by LP Lovell
When I get out, I cross the room and go to the fully stocked closet. I don’t know whether I should find it creepy that Enrique had all these clothes bought for me or not. Opening one of the drawers, I pull out a shirt and shorts pajama set. The cotton is soft against my skin, and I almost hate that he bought such nice things.
The distinct sound of the bedroom door opening reaches me, and I glance around the corner of the closet in time to see an arm snake through a small gap. A tray of food is placed on the side table before the lunchtime tray is removed. I haven’t touched it. I don’t want anything from Enrique Bianchi. The door then shuts again; the same way it always does. I see no one and talk to no one. The loud click signals the lock was secured into place.
The food smells and looks as though a Michelin-star chef produced it, but I have no appetite. Probably because I’m sitting around doing about as much activity as a hibernating tortoise while overthinking every possible path my imminent future may take. On a deep sigh, I turn on the TV and fall into the huge double bed, allowing the cushions to swallow me. I leave the wall of glass doors that lead to the balcony open and can’t help but smile as I imagine Sasha’s annoyance at my sloppy security. Though, I really don’t have to worry about intruders now. My hunter already has me.
I don’t pay attention to what I’m watching, but the noise serves to fill the oppressive silence that is my ever-present companion. Eventually, the hum drags me into sleep.
I wake with my heart pounding and a cool sweat clinging to my skin. The remanence of a nightmare sticks to me, though I can’t recall the details. The TV is still on, and some kind of horror film is playing. I’m sure that’s not helpful. I turn, reaching for the remote on the bedside table. As I do, the picture changes, casting blue-ish light over the room. That’s when I see the figure lingering near the window, a stark silhouette against the open doors. A scream instinctually starts to fall from my lips, but the figure darts forward and slams a hand over my mouth. I panic and lash out, punching and kicking at my attacker.
“Shh, shh. Malyshka.”
I still, trembling as adrenaline fires through my veins at what feels like a hundred miles per hour. Warmth cuts through my startled senses, and I relax as the impenetrable sense of safety he brings wraps around me.
“Sasha?” My voice cracks, and I wonder if I’m dreaming. How is he here?
I scramble to turn on the bedside lamp, and I flinch at the sudden intrusion of light. He remains frozen as I stare at the hard angles of his face. Those full lips press together, and his brows knit the same way they always do, as though I both confuse and irritate him at the same time. His hand falls from my mouth, and I release a long breath. My heart trips over itself as my emotions rise and then crash over me like a breaking wave. I want to fall into his arms and inhale the clean scent of him. And then all the horrible, yet vivid details of the last few days rush back in, tainting our reunion. I shot him and ran.
As I study his hard features, I know he remembers all too well. It’s been days since I saw him, but it feels like an eternity. For weeks, Sasha and I only had each other, and we grew close, or at least I did. But I know I had his trust, something not easily won with a man like him. Now, a void has torn wide between us, and I feel its presence keenly. Whatever tentative faith he placed in me has been damaged. I can see it in the way he looks at me as though he’s not sure if I’m friend or enemy. I betrayed him, and I know what that feels like, so I know just how unforgiveable it is. I’m not sure why he would come here now. My eyes drift down to his thigh, looking for evidence of the bullet I put there. Of course, he’s dressed from head to toe in black, the same as always. There’s no trace of his injury, only the guns and knives sheathed to both his thighs.
“You can’t be here,” I whisper, even as my fingers seek out his jaw without permission. My nails scratch over the harsh stubble of his face.
His eyes drop to my neck, and it’s like a switch flipped. Frustration turns to anger, and I know exactly what he’s seeing. Deep bruises decorate my throat, but that’s certainly not the worst of it. Embarrassment makes my face heat, and I instinctively pull at the thick strap of my shirt in an attempt to cover the dressing that hides Enrique’s initials. Of course, it’s Sasha, and he instantly spots the movement, tugging the strap away.
“What is that?” he asks, his voice deceptively controlled.
“Nothing.”
“Adelina.”
“It’s fine. Why are you here?” I ask, trying to divert him.
It doesn’t work. With a swift tug, he catches me off guard, tearing the dressing away from my skin. I drop my gaze, focusing on a single point on his chest. The air seems to get sucked from the room, and his anger is a palpable thing.
“He’s already dead,” he says, his voice baltic. He pushes away from me and strides toward the door.
I scramble off the bed and hurry after him, grabbing his arm as though I could physically anchor him to the floor. “No! You can’t.”
He looks at me, and I recoil. Even knowing exactly who and what he is, I’ve never once been scared of him. Right now, though, he’s terrifying. There’s not a trace of humanity in his eyes. Sasha suddenly rams me against the wall with all six-foot plus of him looming over me. His palms press either side of my head, imprisoning me. A snarl—that’s the only way to describe it—slips from his throat. “Why are you protecting him?”
“I’m not!” I press my hand on his chest and shove him, though it does nothing. “But Enrique is not one man. You kill him, take me, and then what? His family will hunt us like dogs.” It’s an excuse but a plausible one.
His body tightens further, and I try to put space between us, but there is none. “That’s very rational from the woman who plans to do the exact same thing. Whether he dies now or later, they’ll come after you at some point. Why delay it?”
I duck my head and silence stretches between us. I can feel his eyes on me, studying me like some kind of laboratory specimen.
“You have no intention of ever leaving this house,” he says.
“I haven’t gotten that far. I just need some time.” I don’t want him to think I’m outright suicidal. I’m not. I just need this right now, possibly more than I need to remain breathing. “I need to gain his trust, place myself in a position of power.”
“By marrying him.” A fissure of pain crosses his features, though he hides it quickly.
“If it comes to it.” The void between us widens, and I know I’ve lost him. I don’t think I realized until this exact moment just how much I wanted and needed him.
A breath hisses through his teeth. “You know what you will have to do,” he says, the muscle in his jaw ticcing erratically as he allows the sentence to hang in the air between us.
My stomach churns, and I swallow against the acid that threatens to rise. “I know,” I whisper.
Sasha doesn’t make decisions from the heart. He doesn’t allow emotions to penetrate that icy shell. He works only on the cold, hard basis of necessity and getting a job done. He should understand this, so why is he looking at me as though I disgust him.
“I will do what needs to be done,” I say defensively.
He grits his teeth, and the look on his face has me wanting to retreat, but I have nowhere to go.
“None of this needs to be done. You’re making a choice, Adelina.”
I hear the words he doesn’t say. I’m choosing Enrique. I’m choosing my father and the revenge I seek so desperately. I’m choosing them over him. But he was never really a choice. Sasha was always more of a whimsical dream from a broken little girl who needed a hero. I’m not broken anymore. My fractured pieces have been welded back together by the simple promise of Enrique’s blood. I’m a little battered, ugly, and I don’t work like I used to, but I’m here. I have my purpose. It doesn’t make this right here any easier. I’ve already shot Sasha, but comparatively, that was easy. This, looking him in the eye and turning him away, is infinitely harder. I never thought I would
have to face him. Inhaling a deep breath, I close my eyes and utter words I don’t truly mean.
“I want you to leave, Sasha.”
He grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him, though he’s bristling with anger, his touch is gentle. “Not without you.” Releasing my face, his fingers wrap around my bicep, and he tugs me forward roughly.
I jerk away from him just as violently. “No, Sasha.”
“Adelina, I do not have time for this,” he hisses.
His frustration is palpable, tainting the air between us until I feel almost as desperate as I sense he is. I’ve accepted my fate, but Sasha—hard, violent, invincible Sasha—can’t. This is beyond his comprehension, in the perilous grey zone that lingers on the periphery of his domain. He stares at me through narrowed eyes, peering into the hazy unknown as though begging for clarity. As far as he’s concerned, he will protect me, and that’s all there is to it. The fact that Enrique hurt me is something he simply cannot tolerate, but the fact is, I’m no longer his responsibility. I close my eyes, steeling myself to say words that I know will cut deep. And I hate myself for it.
“I shot you and ran away. I want to be here. How much clearer do I have to be?”
His jaw tightens, and his eyes flash with something volatile. “I did not forget. But I will forgive your stupidity.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“What else would you call this?” He swipes a finger beneath the morbid claim on my skin. “And you’re willing to die for this cause?”
“He killed my father.”
Sasha closes his eyes, and a slow breath hisses from him. “What if he didn’t?”
“What?”
“It was likely one of his men,” he explains.
I frown, confused as to why he would even mention that detail. “Under his orders,” I say slowly. Annoyance gnaws away at me, and emotions I thought I had buried rise up. “Why are you even here, Sasha? You made it very clear I’m nothing more than a job to you.” I hold his stare, and his jaw tics. “Consider yourself relinquished of your duties.”
I expect his cold rage, but instead he drops his forehead to mine intimately. All the hurt, rejection, and betrayal hangs in the air between us, entwined with a deep longing that I wish I could just…stop.
His hands clasp my face before his lips slam over mine forcefully, full of desperation and a kind of passion I didn’t know he possessed. For a moment I still, torn. I consider pushing him away and putting a stop to this, but of course, I don’t. I’ve always had a certain weakness for him and probably always will. So instead, I kiss him back because ugly words are not enough to mask the truth of the heart, and mine is screaming out for him, spluttering in my chest like a lovesick teenager. That invisible thread that I’ve tried to ignore snaps tight between us. There was a time when I wanted nothing more than his kiss, his touch, his acknowledgement of…whatever this is. Now, I need him to slip back into the shadowy fortress of his own disciplined denial because I don’t know that I have enough will power for the two of us. My head and heart collide, but eventually, my head wins out, and I pull away. Rapid breaths wash over my face, and his eyes remain closed, his brows pinched as though he were in physical pain.
“You’re not just a job.” Those icy blue irises flash open, so vulnerable for just a second. And then his expression shutters as though emotions never even occurred. He steps away from me, and I instantly feel cold without him.
My legs twitch with the urge to follow him, but I force myself to remain rooted against the wall.
“Goodbye, Adelina.” Two words that unexpectedly crush my soul.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe. The words are flat, inadequate. “I’m sorry,” I repeat, stumbling forward a step involuntarily.
He retreats step by step, his expression turning to ice. All traces of warmth and affection disappear in the blink of an eye, and I suddenly can’t recall what that warmth ever looked like. Sadness creeps over me because I know this will be the way I remember him. Efficient, inhuman, and distanced. And he’s not those things. Not really. My eyes prickle with tears, but I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing them back.
In a single breath, he slips behind the curtain, and the room is silent once more.
“Sasha.” I dart after him. The balcony is empty, and as I glance over the stone ledge that surrounds it, I see nothing but darkness. The breeze catches in the curtains, sending them tumbling around me in a mess. I wait, listening intently, but all I hear is the beat of my pulse against my ear drums. No security lights go off. He’s just…gone like a ghost, an apparition in a dream. My chest squeezes painfully, and I swallow hard. It feels so…final, and I feel the weight of that deep within me.
Pain rips through my chest, stealing my breath and almost bringing me to my knees. Heartbreak—very real—consumes me. Whatever strange and tenuous bond once existed between Sasha and me is now severed. I can sense it like the falling of an axe, leaving nothing but a fresh cut behind. And I’m bleeding, hemorrhaging all over the pristine purity of what was once an innocent kind of lust in a tainted world.
I stumble to the bed, and I allow myself to crack just a little. Tears break free, trickling silently down my face. I grieve all over again, for another man, another protector… another love.
Golden sunlight pours through the balcony doors, warming the exposed skin of my legs and seeping through my thin cotton sundress. A shiver wracks my body as a drop of cool water falls from my wet hair onto my shoulder.
I wait and wait. Finally, there are footsteps on the other side of the door. The lock clicks open, and the handle pushes down. I launch across the room, reaching the door just as that arm snakes toward the side table with a plate of food.
“Wait!” I grab the handle and tug the door open a little to reveal a man.
He’s wearing a pants suit, a white shirt, and an obvious gun holster with two pistols strapped to his chest. Brown eyes stare at me from a scarred yet youthful face.
“I need to speak to Enrique.”
“He’s busy.”
“Well then, kindly inform him that I would like to speak to him.” I paint a fake smile on my face. “Please.”
The man’s mouth forms a flat line that sinks one long scar deep into his cheek, stealing his youth entirely. I lift a brow, waiting for a response. I get none. Grabbing the door, he yanks it shut with a forceful bang and locks it behind him. This is so frustrating. This is all just lost time. My act could be utter perfection, but without an audience, it’s all a waste. Trust cannot be bought from a distance. I know Enrique can’t keep me here forever. He at least has to free me to marry me, but after that…I honestly have no idea. This could well be my fate, and if that’s the case…if I never get the chance to kill him, I’d rather be dead myself.
I lay on the bed, watching the sun swoop through the sky in an arc. Shadows glide across the room like fingers reaching for me inch by infinitesimal inch. Despite the size of the room and the glass walls, the space feels oppressive, suffocating. Four days in Enrique’s fancy cage is enough to have my skin crawling.
The knock on the door has me lurching off the bed and striding to the door. It opens, and the same delightful gentleman as before greets me. His scowl is still in place and firmly fixed on me.
“Come,” he says before he turns and starts to walk down the hallway.
I hurry to catch up with his long strides, nervously dragging my fingers through my hair in an attempt to rid it of knots. I’ve never cared about my appearance, but I’m not naïve to men and their thoughts. Gabi once told me that seduction is a woman’s greatest weapon because it is every man’s weakness. Clearly, my sister never met a man like Sasha. I instantly regret the thought because of the stinging guilt that accompanies it. Lifting my chin, I push the Russian from my mind and focus on the task at hand. Though, I have no idea where to even begin seducing a man as dangerous as Enrique. He’s no university jock. Then again, what was it that Gabi said about Enrique? He wants to tame you. Perhaps it’s not wil
lingness he wants.
I’m led down the stairs and along another clinical-looking hallway. White walls, more glass. The man never stops or checks that I’m still following. It’s beginning to feel a little like a funeral march, and the farther we go, the more anxious I become. He finally stops outside a heavy wooden door and knocks. There’s a muffled reply from the other side, and he pushes it open, stepping to the side.
“Miss Ricci for you, sir,” he says.
“Thank you, David.”
That scarred glare fixes on me impatiently, and I step into the room. The door closes behind me with a finality that feels ominous. This now seems like the jailcell, only this time I’m locked in with the monster. My heart rate ticks up, thrumming erratically against my eardrums.
Enrique sits behind an enormous desk, his brows pulled together as he reads over some paperwork in front of him. Brilliant sunlight pours through the glass at the back of the room, catching on the inky black of his hair. I wait and watch him. To the unsuspecting eye, he could probably be mistaken for an ordinary businessman.
“Speak,” he says without looking up.
I suck in an agitated breath and force my shoulders back. “I need to speak to my sister.”
With a sigh, he sits back and braces one elbow on the arm of his chair. Those coal-black eyes narrow on me, and his index finger taps his bottom lip. A stray lock of hair falls onto his brow, and for a moment, he almost looks handsome. I imagine many women have offered themselves to him over the years. Why he would want a girl who ran as soon as she heard of this ridiculous marriage pact, I don’t know. He could surely have another daughter from another mafia family.