Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
The kid is loyal as hell. But I sure as hell didn’t want responsibility for him.
“And you did?” Alarm rings in her voice.
“Da.” It is more or less true. Training brats off the street has long been a part of Russian mafiya. “I was gone when your brother killed everyone. When I came back, I found the boy surviving on his own. He’d eaten all the food in the house and was stealing from stores in the neighborhood to survive. He hid from the police when they came to search the place.”
“Oh God. The poor kid.” She’s silent a moment. “Has he been to school?”
“No.” Integrating the kid into American society was not part of my plan. He is no worse off than he would have been in Russia with his prostitute mother. His chances for survival—and even a decent living situation—went way up when he became my responsibility. I know, because he sticks me to like glue. He’s grateful as hell and does everything I say without question.
“He’s still learning English. And I chose to keep him with me, keep him close. It’s a short-term situation.”
“What’s the long-term one?”
Return him to lower ranks of the bratva. “Haven’t figured that out yet.”
“You’re blackmailing my family, right? Demanding money for me?”
“Yes.”
“Some of that money should go to the boy.” She says it fiercely, like she’s prepared to fight me on this. I’d like to say I’m unmoved by her compassion for the boy, but a twisting, guilty sort of feeling moves in my center.
This woman may not be the selfish, spoiled princess I imagined her to be. She is coddled, naive and soft, though, as a sheltered daughter would be. But I appreciate her passion for the kid.
“Da. Okay. I will set up an account for him. Off-shore, tax-free, of course.”
She rolls over in the dark, and looks up at me. I have to fight the urge to touch her. To brush that chestnut hair back from her lovely face. To run my thumb over those pouty lips. Shove it in her mouth and make her suck.
“Promise?”
“My word.”
She lays her head back down and sighs.
I can’t resist. I burrow my fingers into her hair and gently massage her scalp.
She makes a soft surrendering sound. I keep at it until she falls asleep.
Then I force myself to move away from her, to the far side of the bed, facing away.
Chapter 5
Alessia
“Take these off me,” I moan when I wake up, my arms aching from being held in the same position too long. I hold my wrists out to Vlad, without much hope of his compliance. I am his prisoner, after all.
But he’s also not a tyrant. I can see that already. He rewrapped my wrists last night when he saw the rope was biting into my skin. And he massaged my head until I fell asleep last night. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt anything so wonderful in my life.
I’m not sure he ever slept.
He’s sitting up in bed, his clothes still on, fingers flying over the keyboard of his laptop. Funny, I would’ve pegged him for the hunt and peck kind of typist. I guess I misjudged.
Without a word, he reaches over and unties me, just like that. I groan and shake my arms out, rubbing away the pins and needles before I lean over and untie my ankles.
“I want to go home.”
I know I sound like a baby. And I know he’s not going to say, “Okay” and send me home. But he ought to hear my complaints.
“Izvinyayus.”
Sorry. I guess I’m learning Russian. I remember that one from yesterday.
He hands me a plate with a blueberry muffin and checks my blood sugar like he’s an old pro. Clearly he’s done some research since yesterday. The fact that he knew to have food ready for me as soon as I got up is impressive. Even more impressive is how he administers the correct dose of insulin without me telling him. Like yesterday, when he bares my belly, I flush at having my panties revealed. At his touch on my skin. The way my body reacts to his closeness.
I finish the muffin, trying to pretend I’m unaffected. When I set down the plate, he gestures toward the bathroom. “Go. Shower. Brush teeth.”
I get halfway to the bathroom before I stop and turn. “Vlad.”
“Da?”
“Are you really taking me to Russia?”
I swear I see a flicker of regret on his face before it hardens into something resolute. “Da. You are coming. You belong to me now.”
Something flip flops in my belly. It’s not just fear. It’s something base and animalistic. It’s awareness of Vlad’s raw masculinity. His belief he owns me. Despite my anger and my refusal to submit, my panties are damp at the idea.
And that just pisses me off.
“It will be your funeral, my friend.” I have zero doubt that my brothers will kill him when they find me.