Chapter 5

As I drive to the compound, I try not to think about Mila waiting for me—Mila with an M, not Lia, who I can still taste on my lips. I wasn't planning on kissing her. After visiting her neighbor last night and clarifying what would happen to him if he didn't leave, I told myself that was it. I'd give her the painting supplies, then forget she existed.

But the kiss still lingers on my lips. How am I supposed to do my duty, save the city, and marry Mila when Dahlia is the only woman I can think about?

I feel like a different man. It's as if the kiss somehow changed me, but I meant what I said to her. She's too good for me. Too pure. After the kiss, her face flushed and wide-eyed, she looked even younger. She looked even more innocent.

She doesn't even know who I am. It's not exactly common knowledge, and we do our best to keep it out of the press. Everybody has heard the whispers about the Sokolovs, but she thinks I'm just a CEO. Would she hate me if she knew the truth?

Far too soon, I arrive at the compound. After scanning in, I make small talk with the guards for a few minutes. They're respectful but a little distant. I've known these men for years, so maybe it's the change in my position making them cautious, or perhaps it's the fact my father told them to give the city over to Nikolai if I don't follow his orders.

Finally, I can't put it off any longer.

It's not like I can stay out here all night. I make my way to the house. This time, Yuri opens the door with a short bow. I've tried telling him many times that he doesn't have to treat me like this, but I think he prefers the clear line between butler and employer.

"Your brother and friend are waiting for you on the rear deck, sir."

"Thank you, Yuri," I say.

Mikhail's probably pissed at having to keep Mila entertained, but it's better than her waiting here alone. I thought Ania might spend some time with her at first, but Ania has had anxiety on and off her entire life. She finds it difficult to meet new people.

Before going to the rear deck, I head to the basement. Deep down, I know this is just a way for me to put off meeting Mila for a little longer. I don't know what she looks like or anything about her, but I know she's nothing compared to Lia.

In the large basement dance studio, I hear the shoes squeak against the floor. I peek through the small window in the door to see Ania spinning and leaping around the studio. She wears her AirPods and faces away, but I see her smiling in the long mirror on the wall. That's something, at least.

Since she's clearly in the flow, I leave without disturbing her. Mikhail meets me in the back deck kitchen. Beyond him, through the open door, I can see the back of a woman's head as she sits poolside. Mikhail frowns at me.

"What?" I say.

He moves closer, lowering his voice. "I don't think she wants to do this."

"And I do?" I growl. "Any progress?"

Mikhail gives me that searching look again. My hunger for Lia is making it difficult even to be surface-level civilized with my brother the day after my father's death.

"Stop looking at me like that," I grunt, reminding me of Lia again. That's exactly what she said to me.

"It's been a day," Mikhail says. "I've started work, brother, but it might take a week. Maybe two. This is some serious digging."

"Hmm," I say, nodding. "I better go say hello."

I walk onto the deck, over to the pool and the chairs. Mila looks over her shoulder when she sees me coming. She's a nice enough-looking girl, I guess. Her hair is curlier than Lia's, longer, and lighter. She has a similar build, but when Mila stands, I see she's slightly taller. Freckles are scattered across her cheeks. She looks withdrawn and almost scared, but not Lia-scared, not how my firecracker gets with that determined twist to her lips despite the fear.

When she grips the corners of her skirt and does a little bow, I can tell her father told her to do it. It seems rehearsed. "Hello, Dimitri," she says. "It's so good to meet you finally."

I want to leave, but Mikhail is watching us from the house, staring from the kitchen window. It's like he wants me to make her mine so he can return to his own work.

"And you," I force myself to say, almost offering my hand, but I decide against it. I have to marry her, kiss her, make babies with her, but I can't shake her hand. I feel sick just thinking about it. "I hope the journey was okay."

She nods shortly. "It was good. I had a nap."

"Okay."

A silence stretches out between us. If I really wanted to make this work, I'd do my best to fill the silence and eliminate the awkwardness. I find myself just standing there, wishing she was Lia instead, thinking about what it would be like to jump into the pool with my innocent, perfect artist.

I need to stop this shit.

"Have you eaten yet?" I ask.

"Yes, thank you."

"Okay, good. We'll… speak soon."

Apparently, I'm trying to earn a reward for the most awkward exits. When I return to the house, Mikhail blocks my path.

"Is everything okay?"

"It's fine," I grunt.

"That didn't take very long."

"How long is hello supposed to take?"

"You just left her out there."

"Then show her where her bedroom is," I snarl. "You're the underboss now, remember?"

I try to storm away, but Mikhail won't let me. He walks into my path again, blocking me. When I go the other way, he blocks me again. "Look, it's okay to mourn him. I know he had his problems, but it's okay."

"You think this is about our father?" I try to shoulder-check Mikhail out of the way, but he's strong and doesn't budge much.

"What is it, then? Something's different with you."

"Can you blame me?"

This time, he moves out of the way. I know I'm being immature and probably making this more complicated than it should be, but I can't fake it. I can't force it. I can't make myself want one person over another. I never even felt the desire to want anyone until yesterday, dammit.

I spend the next two hours on a business call in my office. Then I hit the gym and eat a meal of some chicken and rice. After, I head to my bedroom, into the en suite, and take a steaming hot shower. As the water pours down my body, I think about Lia, how soft her lips were, how nervous her kiss was, to begin with, and then she made this breathy, horny noise and pulled me even closer, hungry, craving.

Moving my hand down my body, I wrap my hand around my dick, imagining what it would've been like to strip off her work clothes, that black skirt and those tights hiding her juicy legs, pop off her shirt, pull her bra down, and reveal her mouthwatering tits. I stroke my hand up and down and?—

There's a knock at the door to the en suite. The only person who would do that is Mikhail. It must be urgent. Turning off the shower, I call out, "What?"

There's no reply—just another knock.

What the fuck?

Getting out of the shower, I go to the corner of the room, move aside the false wall, and open the gun safe. After taking out the loaded pistol, I move to the door, water dripping down my naked body and onto the floor.

I hear another knock but no voice. If it were Mikhail, he would've responded. None of my men would knock on the en-suite door unless they had to, but why aren't they saying anything?

The only thing I can think of is that, somehow, somebody has bypassed the security and wants to take out the new boss. I open the door a crack, pushing the gun barrel through, keeping my body to the side so there's less chance of them hitting me.

"Ah! No!"

A woman yells, and then footsteps rush away.

"Wait," I call out. "Mila?"

"I'm sorry."

"Wait! I need to get dressed." At least she didn't see me naked, just the gun, and then she was running. I hate the idea of anyone other than Lia seeing me like this. "Can you face the wall?"

She snorts as if to say, We will be married soon. Why does it matter? But then she says, "Okay, sure."

I wrap a towel around my waist just in case and then quickly get changed as she stands at the wall. She's in her underwear, I realize, what's supposed to be sexy lingerie. I feel like a traitor, even being in the same room as her.

Once I've thrown on some clothes, I return to the en suite and grab a robe.

"Here, put this on," I tell her.

She takes it, putting it on, as I purposefully avert my gaze. "Don't you want me?" she says quietly, sounding like her voice is about to break.

"I don't know you, Mila," I say, dodging the question.

She raises her hand like she's going to touch me, but she looks scared, like she doesn't want to do it. "You could get to know me, baby…"

"Mila." I take a step back. "Did your father tell you to come here and do this?"

Her lip trembles, and suddenly, she bursts into tears. Dropping into the chair in the corner of the room, she's bawling her eyes out, and I stand there like an ass, no clue what to do.

"Tell me?" she says, wiping her cheeks. "Is that what you think Nikolai Petrov does? Tells people to do things? Then, if they don't, it's just… just A-okay?"

She breaks down again, burying her face in her hands.

I go to the chair and kneel beside her, careful not to touch her. It's a surreal thing to think, but the last thing I need is for my fiancée to fall in love with me. "Your father told you to dress in lingerie and give yourself to a man you don't know. He doesn't sound like a good man. I know something about that, Mila. Maybe I can help you."

"Help me?" she says.

Part of me wants to tell her that I've got no intention of marrying her—that I can save her. I almost say it, almost give her that hope. But then it hits me like a truck. What if I'm lying? What if I tell her that we don't have to get married… but then we do? Then I've made her believe there's a way out of this, a light she can walk toward, when there's still only darkness.

I almost say, I'll do whatever it takes to make sure we don't have to do this. But I can't. That would make me just as bad as my father. Saying things I don't mean. Using people. Trying to twist reality as though I'm better than everyone else. But the blunt, cold fact is, if I don't find a way out of this, I will have to marry her. Goddamn it. What about Lia? But I have to think about the city.

"I'm sorry you were pushed into this. This isn't something I want either. If it were up to me we wouldn't have to get married, but I can make your life here comfortable," I say instead, and her face drops. I can tell she was expecting much more. "You don't have to suffer. And—" I hesitate. What do I think I can say, exactly, to make this all somehow better? "You'll have the best of everything."

She looks at me coldly. "I've always had the best of everything. And the worst." She sighs darkly. "God, I sound… I don't care how I sound."

She stands up abruptly, heading for the door, making me feel damn incompetent. But I just have to hope I did the right thing, or maybe, told the right lie. I said I'd make her comfortable. But I can't promise either her or myself that our lives will be comfortable.

When we're at parties together, when we're smiling for the Bratva crowds, pretending to be in love, will either of us be comfortable then? Could we even dream of being happy?

When she's gone, I head into the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face. My father died less than seventy-two hours ago. My world suddenly has become far more dangerous, with far more enemies and responsibilities.

Yet all I can think about is my curvy painter and all the things I want to do to her, with her, for her. I just need to keep my head down, behave warmly to Mila when other people are around, and try to forget Lia. Is that even possible?