19. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Iabella
T hree days later.
“Eat your food. You need to keep your strength up.”
Nikolai’s voice hovers around me as I stare down at the breakfast in front of me. The last thing I feel like doing is eating.
“And be trapped here forever?” I mutter to myself.
“What?” Mumbles Viktor through a mouthful of pancakes.
“It’s an allusion to Persephone , a figure from Greek myth.” Says Greyson, who’s standing at the window of the grand dining room.
Every morning we gather here to eat together. Everyone except Aleksander, who seems to resent the fact I’ve stayed.
“Damn, your wife is smart.” Laughs Viktor as he finishes his food and jumps to his feet. He shoots me a friendly smile, but doesn’t notice the shiver of dread his words sent down my spine. Your wife . Is that all I am now? From Leonardo’s daughter to Nikolai’s wife. When will I be Isabella?
I gaze through the window at the trees swaying in the wind. Anton is chewing at his bone, without a care in the world, and, not for the first time in my life, I find myself being jealous of a dog.
“What activities are there today, warden?” I ask, deadpan.
Nikolai’s eyes meet mine, dark clouds passing through them.
“You’re my wife, not my prisoner.” We hover in an unspoken conversation.
Viktor finishes his plate and takes a swig from a flask in his pocket, before springing to his feet. “I can’t believe you didn’t do a ceremony. What the hell is that? Court house, paperwork, and done? She’s right to be pissed at you, Nikolai.” Viktor points a finger at Nikolai and shakes his head, then disappears from the room as if he expects an argument.
Greyson exchanges a look with Nikolai, nods, and then leaves the room. Nikolai waits a moment before drawing his chair closer to me, his thigh brushing against mine.
“What part of pretend you’re in love do you not understand?”
I glance at him innocently. “The love part. You didn’t grow up in my family.”
He narrows his eyes. “It’s not for me. If you drag your feet every step of the way, people will get suspicious. If they get suspicious, they’ll look for details.”
“Maybe I want them to.” I snap back, just to shut him up.
His brows furrow, and a spark dances through his eyes. “I won’t let you put yourself in danger.” He growls.
I put down my cutlery, leaving a half full plate of bacon, eggs and buttered bread. “Is it worth being safe if you have to wrap the world in safety wrap? I’ve been here a few days and you’ve barely let me leave the house! How am I supposed to live like this? I haven’t even got my own clothes.” I can’t suppress my voice from rising with the heat in my chest.
“You can leave when it’s safe.”
“When will it be safe?” I snap back, staring into his eyes furiously.
His lips seal, but he never lifts his eyes from mine.
The door opens behind us, and he leaves the conversation. Anton comes bounding in, barking until Nikolai calms him down. Next to Anton walks a short, heavy-built man with a thick beard and leathery skin.
“This is Boris.”
I glance at him, saying hello as politely as my emotions will let me.
Boris flashes a crooked smile. “I’m the explosives guy.” His accent is the thickest Russian one I’ve heard so far. “You need someone to go boom? Call me.”
My polite smile broadens into a real one. I glance at Nikolai. “I can think of someone.”
Boris laughs while Nikolai’s jaw ticks. “Happy marriage.”
Nikolai cuts the conversation short. “Boris and I have a job today. That means I won’t be here to protect you.” He stands up, towering over me like the big bad wolf. “Don’t put yourself in danger. Don’t make any messes. And don’t leave the house grounds.”
“Why? Will I get in trouble?” I breathe.
He leans in, lowering his voice so Boris can’t hear a word. “If you’re a bad girl, I’ll make you regret it.” The warmth of his breath brushes my ear, and he hovers there next to me for a long moment.
He drags his body away, but our eyes seem glued to one another. Goosebumps spring across my skin as I struggle to stay still.
“See you later, honey.” I say in a sickly sweet voice. “Don’t let work get you pent up .” My voice trailed away with a smirk.
Nikolai glares at me. “I expect you to be here when I get back.”
“Bye.” I snap.
His eyes flash, but a bark from Anton pulls him away from me. Nikolai, Boris, and Anton disappear through the dining room doors, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my racing heart.
Nikolai
“What’s the brief?” Asks Boris in Russian.
“Alek wants him dead.”
We watch the slim man lean out from his balcony, from the safety of Boris’s van. It looks like any typical van. No one would expect all the instruments Boris carries around with him.
“Dead?” Boris’ drooping eyes meet mine. “Who is he?”
I clench my jaw. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Doesn’t Alek tell you anything?”
I arch an eyebrow, stroking my stubble as his words hit me. “Not so much, anymore.”
Boris checks the ammo in his gun and fixes the silencer to its end. “Dead, right?”
“Dead.” I confirm.
“So, whatever he says… stays between us?” I tut, an icy glance catching Boris in his lapse of concentration. Extracting information without being ordered to is a risky business, and he's experienced enough to know better. “Nikolai, I didn’t mean anything by it! Just talk. Don’t tell Alek-”
Boris wants to play puppet master, but he's never been cunning enough to do it. By his age he should be higher up in the chain of command.
I cut him off. “Whatever the dead man says stays between us.” I look up at him as he tosses a cigarette from his balcony and disappears back into the apartment. I shake my head and look back at Boris with a smirk. “This will get you killed, you know.”
“It’ll get us killed.” Boris pauses, his eyes flickering from the scars at the base of my neck back to my eyes. “Unless your new wife kills you first.”
“She has a name.” I snarl, the aggression in my rasp surprising both of us.
He cocks his head, as if he thinks I’m joking. The ice in my eyes intensifies, and he blurts out a sorry. “Isabella. My apologies.”
“She won’t be killing me.” I’m not entirely sure that’s true.
“She’s a wild one.”
My eyes snap to his, pinning him in silence until he squirms. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
“What?” He croaks, holding his hands up in apology. “I just say what I see. She’ll disobey every order you give her.”
“Maybe.” I mutter. “And if she does, you’ll keep your mouth fucking shut.”
Boris gives me a look, but doesn’t say his thoughts. He doesn’t need to. I’ve heard them a million times from the others already.
What’s different about her? Why? Why? Why?
“Let’s kill this fucker.” I slam the car door behind me to silence all the voices I don’t need to hear.
I need to let out some aggression. A man can only be pent up for so long…
Isabella
Sidorov Mansion never sleeps. Every day there are a thousand new faces hurrying around. Fixing something, moving furniture, laughing, fighting, whispering, shooting stares in my direction. Men with guns, scars, and tattoos, and the girls they sneak in and out of their rooms. It might be discreet if they weren’t all doing it. The only constants are Greyson’s demonic eyes and Adrienne barking orders at terrified men every time she appears from the smoke of the kitchen.
I tip toe, dance, and march through the halls of the grand house, getting a feel for the place. In the east wing, there’s a gallery room full of paintings and mirrors, and random antiques. I often find myself in there, playing the old grand piano when no one’s around to listen.
After Nikolai leaves with the explosives guy, I run up to the gallery to play and get out of my head. But, as I pass by the biggest mirror in the room, I catch myself. I stop, yanked back by the invisible hook of my curiosity.
My eyes trail from bottom to top. Dreary shoes, clothes that aren’t mine, hair without a headband, and tired eyes. The person looking back at me isn’t me, yet she’s so familiar.
Damn, your wife is smart.
Viktor’s words from breakfast float through my mind. I’ve run away from my father, just to find another captor in Nikolai. He tells me he wants to help me, for me to be free, yet here I am, wearing modest clothes, trapped in a house I didn’t choose, being referred to as nothing more than his wife. I’ve swapped sneaking away to bars with Bianca for sneaking into this gallery and timidly playing the piano.
“Miss Ilyin.”
I jump out of my skin as the voice snaps me back into reality. Greyson’s soulless eyes observe me like a scientist studying an experiment. Miss Ilyin . So, that’s me now. From Don Leonardo’s daughter to Miss Ilyin.
“Can you make some noise for once?” I shout.
He grimaces, “Old habits, madam.”
The tenderness in his eyes surprises me, and I almost feel bad for yelling at him. “Am I not supposed to be in here?” I ask with a sigh.
Greyson opens his mouth but stops for a moment, as if the words are too uncomfortable to get out.
“Technically not.”
“I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted.” I say through gritted teeth, barging past him.
“Who taught you to play the piano?” He asks as I reach the door. I stop, turning back to him with an accusatory look on my face.
“Do all of you spy on women?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “My job is to know what goes on in this house.”
I don’t trust him, why would I? But conversation with him beats conversation with that mirror.
“I taught myself.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Astounding. My mother taught me to play a very long time ago.”
I can’t imagine him with a mother. I know he’s human, but there’s something so uncanny about his stare that I can only picture him as the lean, angular man in front of me. A sad look flits through his eyes, and for half a moment I see someone human beneath his practised exterior.
“Who taught you to act?” I ask before I can stop myself, instantly regretting the comment. He understands it, and his mask returns as if it never left.
“I taught myself.” He says back to me, calmly. “Just as you did. Just as Nikolai did.”
“Nikolai?”
Greyson stands perfectly still and perfectly straight, his grey eyes observing my reaction.
“Sometimes we do things to protect ourselves, and in the process we fail to see the person in front of us might be doing the same thing.”
I don’t know what to say back, and Greyson doesn’t give me time to find any words. “Aleksander likes this room. He comes here at seven pm most days. When he leaves, he sometimes locks the door. There’s a spare key in the plant pot outside. Please be sure not to touch it. And if you find that key out of its place, be sure to put it back.”
“Thank you.” I say back, more confused than when I thought he was coming to kick me out.
Did I just get the seal of approval from the creepy butler man?
And what was he trying to get at about Nikolai?
I glance at the piano, and then at the door. This place is driving me insane. I need space to breathe. I'm not staying for one more second.