Chapter 11 - Lily
I’ve never felt more like prey than in that moment. And for the first time, I’m fully aware of the danger surrounding me.
They’re predators in their own right, given what they do and how they command power within most corners of the city.
Mikhail’s family surrounds the table in that private dining room like they’re royalty, and I feel like nothing more than a guest.
But, of course, I’m not unsuspecting. Even if I don’t know the full breadth of what they do, it’s obvious enough that to them, there are no limits. If they want something, they’ll get it, and if they face resistance, they’ll take it by force.
Even if they haven’t done anything yet to be cause for concern, my skin still prickles with a kind of alertness that’s entirely new to me.
I’ve been sitting in fight or flight for too long, and it’s making my heart ache from holding on to that tension so tightly.
As much as I want to, there’s nowhere to run. Not while they’re all around me, watching discreetly.
Especially not with Mikhail by my side, hand resting on my thigh like he’s trying to ensure those flight instincts don’t win.
The pressure of his touch is maddening in ways I don’t expect. It’s vaguely comforting, almost like an anchor, making me feel like I’m less likely to lose my mind. But at the same time, it’s irritating.
Irritating because he’s the reason I’m even there in the first place. It’s his fault I’m in this nightmare to begin with—that I’m legally Mrs. Lukov.
It’s a name that shouldn’t be anywhere near my own, and yet, it feels like a curse he has placed on me, all because of a stupid mistake.
Glancing at Mikhail while he’s not looking at me, I watch the way he takes in everything around us.
When his brothers crack their jokes and make jabs at one another, he doesn’t keep the amusement from entering his gaze.
Sometimes, he even joins in, sharing that good humor in a way I might never understand.
To him, this is normal. This family dinner, the laughter, the vodka and wine going around, and the occasional mention of their conquests.
It’s all so natural to them, and it just makes me feel even crazier.
I’m in the lion’s den, and I can’t just walk out like I long to.
Every breath through the tension surrounding me feels next to impossible, especially whenever their glances reach my direction.
There isn’t anything inherently judgmental about the attention they offer me from time to time, but I know who and what they are. I also know that I’m nothing like them, which only makes it that much harder to bear.
From Sergey’s constant jokes to Nikolai’s analyzing gaze, and Ivan’s knowing grin, it feels like they all know. They know that I’m an outsider and a civilian who somehow managed to stumble into their world that I never had anything to do with before.
I shouldn’t be here, and that’s a fact. I should be in my apartment, studying for Monday’s practical. I should be quizzing myself, not trying to keep my heart from giving out.
Yet here I am, married to a man I hardly know, trying not to hyperventilate while sitting across from his family full of killers and criminals.
Eventually, the guys all get up and hand out cigars between them, offering me a moment of relief and the chance to catch my breath without having to feel Mikhail’s touch against me. They hang out by the edge of the patio, leaning against the glass handrails while they chat.
Of course, I feel Mikhail’s eyes on me occasionally, as if to make sure I don’t manage to bolt.
“Do you speak any Russian, Lily?”
I blink out of my stupor and glance over at Elena to find her gentle gaze already on me. She’s the youngest, if I remember correctly.
Swallowing hard, I shake my head and try to ignore everyone else’s curiosity while they listen. “No, not at all.”
She smiles a little. “That’s fine, I’m not as fluent as I should be. I favored English growing up here. Besides, most guys here only speak it when they’re drunk or trying to be impressive.”
Victoria, Roman’s wife, hums her amusement and adds, “Or when they want to talk around us.”
“Are you Russian too?” I ask, letting my curiosity get the better of me.
She nods. “My biological parents were from Russia, but I was born in the area. That’s something I learned recently.”
I can tell there’s more to the story, but I don’t press. Instead, I nod in return.
“That being said, I don’t speak a word of it either,” Victoria says with a warm smile while she rocks the baby before Roman returns and offers to take the little one off her hands.
“And yet you’ve managed just fine,” Roman adds, pressing a gentle kiss to Victoria’s temple before taking over, rocking the little one off to the side.
The pleasant expression he wears while talking to the baby is a dramatic contrast to the intimidating man he is, and it feels like an odd sight.
Almost conspiratorially, Elena leans closer to me and grins. “Regardless of how tough they seem, don’t let them intimidate you.”
Blinking back at her, I struggle to find the right words at first. Of all things, I wasn’t expecting to find kindness at that table. Not with Mikhail’s family.
“That’s easier said than done. Everyone’s so…”
“Terrifying?” Victoria fills in for me.
“Powerful,” I say, since it feels like a safer choice.
“It’s okay to be wary around them…I was, too. All of this can be a lot, but you’re not weak for feeling that way. Not at all,” she continues, keeping her tone light and understanding.
“My brothers can be scary, but beneath it all, they’re secretly a bunch of softies. Don’t let them fool you,” Elena says, leaning her chin on her palm.
For the first time all evening, something inside me relaxes ever so slightly. The coiled-up tension doesn’t leave entirely, but it shifts into something more bearable.
Victoria and Elena are less like the guys and more similar to me in some ways. Even the latter seems more like an observer than a participant in everything her family does.
And yet, they’re both still standing. Still smiling, even.
The rest of dinner passes in a blur, and while talking to the girls has made me slightly less rigid, I feel relieved once we say our goodbyes.
Mikhail doesn’t say much, but his hand stays on me while we leave the restaurant. His touch is steady and possessive, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
Somehow, I breathe a little easier.
To my surprise, I’m looking forward to getting back to the penthouse if it means being able to decompress.
The car ride back is quiet, with neither of us saying a word. Mikhail drives while I stare out the window, watching as the buildings pass.
Then he misses a turn, and when I glance over at him, he looks unfazed. I furrow my brows but don’t point it out at first. Instead, I watch as the route becomes unfamiliar.
My heart picks up once the city lights start to fade, and the busy nightlife stays behind us.
Eventually, we reach a chain-link fence with guards posted out front, and at the recognition of Mikhail’s car, the gate rolls open.
Finally, I glance over at him, unable to avoid the sinking feeling in my stomach.
“What is this?”
Mikhail doesn’t answer right away, but there’s a small, barely-there smile on his lips as he pulls up to a steel-clad building.
After a moment of reorienting myself, I realize it’s the same warehouse I was brought to before, and that makes my skin freeze over.
He kills the engine and goes to open his door. “Come on, you’ll see.”
I can’t keep the panic down while it floods my system. “No. Why are we here?”
Mikhail glances at me like I’m being ridiculous, but he keeps his tone light. “Relax. You’re too tense about my world…it’s time you saw a little more of it.”
I still don’t move. “More of what, Mikhail?”
He chuckles, and the sound grates against my nerves.
“You’ll see. It’s just a warehouse; no need to freak out on me.”
He says it like this is some kind of date. As if I should be perfectly fine with him bringing me wherever he wants in the city without question.
Looking at me, it’s obvious he’s not giving me any other option. He expects me to go along with it.
“You said dinner,” I grit, not wanting him to assume I’m fine with this.
“And we had dinner,” he murmurs with the faintest note of a tease in his tone. Then he pushes out before heading around the front and popping my door open. “Now, we’re doing something else.”
Glaring at him, I look down at the hand he offers me. “I’m not a trophy you can drag around the city as you please.”
“I’m not dragging you anywhere. I’m trying to show you the truth—demystifying my life, if you will,” he says simply enough, gesturing again with his hand.
I still don’t want to oblige him, but I know sitting there won’t make the situation any easier to stomach. So, I clench my jaw and accept his offered hand.
With an air of satisfaction, Mikhail guides me towards the warehouse and opens a side door before bringing me in.
The scent of metal, tires, and that distinct warehouse smell hits me at once.
The lights buzz overhead as he flips more of them on, showing row upon row of crates and stacked pallets, along with a network of iron catwalks overhead.
There seem to be offices up above, too. Not far from us, I notice the stairs leading to the interrogation room, and it brings an uncomfortable feeling over me.
To our right, a handful of men stand around, either working or talking. They glance at us but don’t say anything. And, of course, they’re armed.
My stomach twists.
“Mikhail…”
“Trust me,” he says, using his hand at the small of my back to guide me forward again. “We’re not doing anything dangerous tonight. I just want to show you a few things. I’m trying to pull back the curtain for you.”
“Maybe I don’t want to see behind the curtain. I told you, I never wanted any of this,” I mutter, irritated by how he never seems to listen to me.
Despite the bite, in my words, Mikhail doesn’t flinch or react. Instead, he lowers his voice and keeps his words for only me. “You’re married to me, Lily. One way or another, aspects of my life are bound to bleed into yours now, and the less surprised you are, the better.”
I hate what he’s insinuating, and I hate how right he is.
Even more so, I hate how his features, despite being mostly serious, tempt me more than they should.
When I don’t say anything, he continues, giving my back a subtle nudge.
“Breathe. Indulge me just a little, then we’ll go home.”
Home.
I’m not sure how to feel about that word. I don’t entirely like how domestic it sounds.
Regardless of how I know diving into his world is dangerous, I grit my teeth and allow him to guide me through the warehouse.
I don’t know why I entertain it.
Maybe I’m attempting to keep things from escalating.
Or maybe I really am curious.