by Lana Sky
“He is.” She squares her jaw, something she does only when she’s upset but trying to save face. A trait she picked up from me. “The police said he was in a gang. They said more stuff, too.”
“Like what?” I reach out, grasping the banister for support. The walls are spinning. The spacious house feels too damn small, like the foundation might crack beneath the pressure.
“They asked if you and Mama had a fight.”
“Oh.” I struggle to keep my voice even. “And what did you say?”
“The truth.” Her eyes gleam, harder than I’ve ever seen them. Then, without a word, she turns and disappears down the opposite end of the hall.
“Daisy, wait!”
I mount the rest of the stairs, but I don’t follow her. It’s only when I’m in the room designated as my own that I finally notice something tucked into the folds of my dress like an afterthought. It’s stuck to the fabric—a black card sporting the image of a bloody, beating heart.
I stare at it as my eyes water and burn. Gasping, I bring my opposite hand to my mouth and bite down so hard that I taste salt.
Of all the things a billionaire psychopath can promise to give me, he keeps the most dangerous item of all for himself.
But at least he has control of his—my heart is in six pieces with nothing left to share for anyone else.
No matter what price he’d be willing to pay.
Chapter Fourteen
He gives me one night with my family. One miserable night spent hiding in my room while the sounds of their laughter drift up through the floor.
The next morning, Lucius is waiting for me before the kids even leave for school. Rather than to the suite, he brings me to the college and another lesson with Gemma passes in relative normalcy.
Whatever that means.
“You did good,” she says when our time is up. I don’t miss how her eyes cut up to my bruised, ravaged neck. “Take care, Francesca.”
A black car is waiting for me out front of the building, driven by a man whose gaze meets mine through the windshield. Zap! It’s like I spent the entire day sleepwalking—now, I’m awake, electrified into awareness.
Clarity paints Maxim Koslov in terrifying detail as he exits the car and circles around to my end while I approach. He opens the door to the passenger’s seat, but the look in his eye raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
It’s determined.
“Get in,” he tells me.
I swallow hard as I perch myself on the leather seat and he closes the door behind me. Five seconds are my only reprieve before he re-enters the car on the driver’s side. Palming the steering wheel, he sighs.
“You are going to stay with me tonight.” Gritting his teeth, he shakes his head and tries again. “I…I want you to stay with me tonight.”
My breath catches inside my lungs. I’m suffocating even as my brain desperately tries to process his question. Our new understanding demands new rules, apparently.
It’s not enough for him to command, or for me to obey.
I have a choice this time.
Choose to play the game despite knowing how it’ll inevitably end.
“Kotyonok,” he prods when my silence stretches too long. Tension coils his posture, and his knuckles are white.
“Okay,” I rasp in response. “Okay.”
When the car comes to a stop, we aren’t in front of the house. Or his suite. A tall brick building looms above. A window framed in dark-colored drapes displays an empty dining room, the sight of which raises goosebumps over my arms.
Once we pass through the main doors and a smiling hostess rushes to meet us, I remember. This is the place where we first went over the terms of his contract. In bloody thorough detail.
I can’t suppress a shiver as we’re led toward that exact same table. It’s set for two, the silverware flickering a dangerous, burnished gleam.
“Have a seat, kotyonok,” Maxim commands.
He’s already seated, his eyes tracing my body. He’s wearing gray today, matching my outfit either by accident or intention. The color brings out the harshness to his features in a way black or white never could. He’s beautiful, polished stone, set with eyes of obsidian that warn anyone caught in their glare not to disobey.
I stagger toward the empty chair and collapse onto it, scooting in as close to the table as I dare. The moment our gazes reconnect, Maxim reaches under the table and withdraws an item that must have been in his pocket: a folded slip of paper. Without explanation, he rips the document in half and then slides both torn ends toward me.
“Our previous agreement,” he tells me, his eyes fixated on mine as if hunting my reaction down. At the same time, he grabs a bottle from the table and pours a layer of scarlet liquid into a glass on his end. Without a word, he does the same to a glass near me.
My fingers jerk against the white tablecloth. I almost can’t control the need to reach for the torn contract and press those broken pieces back together. Memorize that monetary amount and cling to it like a fucking prayer.
“So, now?” I force myself to ask, my voice faint. “What happens next?”
A lethal smile quirks his lower lip. Or maybe it’s a frown, exasperated and terse. “When I do business, I never renege on my terms.” He’s not referring to the shadowy dealings of his empire. Oh no, his tone is too guttural. “I know what I want from the outset. Always. I never want more. Now?” He nods to the glass beside my trembling hand, a silent command to drink.
I do, choking down a single sip. If his aim was to help relax me, it backfires. My throat is a fucking desert. Swallowing doesn’t ease the dryness at all. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“This is an unusual situation,” he admits, sounding partly amused and partly…not. “I don’t make a habit of discussing my intentions with someone like you.”
“Well, I don’t make a habit out of sleeping with criminal billionaires.” My cheeks flame when I realize how fucking bold that sounds out loud.
Even more insane? He doesn’t look insulted.
“Criminal?” His eyes flash, his tongue tracing his lower lip. It’s like he tastes the word, melding it with his next sip of wine. “And what might give you that impression?”
I can’t tell if he’s joking or not, but his stern expression demands a response. “You kill people.”
He laughs. “Am I so obvious?”
He is joking. My heart lurches as my thoughts stall. Reacting to him should be harder than this. “No,” I finally say. “I’m just not as naïve as I pretend to be.”
“Like your sister? Don’t,” he warns as my heart sinks through the goddamn floor.
My fingers grip the table, and it takes everything I have to stay seated. So this is what he meant by “discussing my intentions.”
“I won’t hurt her. But I must say, she is very perceptive.”
“What did she say?” God, I can’t breathe.
“She told the police you had an argument with your mother and that you intervened when her husband cornered her,” he explains. “I paid off the officer in question so the news never made his report. You can relax.”
“Can I?” My shoulders slump despite me, my body deflated. “My sister thinks I had something to do with the death of our shitty, deadbeat mother—who, for some reason, Daisy thinks still walks on water.”
He tilts his head, unnervingly thoughtful. “I’ve handled it.”
“I don’t think you can control the entire world. You can’t. And you can’t control my family. Just like you can’t control yours.”
“Ah.” His gaze sweeps over me. “So now you are the criminal mastermind?”
I flinch at the insult. “Maybe I’m just being honest.”
“Honest?” he echoes. Only now do I remember that he doesn’t like being challenged. He relishes in it. “Your siblings. Do you feel loyalty to them?” Before I can nod in agreement, he adds, “Even if they make your life harder? They weigh you down with their squabbles and indecision. They d
rain you. Now, say one of them tried to undermine you, ripping away piece by piece everything you sold your soul to gain. What might you do?”
“Slap her,” I blurt out. “D-Daisy, I mean. She’s… It doesn’t matter.”
“I see.” He nods thoughtfully. “And let’s say that Daisy owned half of your family’s assets, and that by slapping her, you’d be declaring war.”
He’s talking about more than just my sister. Sevastyn is on his mind again.
Could I declare war on my family?
In a way, I have done just that. Who did Mikie stand by when Daisy and I fought? It wasn’t me.
“How would you handle that?” Maxim demands.
I think it over, gazing into my wine. My imagination takes the shade and deepens it into a bloody scarlet. Blood is thicker than water—isn’t that how the saying goes?
Or is it poison in his case, weighing down your veins and tethering you to a world you might have never chosen for yourself. That’s the dangerous part, honestly asking yourself: if I had to do it all over, would I?
“I’d try to remember who I am,” I say, returning to his dare. “What I’ve done. Why I’ve done it. I know that I’m not perfect, but I’ve never been selfish. I’ve always been willing to give up everything…”
“And that sacrifice gives you the right to risk upsetting them?” he wonders.
My mouth opens, but I close it and mull the question over. “I deserve to have something for me,” I finally say. “Even if it won’t last. Even if it hurts.”
And even if it costs me more than I was ever willing to lose.
“I see.” He sits back and drains his own glass. Just as quickly, he pours himself more wine from the bottle. “And if what you want doesn’t matter in the grand scheme?”
I think about everything I’ve done in the name of replacing Melanie. “Does anything really?”
He’s quiet for way too long. Nearly a minute. When I finally look up, his expression is unreadable.
“I should start keeping a tally of the times you surprise me.”
It’s not a compliment, and my heart seizes up in anticipation. Mr. Koslov, terror of the criminal world, doesn’t like to be surprised. Least of all by me.
“Tell me something. If you could have one thing in the world, what would it be? Something material,” he adds.
“I…” My brain goes blank. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie.” He palms his wine glass, making the liquid within swish, matching motions of the unreadable emotion flickering in his eyes. “Name it.”
“Someplace that’s mine, I guess,” I stammer. “Where no one could kick me out, or overrun, or rip away.”
He processes that in silence, his jaw clenched. Finally, he sits back, placing his hands on the table. “You—” His gaze cuts to something beyond my head and anger distorts his blank expression. “What is it?”
I look back, surprised to find Lucius crossing the deserted dining room. “I tried to stop him, sir,” he says, his tone uncharacteristically strained. His eyes cut to a figure entering behind him. “He was persistent.”
The entire table jolts as Maxim rises to his feet. “To seek me out…you must have a good reason, Uncle,” he says coldly.
The intruder laughs, clapping his hands as he approaches. Sevastyn. His hair is slicked back into a low ponytail, adding a casual contrast to the elegant black suit he wears. Once again, he and Maxim look eerily similar: two halves of the same twisted coin.
“That I do,” Sevastyn replies. “But I must say that I didn’t expect to find you here. And with a toy…” His eyes drift in my direction, inching up my body. Recognition paints them a dangerous shade of black. “So this must be the mysterious Francesca.” He looks at Maxim, an eyebrow raised. “I didn’t realize she was the same—”
“Get out,” Maxim growls.
“What, no introductions? I thought you were taught better manners than this, Maxi. Maybe you need another lesson?”
“Do you really believe that you are in the position to order me?”
I jump at the subtle change in Maxim’s voice. Gone is the hint of restraint he displayed with me.
He’s icier than ever in the blink of a fucking eye. “Now, get out—”
“Be a good boy and send your toy away.” Sevastyn dismissively flicks his fingers. “Now.”
“No.” Maxim slams his hand on the table, knocking his wine glass to the floor. It shatters into a million pieces, and I swear I can see myself reflected in each one, broken just as easily with much less force. “Do not test me.”
“I think it’s you who forgets your position,” Sevastyn replies, dangerously soft. “To refresh your memory, it is a precarious one.”
“I will ask you one more time to leave—”
“Oh?” his uncle counters. “So the boy thinks he can give ultimatums now? I thought you were too busy fucking your pet while our enemies nip away at your pathetic little enterprise. What? Don’t look so surprised, Maxi. I’ve heard the rumors.”
“Rumors?” Maxim echoes. “Or maybe you’ve gotten too bold, Uncle? Sloppy. You’re not as careful as you think you’ve been.”
“So challenge me, then,” Sevastyn counters, his head cocked. “Or not. Continue to be the little boy who cowers in the corner as he is forced to learn what it really means to be a man—”
“Enough!” Maxim snatches something from the table.
Bam! Air whizzes past my head. In the distance, glass shatters as red liquid explodes against a wall on the other side of the room. Belatedly, my brain makes out the pieces of the wine bottle, raining down like jagged snowflakes.
“I’m not the one who is getting sloppy, Maximov.” Sevastyn steps forward, flicking the collar of his jacket, unconcerned by the red liquid staining his white shirt. “The next time you lose your childish little temper, I would encourage you not to miss. Oh, and by the way, consider yourself relieved of the western sector of the city. Anatoli has decided to bestow it upon me instead. Goodnight.”
He leaves, chuckling the entire way to the door.
“Get out,” Maxim snarls.
I stiffen, still frozen on my chair. That time, the vitriol could have only been directed at me.
I instantly rise to my feet and stagger toward the doorway. Halfway there, my steps change direction. I’m on my knees by the table instead, picking up the shards of his wine glass. I’m not even sure why I’m doing it. Just that I have to. One by one by…
“Enough!” Maxim grabs my wrist, yanking me upright. Fury deepens the black of his irises as he reaches out.
I cringe, covering my face with both hands. I’m braced for a blow, but a heartbeat later, warmth grazes my cheek instead of pain. His finger, I realize as I cautiously let my hands fall.
Meeting his gaze directly is like throwing myself into an inferno, knowing it will burn. Destroy. He peers into my battered shell, staking claim over what shriveled parts of me he hasn’t bothered to mark yet—but there’s a restraint lurking there. Desperation? Like a diver, clawing his way to the surface, fighting for air. The deep won’t drag him down just yet.
It can’t.
Eventually, his eyelids flutter and the tension drains from him as he yanks me close, grasping my hips. Our foreheads meet and my nostrils flare to breathe him in. Every goddamn inch of rage and muscle and terror. Then, slowly, he pulls away and heads for the door.
With his back to me, his voice lashes out, as sharp as the sting from a whip. “Come.”
When we make it back to the suite, he reaches into his pocket and withdraws a cell phone. I suck in a breath as his eyes cut in my direction. For once, he’s open.
I can read him like a book, able to decipher every single page. They’re all blank, but in a way, it’s more telling than paragraphs of text.
In his gaze, I see a warning.
And a plea.
Know your worth, Francesca, he tells me without having to say a fucking word. Because I’ve already calculated it.
&n
bsp; “I’ve made up my mind,” he says into the mouthpiece of the phone, turning his attention to the figure on the other end of the call. “We will meet in person to discuss this in full, but…” He looks back at me, his gaze searching mine. “I know where I stand now.”
And in a way so do I.
Chapter Fifteen
It’s funny how being a prisoner warps your entire perception of reality—especially when the bars are in your soul. The first time you wake up, you still feel free. Alive, even. Your sanity may be gone, but you’re the one who locked it up and threw away the key.
There’s power in that, I guess. Surrender. For the first time in for-fucking-ever, when I peel my eyes open to a darkened room, money isn’t the driving force on my brain.
It’s panic. It’s an instinctive awareness of the man who corrupted me. It’s calm. It’s fear.
It’s Maxim.
He’s not here. For what feels like hours, I lie still, breathing in his scent, drowning. Eventually I hear the door open but I don’t know whether to move or wait. Too many questions linger, demanding to be asked.
Either way, I won’t have a real choice in the end.
Huddled beneath the sheets, I listen to his footsteps. Slow. Unsteady.
Unsure?
He circles the foyer like a shark and starts down the hall before changing direction.
An icy dread congeals in my throat. The way he moves is different than the confident prowl I’m used to. Not Maxim.
Lucius, then?
No. My heart pounds as I jump to the next conclusion: an intruder. I dart my gaze to the dresser, but I don’t find Maxim’s knife. Or even his belt. Desperate for a weapon, I lunge from the bed and grab one of my heels instead.
“I know you’re in here,” a man calls from down the hall. Something in the raspy, thick accent conjures a terrifying image: Maxim with an older, thinner face and longer hair. “Where is he hiding you, little mouse?” One by one, the foreign footsteps advance in my direction.
Run. The instinct is almost too strong to choke down. Before I can even contemplate hiding, a shadow falls over the doorway and a single thought chases all logic from my brain. Caught.
