9. Lucia

9

LUCIA

Being locked in this room has made the nightmares worse. Sometimes, I've woken to find my throat raw, as if I've been screaming in my sleep.

If Mikhail hears, he takes no notice. Though it's likely he's not even here most nights. He said so himself, he's a workaholic, and locking me in this room means he can disappear to his office guilt free, knowing that there's nowhere I can go.

I'm trapped, again .

I might be locked away in an enormous bedroom with a bed big enough for four people and a flat screen TV on the wall and a big fluffy armchair perfect to curl up in, but it makes no difference.

A cage is a cage.

And I need to get out.

The last few nights I've not even bothered crawling into bed because I'm too scared to fall asleep. Instead, I've curled up in the armchair with the TV on and lost myself in hours of reality television until I'm so tired I eventually pass out.

It does mean I wake with terrible back ache, but I figure anything's better than the nightmares. Plus, I've learned you can get used to anything with time, and it seems Mikhail's not going to be letting up on my punishment any time soon.

When I get to day five, I even consider telling him the truth about what this is doing to me. About how being locked in this room reminds me of my past, a past that I've worked so fucking hard to forget but now here he is, shoving it right back in my face day after day.

The only times I actually saw Mikhail over the last few days was when he brought me trays of food, one in the morning and one in the evening.

If I wasn't so caught up in my own dark thoughts, perhaps him bringing me food like a housemaid would cheer me up. The jokes are even on the tip of my tongue, but then I remember how he stripped away my freedom, and I'm right back to hating him.

I would refuse to eat what he brought me purely out of spite, but I'm Italian. I literally can't survive more than a few hours without food. Plus, these curves didn't happen on their own. Years of hard work and carbs went into this ass, and I'm not about to lose it because of Mikhail fucking Koslov.

I'm lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, when a knock sounds at my door and instantly go on the defensive.

"What?" I sit up.

"Dinner's ready," Mikhail states.

"Let me guess, is it a slice of bread and a glass of water this time?"

"You're not in a fucking prison, Lucia."

"You sure about that, Koslov?"

The door flies open and instead of finding Mikhail holding a tray of food, he's empty- handed.

I frown, climbing to my feet, hands on my hips. "So, you're fucking starving me now?"

Mikhail's dark eyes flash, but despite his irritation he still can't help but trail his eyes over me before staring me down once more.

I will say, I admire the man's willpower. Not many would be able to look away from this little silky two piece. The shorts barely cover my ass, and the thin spaghetti straps of the top seem to have trouble staying up.

"Get dressed. We're eating at the table," he orders.

I frown, glancing down at myself. "I am dressed."

"Lucia." Mikhail's jaw flexes.

"Not everyone has to be like you, Mikhail, and wear full on suits every minute of the day. Besides, it's not like I'm going anywhere anyway, so what's the point?"

"I'm not wearing a suit."

I take in his black shirt and pants, trying not to picture what's underneath.

"Semantics." I wave a hand. "But if you're so offended by a little skin, then so be it. Whatever my captor wants, he gets."

I take my time sorting through my clothes until I find a pair of black leggings and a pale blue sweater.

"Am I allowed to change in my bathroom, or do you need to supervise that too?"

Mikhail's answering glare has a smirk tugging at my lips.

Once I'm appropriately dressed, I follow Mikhail down the stairs and into the kitchen to find the place transformed.

"What's this for?" I eye the candles and the bottle of wine on the table. There's even a single red rose in the center .

"It's dinner." He stalks over to the stove where a pot is simmering away.

"I can see that. Do you go to this effort every night, or is this Mikhail talk for ‘I'm sorry'?"

Mikhail sighs, turning around to lean against the counter as he looks at me.

"I might have been a bit hard on you."

"A bit…" I shake my head. "You locked me in my room."

"I wouldn't have to if you did as you are told. It's for your own good."

"You actually expect me to believe that?"

"Yes."

"You're unbelievable."

"Can we please just sit and enjoy the meal without trying to tear each other's throats out?"

"I don't know, can we?"

"Just sit, please ."

I don't want to, but my stomach growls as I catch a waft of whatever it is that Mikhail's cooked, and I bite back a moan. It smells incredible .

So, I decide I can continue to be pissed at him once my belly is full.

Taking a seat at the table, I watch Mikhail as he gets two bowls out of the cupboard and starts to dish up the food.

He looks so domestic, it's hard to believe that this is the same man who killed two guys without a second thought.

It makes me wonder what else he's hiding behind his cold exterior.

He sets down a bowl of shrimp pasta in front of me before taking a seat and pouring us both a glass of wine.

I pick up my fork and tucking in, biting into one of the garlic shrimp. "Oh my god ," I moan. "I can't believe you made this. "

He shrugs. "It's nothing fancy."

I bite the inside of my cheek as I watch Mikhail take a bite of his food.

He went to all this trouble to make me dinner.

I should stay mad at him, considering he literally locked me up, but there's just something about a hot man making me food that has my body tingling in a way that is highly inappropriate for the dinner table.

"You know, it's going to take a hell of a lot more than a home-cooked meal to get me to forgive you for doing this."

"I don't need you to forgive me, Lucia." He glances up at me under his dark lashes. "I shouldn't have to apologize for trying to keep you safe."

"You are just like my father," I reach for my wine.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You really shouldn't."

We go back to eating in silence, but I can't stop myself from sneaking glances at Mikhail every few minutes.

He seems so content in the quiet, lost in his own thoughts, that I don't want to disturb him.

But I hate silence. It literally makes my skin crawl.

So, seeing as Mikhail insisted on having dinner with me, that means he has to endure my endless chatter.

"What would you be doing if I wasn't here?" I ask after devouring almost half my plate in one go.

Mikhail takes a sip of wine. "I'd probably still be at the office. I tend to stay late most days."

I wonder if that's because he doesn't like coming home to an empty house. It must get pretty lonely…

"Okay. Well, what about on days when you don't?"

"Nothing much."

"Oh, come on , give me something, Koslov. Thaw some of that icy exterior. "

"Fine." He sets his wine glass down and rests his forearms on the table. "I like watching old movies."

"Oh, yeah? Like what?" I set down my fork and pick up my wine.

"Psycho, Citizen Kane, the original King Kong."

"All solid choices."

"You've seen them?" His eyebrows lift.

"Of course! My father and I used to watch films like that all the time when I was a kid. It was sort of a tradition."

"Was?"

"My father's a very busy man these days."

Something like pity flickers in Mikhail's eyes, but I shrug it off.

I'm not a kid anymore, though it seems Papa has forgotten that seeing as he's insisting on me having a babysitter.

"What one's do you like?" Mikhail asks.

"My all-time favorite would be Gigi, then probably Roman Holiday. Oh, and Bride of Frankenstein."

"That's an odd combination of favorites."

I shrug, a smile tugging at my lips at the deep rumble of his laugh.

"What's your secret favorite?"

"Um, probably any of the early James Bond films with Sean Connery."

"No, that's your manly answer."

"Excuse me?"

"I want your real answer."

Mikhail frowns. "That is my real answer."

"Mikhail…"

"Fine." He rolls his eyes. "I love Casablanca."

"Hah, I knew it!" I clap my hands. "Mikhail Koslov, are you a secret rom com whore? "

"Definitely not." A soft pink blush creeps up his neck. "And Casablanca is not a rom com. It's a romantic drama."

"Are you seriously defending yourself right now?"

"Just stating the facts."

"And the fact is, Mikhail Koslov is a big ol' softie!"

"Just eat your dinner," he mutters, though his lips twitch.

Have I actually got something in common with Mikhail Koslov?

"Come with me," Mikhail says once we've finished our meal.

"Are you going to lock me up in my room again?" I ask as he leads me out of the kitchen.

"That depends." He turns around to face me.

I almost walk straight into his chest, but he puts his hands on my shoulders to steady me.

My breath hitches at his touch.

His hands are so warm and strong, and I know exactly how good they feel when they're gripping my ass…

"On what?" I ask a little breathlessly.

"On if I can trust you, Lucia."

"You can trust me Mikhail. I've learned my lesson."

He studies me for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing as he stares into mine.

I try my best to look innocent, but when he's looking at me like that, there's nothing innocent about what's going on in my head.

When it comes to Mikhail Koslov, I've already shown that I can't trust myself.

"Fine. But don't mess with me, Lucia. Under no circumstances are you to leave this house."

"I'll be on my best behavior." And as much as I mean it now, I know this is a promise I can't keep for long .

Mikhail leads us down a flight of stairs into what I assume is a basement, but instead he's converted it into his private movie theater.

"This has been here the whole time?" I stare around the room.

A huge projector screen covers the back wall, and a massive couch takes up the center of the room.

"I told you, I like movies."

"You're an ass." I huff, swatting at his chest.

"There's candy and soda in the cabinets over there so help yourself while I set up the movie."

I know we just had dinner, but I'm never one to deny candy and soda.

"Why couldn't you have locked me in here?" I open up the cabinet and survey the candy options.

I help myself to a packet of peach rings as well as some M3

I haven't heard from Macy, or Kara for that matter, in weeks.

Macy's message should make me excited, but instead, I just feel hollow.

The only time I ever seem to hear from them is when they want something from me.

I used to think it was because I'm so fun to be around, but in reality, they're only hanging out with me because of the free drinks and exclusive entry to the VIP sections of New York's most exclusive clubs.

And as expected, when I reply saying that I can't come, Macy goes radio silent.

I toss my phone aside and stare up at the ceiling, contemplating my life.

Ever since it happened, all I've ever wanted was to just live my life to the fullest and have fun while I'm at it. But now, I'm starting to wonder if that is what life is about.

Is this how I want everyone to see me? As nothing more than an irresponsible party girl? A spoiled brat like Mikhail calls me?

I have no intention of turning into Mikhail, but perhaps I need to have a bit more focus, a direction to head in.

The only problem is, I don't know what direction to take.

I shake my head. "I'm having a midlife crisis at twenty-one."

My life was great. Not perfect, but really fucking close to it.

But since I met Mikhail, everything's been turned upside down, and I can't seem to work out which way is up.