Chapter 9

As the gates slowly open, I know nothing between Lia and me will ever be the same. Maybe that's not saying a lot. We flirted in her secret painting room, took a trip, and shared some intimacy. That was it, but somehow, I'll always look back on those days warmly. It will always separate the time when Lia could look at me without confusion from now on when confusion is all there is.

I drive Lia toward the second house. It's the one I would prefer to stay in with her, but I need to be careful. What if it wasn't Nikolai behind the attack? What if it was somebody else? In that case, Nikolai still needs to believe that I'm going to marry his daughter.

"This is the guesthouse," I tell Lia when I see her staring.

"The guest mansion, you mean," she murmurs. "Is this where the security stays?"

"They have a place offsite," I explain. "This is for guests. For you."

"I guess I should say thanks?"

She looks at me with that sassiness in her eyes. I can tell it's a shield to hide how panicked she is. Even now, as her chest rises and falls, there's a savage part of me that wants to claim those big, juicy tits. The adrenaline from the gunfight seems to add to it.

"Sorry," she says a moment later, reaching over and laying her hand on mine. "Without you?—"

"They never would've attacked you," I tell her. "You're right to be pissed at me. You're right to hate me."

"I never said I hate you," she snaps.

"Lia, I need to talk with my brother. I need to make arrangements. Are you okay getting settled in yourself? If you give me the key, I can send somebody to your apartment to get your things. I can also get you anything you need—new clothes, whatever food you like, anything."

Maybe she can tell I'm making an effort because she leans forward and softly kisses my cheek. I know I've ruined it when I try to claim her lips. She pulls away, looking like she wants to get as far from me as possible, and then she reaches into the zip pocket of her jacket and takes out her key.

"What should I do now, then? Just wait for you?"

"You can explore the house. There's a game room and a library. Hell, pick any room in the house, and we'll turn it into your studio. I want you to be comfortable."

"So this is a happy prison, then?" she says, folding her arms.

Sighing, I climb from the car and walk to the passenger side. She opens the door quickly and walks ahead of me, up the stairs and to the front door. She pushes it open, turning to me with a raised eyebrow when she realizes it's unlocked.

"It's okay," I tell her. She looks scared, probably wondering if there are attackers hidden inside. "We rarely lock the doors in the compound."

"Hmm," she says, nodding. "I guess I'll go inside then. Wait for some answers, right?"

With that, she closes the door. I massage my forehead, seeing a glimpse of the man I killed. I can't let myself feel guilty. I meant what I told Lia. If those men had gotten through me to her, they would've done unspeakable things to her. I walk across the large lawn, past the tennis court, toward the main house. Ania is waiting on the porch, bobbing from foot to foot. "Who was that?" she says in her typically curious, energetic way.

"A friend," I grunt.

"A friend-friend?" she says. "Or a friend?"

"It's complicated," I tell her.

"That's interesting," Ania says. "You've never been very complicated when it comes to your love life. Tell me everything."

"Later, okay?" I tell my baby sister. "I need to speak with Mikhail."

"I think he's in the hacking room with Mila."

"The hacking room? With Mila?"

"Haven't you seen it? They've taken the pool table out of the game room and hooked up a bunch of computers and stuff."

"Mila's helping him?" I ask.

Ania nods with a slight smile on her face. Sometimes, my half-sister unnerves me with the way she stares. It's like she's holding onto a secret we know nothing about. "Yeah. I mean, what else is she supposed to do around here?"

"I didn't know she was good with computers."

Ania arches an eyebrow. "Do you care?"

After a moment, I answer honestly, "No, not really. Mikhail knows what he's doing."

Walking into the house, I go down the long, tall hallways until I come to what was the game room. Pushing the door open, I find Mikhail sitting at a desk in the corner of the room and Mila at another, both of them typing away. When Mikhail sees me, he pushes away from his chair and quickly walks over, throwing his arms around me.

"Those pricks," Mikhail growls. "Those animals. I should've been there."

"You're doing more good here," I reassure him. "The men spoke Serbian to each other before we started speaking in Russian. Does anyone on your list have any connections?"

Mikhail smirks. "Our father was good for something, at least, making us take all those language lessons."

"Yeah, R-I-P."

"Sorry," Mikhail calls over to Mila. "The Sokolovs are known for their dark humor."

Mila turns, smiles nervously, then turns back to her computer and continues typing.

"She knows what she's doing," Mikhail says when he sees me looking. "Shall we check the list?"

I nod, following him to the terminal, walking around what looks like old computers and randomly thrown-together wires.

"What's all this for?" I ask.

"Processing power. We're conducting deep searches in every database we can conceivably access. The Serbian angle will help."

I wait as Mikhail types quickly, his glasses perched on his nose, his longer-on-top hair falling to the side. Mila occasionally glances at me, but I don't know what she wants. Unlike Lia, I can't read her expression. Maybe Mikhail or Ania mentioned I was bringing a woman home with me, and now she's worrying about her father finding out.

"Artyom Dragomirov," Mikhail says. "He lived in Serbia for several years. His criminal record is mysteriously empty, not even a driving ticket. He's only been with us for just over two years…"

Mikhail trails off, maybe because Mila is here, but I know what he's getting at. Two years is plenty of time for our father and Nikolai to establish a man in the Bratva. Maybe he even got his diagnosis two years ago, and this prompted him to set up the connection.

"What about the store?" Mikhail says, changing the subject.

"I've briefed the cops," I tell him, glancing at Mila.

"Don't worry," she snaps, seeing me looking. "I won't go running to Daddy."

"We can trust her," Mikhail says. I love my brother, but since he hasn't had to deal with the Bratva world as much as me—though he's still done his part when needed—sometimes he seems a little na?ve.

What makes him think we can trust her? Is it the fact she helped with some computer stuff?

"Get me Artyom's address and anywhere else he might be if he's not hiding there. I need to find this piggy and make him squeal."

"What if he was working for Nikolai?" Mikhail says. "What then?"

I grit my teeth, glancing at Mila, then shake my head. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Mikhail can't understand how infuriated I would be if it turned out he had anything to do with it. He wouldn't understand the monster that would wake up in me, the urgency I'd suddenly have to put a bullet in his head. Nobody gets to put my woman in danger.

"He's got no listed address," Mikhail says.

"What if we get his cell phone records," Mila adds, "and see where he makes most of his calls? Then we can work from there."

"He'll use a burner," I tell her.

"If he's used the same one, we can still track it," she says.

"How?"

"Get the phone records of the dead man, his Serbian associate, then go down the call history and cross them off one by one. It's worth a shot, at least."

"Okay, do that," I say. "In the meantime, I'll check with the cops and see if the dead man has any tales to tell."

My cell phone ringing cuts me off. I must make a face because Mikhail says, "What's wrong?"

"It's Nikolai," I tell him.

Mila sucks in a breath, looking at Mikhail, then me. They've clearly developed a working rapport from how she looks at him. That's probably natural, considering they're spending all this time together. I need to remember to thank Mikhail later. Being with Lia would be much harder if Mila wasn't distracted.

Answering the phone, I say, "What a pleasant surprise."

Nikolai laughs, but there's no humor in it. "How're you doing, Dimitri?"

"Generally speaking?"

Another humorless laugh. "What other way is there?"

If he's trying to make me believe he doesn't know about the attack, he's doing a decent job. If he wasn't behind it, there's no reason for him to know it happened. I wish we were face-to-face. It's always easier to root out liars like that.

"I'm fine," I tell him.

"Oh, good, good." Nikolai doesn't sound too pleased about that. Mila watches me with a tight expression, apparent terror in her eyes, telling me an entire story about all the twisted things he might've done to her or at least the sick threats he made. "So, when can I expect an invitation?"

I take a moment to realize he's talking about the wedding. Technically, we have just over two weeks, but he'll want to push it. He wants to twist me into his fucked-up shape through his daughter.

"We're still working out some details," I tell him. "You'll hear from me soon."

"Okay. That's great. How is my daughter doing?"

"Do you want to speak with her?" I ask, but then Mila quickly shakes her head, and I realize my mistake.

Nikolai snorts anyway. "What for? Speak soon, Dimitri."

I hang up the phone. The idea of a wedding with anybody except for Lia makes me feel sick. Even a wedding with Lia should make me cautious. I've never thought about weddings before, about spending my life with someone, about being happy.

"We good to go?" I ask Mikhail.

"We'll keep working," he says.

"Good. I'll call the cops. Nikolai better hope these breadcrumbs don't lead back to him." I glance at Mila. I'm about to apologize when she shakes her head.

"I hope they do lead to him," she says darkly.

I swallow, not wanting to say the next bit, but I have to. There's no way around it, especially if there are moles lurking among my men. I need to be paranoid and cautious—two traits my father always had in abundance, two traits I always resented him for.

"Mila, we're going to need to eat a meal together," I say.

She flinches, then looks at me with a tragic mixture of anger, reluctance, and resentment. It's like I can tell she's thinking about wishing she could be anywhere except for here, doanything except this. I can't blame her—I feel exactly the same. But what other choice is there?

Even Mikhail is looking at me like he's pissed.

"Soon," I go on. "In fact, now would be good. I'll make arrangements. Very loud arrangements." We have to buy time and if a fake romantic meal is what it takes then that is what we have to do.

For a second, I think she's going to argue, but then she nods. "I want to do whatever it takes, whatever I can to help us all." Translation… whatever it takes to make sure we don't have to go through with this. It doesn't take a genius to read the obvious signals that she hates this match as much as I do.

"Meet me in the dining room in thirty minutes," I say, then leave the so-called hacking room and call Yuri, making sure to head outside where the men are patrolling. I speak louder than usual. "Cook something extravagant and exciting for me and my bride-to-be! Mila deserves the best…" As one of my men walks by, I raise my voice even louder. "And only the best."

After a quick shower, I meet Mila in the dining room. She looks a little less scared than the last time I saw her, a little more hopeful, or maybe she's doing a better job at hiding how she really feels.

"I made sure to take a long route here," she murmurs. "A lot of people saw me wearing this."

I'm not sure what she's talking about when she puts so much emphasis on her outfit, but then it hits me. She's wearing what other men might find appealing, a dress with a low cut, showing off… whatever it is other men might notice in her. But I'm incapable of noticing anything except with my woman, my Lia.

"Good," I grunt, sitting down. "The food will be here soon."

She nods, then sighs and says, "Are you angry that I'm helping Mikhail?"

"No," I tell her. "I'm pissed that any of this is happening."

"You don't want this marriage, do you?" she murmurs.

I laugh gruffly. "It's that obvious? No offense."

"None taken," she says. "Is there a way out?"

"I don't know. Possibly. There are so many pieces at play. So many ways it could go wrong. For now, we need to keep pretending."

"Maybe I could come to your bedroom again later?" she says.

I think of Lia, hate twisting through me. But I have to play the game. For now. "That's an idea," I say.

"You seem as scared as me," she murmurs, and when I don't go on, she says, "Last night, I was acting like a spoiled kid. I do that sometimes. I hate it about myself, but it's a fact. But I think I see it more clearly now. You don't want to marry me. I don't want to marry you. But we might have to. For the good of this city. So my dad doesn't turn this whole place into a bloodbath. I'm right, aren't I?"

In the hallway, I can hear Yuri speaking to the waiting staff, getting ready for a big show. "Yeah," I tell her.

"So it's like I said—I want to help. And not just for me. Not even for me at all. My dad still has my brother. Drake."

Yuri's voice rises. "This is a special meal for Mr Sokolov. So let's all smile, please."

"Don't get your hopes up," I tell Mila. "We still might have to do this."

"I know," she says, folding her arms across her middle. "And if my dad ever finds out we're trying to go against his wishes… I'll do it." She looks at me with glistening eyes, like marrying me is the last thing she wants. "For my brother. If I have to?—"

She almost leaps out of her seat when Yuri knocks on the door. But she doesn't need to finish the thought. If Nikolai Petrov discovers we're scheming against him, there's a chance everybody ends up dead.