way he’d been looking at me was about to burn me up; his steady gaze was like a physical touch.
I should have hated it, but I didn’t, and that only made me angrier.
Those gray eyes were assessing, proprietary, with an undertone of annoyance.
Like I was the problem in this situation.
The rush of anger at his questions and lingering stare felt good and chased away the dread left over from my nightmare, but I wasn’t grateful to Kon. There wasn’t a shred of compassion in him.
The teapot and toast, which was cold and soggy by now, shouted at me that he’d been trying to be nice, but then he started in on the interrogation. I snorted in indignation, remembering that Papa always told me what a great judge of character Kon was.
Wrong. Papa had been so wrong about the man he wasted a lifetime of loyalty on. One little mistake—on Kon’s end, because there was no way Papa stole from him—and Kon relegated him to enemy status. He didn’t want to find my father to figure things out. He wanted to make him pay.
One thing I did have to be grateful for was the fact that I was no longer locked in. An hour or so of silence went by, and I carefully peeked out into the hallway. No one jumped out to tell me to get back into my cell, and as I found my way to the kitchen, I realized I must be alone in the place.
“Kon?” I called, testing my theory. “Anyone?”
It was too good of an opportunity to pass up, and ignoring my pounding heart and clammy hands, I started searching the place. All I needed was a cellphone or access to a computer, and I’d be free. I didn’t have a clue who I’d call, since I’d spent a lifetime being trained to never trust the police.
Would they have the ability to storm this place to rescue me? It was likely the Fokins had so many people on the force in their pockets that my call wouldn’t make it past dispatch, and I didn’t know a single soul in Los Angeles. But I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.
The bridge never appeared. No phone and no laptop lying around, either.
Besides the guest room I was staying in, there was another smaller bedroom at the back of the apartment.
Small favors that he’d given me, the better guest room, or was it only because mine was decked out with a lock on the outside?
I briefly tried to find a way to disable it without Kon noticing, but I gave up, not wanting him to come home and immediately decide I needed to be locked in at all times.
What I assumed was his bedroom was also locked up, the knob completely immobile to any jiggling.
My ancient and unpracticed lock-picking skills proved futile.
There was no way to get word out unless I wanted to lean over the balcony and start hollering.
I almost considered that until the guard who was out in the elevator room poked his head in to check on me.
“Do you want fried chicken?” he asked. “One of us is going to get takeout from this great place down the street.”
“No thanks, but that’s nice of you,” I said, both because it actually was nice and to keep him from suspecting me of ever thinking about shouting for help.
He narrowed his gaze on my hand resting on the sliding glass door. “Do I need to sit in here and keep an eye on you? Because the boss won’t like to have to call a cleanup crew.”
“Oh my God, I would never,” I said, horrified enough at his assumption that I might jump that he nodded and went back to his post outside in the hall.
Being kidnapped and kept from finding my father had put me in a low mood, and Kon had enraged me enough that I might have considered shoving him over the edge, but I wasn’t anywhere near close to jumping.
I still had plenty of fight left in me, even if my hope was waning.
I continued searching the place for anything I could use to escape or protect myself against Kon.
Would he actually try to hurt me? At any point before yesterday afternoon, I would have sworn the answer was no. Now, everything I thought I knew was destroyed.
The kitchen had fresh croissants in a basket on the counter, but I ignored them.
If I ever came across the housekeeper or cook, it was unlikely I could get them on my side.
Nobody gained access to a place like this without being vetted.
While Kon was as new to Los Angeles as I was, his nephews and nieces lived here all their lives and would have an army of staff that would be completely loyal to them.
It was disappointing how fast they had turned against Papa, and by extension, me. No one would help me in Moscow, so certainly none of them would help me here. It was enough to make me want to retreat back to my room, where at least it was cozy, and put my head under the covers.
Maybe this was the nightmare, everything going back to when Papa stopped messaging me or answering my calls. Before, when my life was sheltered and safe. Before I got on a plane and landed in the exact place I didn’t want to be.
To keep from lapsing into despair, I searched every drawer and cupboard in the kitchen.
Knives galore, but I wasn’t desperate or foolish enough to believe I could ever get a swipe in against Kon, least of all debilitate him.
He was too big, too strong, and too well-trained.
Short of finding a loaded gun and being willing to use it, I’d never physically overpower that man.
Being tossed over his shoulder like I was a feather pillow and dragged into a vice grip against his chest when I’d been hysterical told me that I had to rely on my wits alone to get out of this situation.
If only I could think straight and not keep boomeranging between feral rage at Kon’s betrayal of my father and the weird, overly warm feeling that overwhelmed me when I thought about how big and strong he was. Or the way he looked at me.
There was a shiny silver gift bag festooned with curling ribbons on the counter, and even after picking through everything else in the apartment I could get my hands on, it felt oddly invasive to peek into that present.
The card on the outside said To Papa from Sofiya, remember your promises and who you make them for.
So had Sofiya been here as well? Reaching past the tissue paper, I pulled out a framed photograph.
It seemed fairly recent, with Kon in the middle of his five children, all of them smiling like they didn’t have a care in the world.
The background was nondescript, perhaps a room in his house in Moscow that I hadn’t been in since Sofiya and I were in high school together.
My eyes should have sought out the boy—now a man—that I claimed to have a crush on to perversely try and get under Kon’s skin.
Instead of looking at Mikhail, all I could see was Kon.
So commanding and handsome, he dwarfed his huge sons, who were equally attractive, but somehow didn’t have the aura that seemed to radiate from Kon.
Larger than life, even in a photograph that fit in my hands. I reached out to trail a finger around the outline of him, my mind casting back in time. How could someone who cared so much about family give up so easily on someone who considered him as close as a brother?
Bratva. It meant brotherhood. Family. It didn’t have to be blood.
But apparently it did to Kon.
I tried to bring back the boiling anger, but I was lost in the smile on Kon’s face, easy and carefree, though his eyes were still completely in charge. Someone like Kon never lets down his guard, even surrounded by his loved ones in his own home.
Unlike me, who was so lost in thought over this picture of Kon that I didn’t hear the real thing sneak up on me.
Suddenly, he was right behind me, his hands caging me in on either side of the counter, much too close after the direction my mind kept drifting.
My gasp gave away my surprise and also filled my nose with his cologne, a very light, spicy scent tinged with the sea.
I could feel his heat through the bathrobe I still wore, hear his low chuckle above the back of my head as he leaned closer, reaching to take the picture from my hands.
“You’re out of your depth,” he said. “The reason you’re here with me now.”
He stepped back a bit, smirking at my lack of situational awareness, and then laughed at something behind me.
I swiveled around, still somewhat trapped by him against the counter.
I’d have to brush against him to break free, slide under the cage of his arms. Wanting and not wanting to feel his body heat again, I stayed put, but saw what he was so smug about.
Proving his point further, he waved at the guard who carried my suitcase in and left it in the middle of the living area. He had brought all the stuff I left behind in the hotel, showing off that he really didn’t need me to find out anything.
I shoved past him, no longer flustered by his nearness or the fact that he was too handsome for such a beast, with that triumphant grin curling his lips. I was furious all over again. Mostly at myself, because he was right.
I was in over my head.