Chapter 19

When I wake up, I see I've got two missed video calls from Drake. My head feels groggy, and my mouth is dry. The room is dark, and the sun is setting, making me feel disoriented as I swipe up on my phone and call Drake back. As the call rings, I reach for the bedside table, where a glass of water awaits me. There's a note, too.

I'll be in the computer room when you wake up, beautiful.

A smile spreads my lips widely across my face, but when Drake answers the phone, the smile drops away, and I suddenly feel dead inside. Drake looks terrified, almost shell-shocked, like he's on the verge of a breakdown.

"Drake?" I say, my voice breaking as I lean forward to get a better look at him. "Are you okay?"

"Dad went nuts earlier," he says quietly. It's his matter-of-fact tone that hurts me the most. "He was talking about this party, this pledge thing …" Drake shivers, then runs a hand through his hair in a world-weary way no ten-year-old should ever have to. "He said if it goes bad …"

"What?" I ask.

Drake shakes his head.

"Tell me."

"He said it doesn't matter if I'm the heir. He said …"

Drake lets out a sob and then tries to push it away, but he can't. Soon, he's fully crying, tearing a hole of guilt right through my middle. There's nothing I can do except murmur words, which are supposed to be comforting. Finally, he gets himself under control, making heart-wrenching shuddering noises.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"You don't have to be," I tell him, my voice cracking.

"What's happening at this party? Why is it such a big deal?"

My new boyfriend is going to kill our dad.

"I'm not sure exactly," I tell him, "but we'll be together soon, Drake. Soon, you'll never have to see Dad again."

I observe him, wishing my phone screen was bigger, and the picture was higher quality so I could get every detail of my baby brother. "Good," Drake says after a pause.

"You'd be okay with that?"

"Dad's not a good person, is he?" Drake says, a note of unsure hope entering his voice toward the end as though he wishes to change this fact.

"No, he's not."

"I wish it were just us," Drake says. "You and me and … and somebody to keep us safe until I'm big enough."

"Then you'll keep us safe, huh, champ?"

He frowns seriously as though my lighthearted tone is an insult. "I will," he says seriously. "I gotta go. Dad's saying we're going to have a big dinner tonight. He wants me to wear a suit. I have to sit there and be the prince. If I were really the boss, everything would be better! Love you, sis."

"I love you too?—"

He ends the call. Right at the end, I think he's about to burst into tears again. I try to call him back, but he rejects it and sends me a message. I'm good. Speak soon.

Sighing, I decide to take a quick shower. Afterward, I head to the computer room. Mikhail is sitting at his terminal, typing quickly with my headphones in. I walk over quietly, loving how intensely focused he looks and how his fingers speed across the keys. Then I notice the small bandage on his arm.

Reaching down gently, I touch his arm.

Suddenly, he's on his feet. He spins to me with fury in his eyes, looking ready to kill whoever's disturbed him. When he sees it's me, the anger drains away. "Sorry," he says quickly, touching my hand as his headphones clatter to the floor.

"It's fine. I shouldn't have snuck up on you. I was just wondering what happened to your arm?"

Mikhail sighs. "Dimitri asked me to make a blood promise before he told me something."

"Promising what?" I ask.

"Not to repeat what he told me."

I nod. "Okay. I understand. Dad's men often made promises in the old way. You can't say anything unless you want to be shamed in the Bratva for the rest of your life."

He grinds his teeth from side to side. I wonder if he even knows he's doing it. "That's true, but it doesn't make it any easier. You deserve to know everything."

"Wait, this involves me?"

Mikhail bites down, clenching his fists. Every inch of him looks like he wants to tell me the truth. I can feel it burning from him, this desire to share everything with me.

"You can't say," I murmur a moment later.

"It's like my throat closes up if I think about telling you. This Bratva crap runs deep."

"It's okay," I say, but I can't hide the bitterness from my voice. "I'm used to living in the dark."

Turning away, I walk toward the door, the sound of Drake crying bouncing around my head, the sight of the tears scouring down his cheeks, and the agony in his voice. It's just too much pain for somebody so young and vulnerable.

Mikhail grabs my hand and spins me toward him. "This will be over soon at the pledge. It'll be done. Your dad will be done. Just give me until then."

"I just got off a video call with Drake," I tell him, snatching my hand away, even if it makes me feel like a real bitch. "He was crying his eyes out. He wouldn't say what Dad threatened him with, but apparently, if the pledge goes bad, Drake will pay the price."

"That will not happen."

Mikhail grabs my hips, clearly meaning to pull me closer to him, but with a secret lurking between us and the threat hanging over my brother, I can't let myself get too close to him. Instincts deep inside me scream to be closer, to melt the space between us, but the guilt is too fierce. Suspicion buzzes through me.

"Maybe we should cool off until after the pledge." This is one of the hardest things I've ever said. But what if I give myself to Mikhail, sink into the desire like I desperately want and need to, and then it all goes wrong? What if something terrible happens to Drake while I'm indulging in the steamy pleasure?

Mikhail steps back, his lips curving into a slightly offended frown. "You don't want to cool off."

I raise my hand, almost slamming it against his chest so he can feel the tension and the pain bubbling up inside of me. I want to collapse into him so badly and feel his powerful heartbeat. It'll mean sinking deeply into his embrace, savoring his strength and warmth. Meanwhile, my baby brother is paraded at some Petrov party, terrified of what our father might do next.

Lowering my hand, I say, "I can't think about anything else, just Drake. He's priority number one."

"Soon," my man says, taking my hands, "he will be safe. You'll see."

"That's part of the secret plan, is it?" I say bitterly, turning away.

As I stride quickly down the hallway, I hate myself, hate how petty I'm being. It's almost like I can't control it. The same instinct that gripped me so many times growing up grabs hold of me now.

When I walk into the bedroom, Mikhail storms in right after me. I turn, and I'm about to tell him to get out of here, but then he grabs me and kisses me so hard, so forcefully, with so much passion. I can't tell him to leave me alone. I can't even think of it. All I can do is let the pleasure take over.

He lifts me off my feet and sets me down on some drawers, pushing against me, letting me feel the heat. Then he stops himself and takes a small step back.

"You're right," he says huskily. "We shouldn't … until I've kept my promise, which I will keep."

"If you don't …" I whisper.

"Say it," he says fiercely, staring at me like he owns me, like he'd kill anybody who tried to take me from him.

"… this is over," I whisper, not meaning it, knowing I could never end things with him. The first time I saw him and thought he was my husband-to-be, I knew there was no way I would ever end this. There's no way out for us. If it weren't for the chance of everything going wrong in the most gruesome way, I wouldn't even be looking for one.

"Good," he growls.

"Good?"

"Now I have something to aim for. Keep my promise, and I'll get the most beautiful, sexiest, kindest, bravest, and talented woman I've ever known. Break it and …"

"Everything turns to ash," I whisper, not caring how melodramatic it sounds.

He turns away. "I have to go. Until the pledge, we should try to keep our distance."

I swallow, knowing it will be difficult, but I bite down when my instinct tries to get me to yell after him and beg him to stay. Over and over, I repeat in my head, I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

I only wish it sounded true.

I avoid Mikhail in the day-and-a-half run-up to the party by mainly staying in my room and tinkering with my laptop. It feels like Mikhail intentionally stays away from this entire side of the house. One time, I watched him shooting hoops at midday. He looked up and saw me standing in the window. Even with the distance separating us, I could see the tension gripping him; like any second, he could snap.

Now, as I get ready for the party—wearing my ugliest dress because screw getting all fancy for Dad—I think about this morning, the first time Mikhail and I have spoken since our steamy kiss on the drawers.

"Your dad's man has just been handed over to the police," Mikhail told me, standing a couple feet back from the bedroom door as though he was afraid of what he would do. "He'll be going to prison for a long, long time. I thought you'd want to know."

"Thank you," I whispered, wishing he'd kiss me even as I prayed for him not to.

After getting dressed and brushing my hair, I look at myself in the mirror. I'm filled with anger and resentment toward my father, pain for my baby brother, curiosity about Mikhail's secret plan, and ugly, mocking visions of how everything could go very wrong very fast.

"Mila?" Ania calls, knocking on my door.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to come hang with me and Lia before the party?"

I almost tell her no. I'm in a sour mood, but I'll have to try.

"Sure," I reply, walking over to the door.

Ania looks gorgeous in her dress like a girl would wear to prom. We leave the house together and walk across to the other one, finding Lia in some party prep room with several vanity units. Both look so glamorous, making me feel frumpy in my plain dress.

I have to keep reminding myself that I'm not dressing up for Dad.

Ania sits at one of the units. "I hate parties," she says, dabbing her face.

"It should be okay," Lia says, sitting at another unit.

I'm on the couch, staring at the floor, picking my fingernails, and trying not to think about all the nasty things that could happen to my innocent baby brother.

"Mila, why don't you wear something beautiful?" Ania says, and I almost snap at her. "You're beautiful, so you might as well."

I hope she doesn't need a response, but then I notice her watching me in the reflection. "I don't want to look pretty tonight."

Lia speaks in a low voice. "Mila, I can ask Dimitri to?—"

I don't mean to, but I snap, "You think this is about Dimitri?"

"Well, maybe you can ask Mikhail?—"

This is becoming too much. As I jump to my feet, I feel like a brat, but I can't talk or even think about Mikhail. Between obsessing over my brother and feeling a gravitational pull toward Mikhail, my nerves are way too raw for this. "Just leave it, okay?"

"Where are you going?" Ania asks as I make for the door.

I don't mean to, but my voice comes out harsh. "Waiting outside. Is that okay with you?"

Walking quickly through the house, I hurry across the compound, my heart pounding in my ears. I said I was going to wait outside, but I don't want the eyes of the guards on me. Instead, I go back to my room.

Drake has sent me a message. I've got a way to stop the party!

What do you mean?I write back.

After a moment, he sends me another message, just an emoji. It's a little image of a bomb.