Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
It is so quiet you’d be convinced not a single feather was ruffled in the Myasnikov District last night.
“He’ll be okay, Keet,” Zoya assures, mindful of where my mind strays when I go off track. “You’d need a tank to take him down, and it would have to be the size of a submarine to keep him away from you.” She twists her lips before confessing to a sin that assures me she needs to speak with a shrink. “Not even the four deadbolts I installed on the servants’ stairwell door could stop him.” She laughs like her life wasn’t in danger when she endeavored to put distance between Maksim and me. “What? He couldn’t use the front door because it couldn’t be budged without pounding the living shit out of it, and he knew that would have woken you, so I got inventive.”
“Because?” I ask, happy for my curiosity to take center stage for a second if it will give my heart a little bit of relief.
Her next confession takes her a little longer to share. “Because I wanted you to know he wasn’t giving up. He was just being a stubborn ass.” She noogies my head. “Like someone else I know.”
An intercom buzzes, sending my heart into a flutter, which the concierge flatlines two seconds later. “Mrs. Ivanov, I have two officers here to speak with you.”
My suddenly wet eyes bounce between Zoya and my grandmother, who has just joined us, before I gingerly approach the intercom system to grant permission for the officers to come up.
I try to maintain a positive front as I enter the foyer to await the arrival of the officers, but it instantly crumbles when I’m hit with a flashback of me opening the door the morning my mother was killed and hearing my father’s harrowing cries seconds after they asked to speak with him in private.
“If he’s… oh god.” I bend over, the pain ripping through me too much to bear. “I should have never let him go. I should have made him keep his promise. I can’t lose him, Z. I haven’t even told him that I love him yet.”
“You won’t lose him. It’ll be okay.” Zoya’s grip on my waist is the only thing keeping me upright. “And he already knows, Keet. He saw it on your face every time you got jealous. Why do you think he loves it so much?”
I want to answer, but I can’t. I’ll sob if I speak.
When the elevator dings, announcing its arrival at the penthouse suite, I shut my eyes and say a quick prayer before slowly opening them.
I almost sigh in relief when the uniformed officers I am expecting are nowhere to be seen. It is the detectives I spoke with weeks ago, Lara and Ivan.
Lara looks remorseful for the interruption, but even with his nose splintered and a bruise he’s poorly hiding with the wrong shade of concealer shadowing his left eye, Ivan looks as arrogant as ever.
His narrowed gaze and snarled top lip get my back up in an instant, so before he can step out of the elevator, I say, “Unless you have a warrant, you are not welcome in my house.”
Ivan proves a vicious tongue is necessary to deal with men like him. “Do I need a warrant, Dr. Fernandez?”
“It is Dr. Ivanov,” I correct, “and yes, you do. My husband owns this building, so anything inside it is his possession.”
“Then I guess it’s lucky we’re not here for him, isn’t it?”
There’s so much evilness in his eyes Zoya can’t help but respond to it. “Call Raya,” she instructs my grandmother before butting her shoulder with mine. “What is this in regard to?”
“Are you her lawyer?”
Zoya doesn’t take her eyes off Ivan while answering Lara’s question. “No, but I don’t need to be to make sure she isn’t railroaded by a chauvinistic asshole who thinks he’s tough because he has a gun.”
Our standoff reaches fever pitch before Lara finally ends it. “We’re here in regard to your whereabouts between the hours of”—she checks her notepad—“2 p.m. yesterday afternoon until 5 a.m. this morning.”
Before I can fall into the trap they’re laying out for me, Zoya says, “She was here the entire time.”
Ivan undoes her lie with a simple snapshot.
It is of me in the Myasnikov Private elevator. It is timestamped within the range Lara announced.
“I arrived for my shift at…” I struggle to remember anything that happened since I slid into the back seat of Maksim’s SUV yesterday morning. “I’m having difficulties remembering the exact time—”
“Another lapse in memory? How convenient,” Ivan interrupts with an eye roll.
He doesn’t deserve an explanation, but with my worry higher than my smarts, I give him one. “I was drugged with a benzodiazepine that causes memory issues, so perhaps instead of wasting your time questioning me about my whereabouts, you should go search for the real criminals ruining this town.” So much honesty colors my next statement no one could accuse me of not knowing where my loyalties lie. “And that person is not my husband.”