Chapter 9

It's hard to be mentally present when Dimitri comes home. Mikhail and I return to the office; our date will have to take a raincheck. That's where we are when Dimitri joins us. He quizzes us about our work and seems suspicious that I'm helping. Mikhail tells him, "She knows what she's doing," and that's enough to make me sparkle like a na?ve idiot.

I stare hard at the computer terminal, not letting myself turn and look at Mikhail. I know I won't be able to stop. I'll keep gazing and gazing like a loon. Something happened to us in the bedroom, something magical. It was like we were fusing, like the lust was turning into something else.

When I explain how we can use the phone records of the dead Serbian attacker—Dimitri killed one of the men sent after him—to find the address of the Sokolov guard who has Serbian connections when we see he's not listed, Mikhail makes a soft, proud noise that has me wishing we were alone.

Dimitri seems suspicious, though. "He'll use a burner," he says of the Sokolov guard.

"If he's used the same one, we can still track it," I say, nerves twisting in my belly. It's like, any second, Dimitri will sense what his brother and I did. It probably says a lot about this passion moving through me. The steaminess seems more important than the attack on Dimitri. That's not fair, is it?

"How?" Dimitri says.

"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." The whole time I speak, I stare hard at the screen, not letting myself turn and see the pride in Mikhail's eyes. That would melt me.

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

He cuts off when his cell phone rings.

"What's wrong?" Mikhail says.

"It's Nikolai."

I suck in a breath, turning in the computer chair, looking at Mikhail to see savage protection draping every inch of him. Then I quickly turn to Dimitri, not wanting to make things obvious. Dad's calling Dimitri after the attack. Did Dad arrange the attack? It's not like he's above that sort of thing.

It's so difficult not to think about all the evil things my father has done and all the pain he has caused. Dimitri says, "What a nice surprise." Yet nothing could be further from the truth. There's nothing nice about Dad. I don't have any of that confusion that seems to grip the Sokolovs about their father.

"Generally speaking?" Dimitri goes on. "I'm fine."

Dad says something, and then Dimitri glances at me with gritted teeth. I wonder if Dad's talking about the wedding, about selling me so he can stake a claim to Vegas and start carving up more business, more people, and more pain to fill his bank vaults just a little more. "We're still working out some details. You'll hear from me soon."

There's another pause, and then Dimitri says, "Do you want to speak to her?"

I shake my head urgently, my heart suddenly picking up speed when I think about speaking with that man, but I should. I need to see how Drake is doing. Dad would lie anyway, even if Drake were suffering more than he ever has. Dad would find a way to twist it, justify it, and make it seem like the only option. That's his specialty, after all.

Dimitri hangs up, then asks Mikhail, "We good to go?"

"We'll keep working."

"Good. I'll call the cops. Nikolai better hope these breadcrumbs don't lead back to him."

Dimitri looks at me like he's about to say sorry. "I hope they do lead to him," I say.

If Dad has tried to hurt the Sokolovs, it would give them justification to take Dad out. I harden my heart when I think about that. I don't need to let any silly thoughts interfere, like the ridiculous prospect that Dad would somehow develop a conscience or the ability to love. That hasn't happened yet, and I have no reason to believe it ever will.

Dimitri turns to leave the room, but before he does, he turns back and says, "Mila, we're going to need to eat a meal together."

I cringe. The last thing I want to do is sit down for a meal with the man my dad is forcing me to marry—a man who doesn't want or love me, not like … No, I can't think like that. I know this isn't Dimitri's fault, but I can't help but hate him a little, even though it's irrational. If Dad does have Sokolov men on his side, it doesn't hurt to pretend we are following his plan.

Mikhail looks pissed at his brother's suggestion even though he knows this isn't something either of us relishes. We all have to play the game if we want to win.

"Soon," Dimitri goes on before I can respond. "In fact, now would be good. I'll make arrangements. Very loud arrangements."

I almost say no out of anger. Why do I always have to bend for my dad's wishes? Then I think about Drake and nod. He is the only reason I need to think about when it comes to this marriage.

"I want to do whatever it takes, whatever I can, to help us all." In short, whatever it takes to make sure we don't have to go through with this sham of a marriage. I don't have to be a mind reader to grasp that he hates this situation as much as I do.

"Meet me in the dining room in thirty minutes," he says before leaving for real this time.

Mikhail stands in the doorway, watching him go. Then he walks over to me and places his hand on my arm.

"I'm fine," I tell him.

"You don't have to be," Mikhail says darkly, tilting his head as he looks down at me as though I'm a piece of code he's struggling to make sense of. "You don't have to pretend."

"I'm not pretending."

He kneels beside me, making me think of silly things about the future, about where this could lead. He could kneel, open a ring box, and make me his wife. Yet how could that ever happen, considering who I am? I need to always think of my brother above everything else.

"Mila, what happened with your father?" Mikhail glances at the door again—a reminder we can't pursue this, despite how badly we both want to—and then wraps his arms around me. When he pulls me in for a hug, I press my face against his chest, not meaning to, but it's like all the pain is suddenly bursting out.

"He's just not a good man."

"What did he do?"

I grab Mikhail's shirt and lean back, staring up at him, only realizing I'm crying when the world begins to blur. "Please."

Mikhail doesn't have to ask what I mean when I say please. He knows I'm asking him not to ask me anything else. He knows it's the only way I can deal with this.

"Okay, Mila," he says, sighing. "I'll leave it be for now."

I nod, wiping my cheeks. "We need to make a connection between the attackers and … and the Petrovs."

Mikhail gives me a meaningful look as if saying, So you don't consider yourself a Petrov? Drake changed his name and claimed a different identity. Maybe I can do the same.

"Let's get cracking while Dimitri sets up this lunch," Mikhail murmurs, walking to his computer terminal. His tight posture tells me how difficult it is to leave me sitting here with the emotions locked away inside instead of letting him help me, but the last thing I want to talk about is my impending marriage or my dad. When his phone vibrates, Mikhail says, "Dimitri says it's probably best if you change to make this lunch seen more real. He says he wants us all to have dinner together."

"All?"

"You, Ania, me … and Lia."

"Lia … his girlfriend? The woman he was attacked with?"

"Yes," Mikhail says.

"Do I need to be there?"

"Why wouldn't you want to be?"

At Mikhail's tight, almost angry tone, I turn and look at him. He's staring at me almost like he's afraid, which is strange for a man as huge and powerful as Mikhail Sokolov. Then it hits me. Part of me thinks he's jealous of his brother, a silly part of me.

"I don't want to marry your brother, Mikhail," I snap, practically stomping out of the room.

I wait until the last second until I can't put it off anymore and walk down to the dining room set up for our late lunch. I find it unnecessary to eat this lavish lunch when we're all going to have dinner together, but I guess the more they see Dimitri and me interacting, the better.

"I made sure to take a long route here," I say as soon as I walk through the door. "A lot of people saw me wearing this."

The dress I'm wearing is the last thing I would ever pick for myself: a black silky satin material with a low-cut bodice, and a short flirty skirt. I'm not sure if this is some idea of a joke or if Dad really thinks this will get Dimitri's attention. While unpacking some of my belongings, I found a suitcase I hadn't packed filled with slinky, skintight dresses, and lingerie, courtesy of my father, I'm sure. Who else would do something like this?

I don't catch all of what Dimitri says next. I hear him say, "The food will be here soon."

All I can do is sigh and nod. The sooner we get this show started, the sooner I can return to my room to hide out until dinner rolls around. We can't just sit here in silence, so I might as well get the big stuff out of the way.

"Are you angry that I'm helping Mikhail?"

"No," he grunts. "I'm pissed that any of this is happening."

"You don't want this marriage, do you?" I mutter, unsure what I expect to hear when it's so clearly written on his face.

He chuckles gruffly. "It's that obvious? No offense."

"None taken," I say, not in the least offended he doesn't want to marry me, not when all I can think about is his brother. I take a deep breath and ask my next question. "Is there a way out?"

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

I nod. "Maybe I could come to your bedroom again later?" I mutter. The last thing I want to do is go back to his room, but this time, we would both be in on the plan and most importantly, I wouldn't have to pretend to seduce him. If he's willing to look for a way out of this, I'm more than willing to help by playing my part.

"That's an idea," he says offhandedly.

We talk until we hear Yuri's voice coming down the hallway.

"Don't get your hopes up," he says sternly, just as I hear Yuri's footsteps coming closer, but I'm unsure if he's saying it to himself or me. "We still might have to do this."

"I know," I say, folding my arms across my middle just when I was starting to feel a little hope. I should know I can't dream until I'm sure there's a way out of this.