Chapter 5

"Hey, buddy," I say, grinning at Drake over the video call.

It's been two days since I tried to give myself to Dimitri—two nights since he made it clear he doesn't want me. I was both thrilled and terrified when I learned he wasn't interested. At least Drake looks happy, smiling at me.

"Hey, sis," he says, beaming. "You okay?"

We talk for five minutes, and then Drake says Dad wants to speak to me. I do my best not to let the fear touch my features. I've spent the last two days not doing much. I work on my computer, eat the food Yuri brings me, and then do more work.

I've barely left my room. Dimitri's been out a lot, and it seems like Mikhail is avoiding me. Once, I walked into the kitchen when he was there. He turned, his lips doing a strange, tight dance. Then he frowned like he wanted nothing more than for me to disappear until he disappeared, quickly leaving the room instead.

Dad has a fake smile when he says hello, eyes gleaming. He lowers his voice, "So?"

That's all he has to say, and I know what he's asking. How did it go with Dimitri? I make myself lie to Dad, even if it floods me with more terror. Lying to him has always felt dangerous. "It went well," I say.

"He was satisfied?"

I feel so gross. "Yeah, he was."

"And since then …"

"We've spent every night together."

"Good." He raises his voice. "Drake, I've changed my mind. You can buy that game!"

"Yay!"

Dad stares at the camera, a wet, insinuating smile spreading across his lips. The message couldn't be more unmistakable. Drake stays happy as long as I keep Dimitri pleased in the run-up to the wedding.

Once Dad hangs up, I go back to getting ready. It's Konstantin Sokolov's funeral this morning. I guess I'm expected to be there so that I can be seen with the Sokolovs.

I wear black clothes, then apply my makeup. I never wear much, but I like the shielded feeling it gives me. I'm halfway through when there's a knock at my door. It's Ania. We've spoken a few times since I've been here. As usual, she's fidgety, her hands constantly busy, her feet shifting.

"We're leaving in twenty," she says.

"Okay," I reply.

Ania turns, pauses, and then turns back. "Can I sit with you while you get ready? I don't want to be alone."

"Sure," I say, smiling, finding her honesty refreshing. Then I realize what I'm doing and quickly wipe the smile away.

She sits on one of the chairs, looking over at me. "Don't worry about smiling, Mila. It's not like he was popular."

"It's not that," I tell her quickly. I know nothing about what Konstantin was like except that nobody seems torn up that he's no longer here. "It was you just now. How straightforward you asked to hang with me."

"Yeah, being straightforward is the best," she murmurs. "Way, way better than trying to figure out these complicated things called human beings."

I laugh and reflect that this is probably my second time since being here. The first was with Mikhail that night when he walked me back to my room. As he stood inches from me, it was like I could feel the heat coming from his half-naked, muscled body. I thought I could feel him wanting me, but then he got distant. He looked sick when I asked if I could help with his work.

"Tell me about it," I say, dabbing on more makeup. "How are you feeling, Ania?"

"It's sort of weird," she replies. "I cried when I heard the news, and this morning, I had a little cry, too. It's not like I had an amazing bond with my dad. Sometimes, I wondered if he even liked me. Sometimes, I didn't have to wonder."

"It's easy to fixate on the good times, right?" I say. "You can think of the one time you both stayed up late watching movies and eating ice cream. Maybe you can forget what happened after or before for a little while."

"Yeah," Ania murmurs, looking at me closely. "I don't want to be rude, but it sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"That's because I am," I tell her. "My dad … He's not a good man. He knows how to mess with your head—my head. He knows how to make me wonder if he could be good."

Ania nods. "Yeah, it's like they're giving you a small preview of the sort of person they might become someday if we just put up with their crap one more day."

"Exactly," I say. "That's it, Ania. I've never heard somebody describe it so well before."

She gives me a sad look, not needing to say anything else. The only reason she's able to describe this so well is because she's lived through it too many times, just like me. Soon, it's time to leave. We head down to the car together. Five vehicles with tinted windows are waiting to leave the property, with various Bratva men inside.

My breath catches when I see Mikhail walking across the lawn toward the cars. He looks stylish in his dark suit. His floppy hair is styled back with some product to have an old-fashioned look, like an actor from the fifties. He doesn't look at me; he keeps walking and climbs into the car.

Ania and I get in the car behind theirs. My hands fidget together in my lap. There's no reason for me to be nervous about this. Well, except that it's just one more day until the wedding bells start ringing. Ania touches my hand. "Not to be a hypocrite, but chill, okay?"

I smile at her. "Yeah, sorry."

"This is a lot to take in, right? All this change. All this responsibility."

"That's an understatement," I say, nodding. "But today isn't about that."

I try not to look at Mikhail during the service, but it isn't easy. We're standing right across from each other. He's got a tortured, confused look on his face as if he doesn't know how to feel. The sun blazes down, catching the uncertainty in his eyes, the twist of insecurity in his lips. I want to go to him so badly and offer comfort. Instead, I stand with my head slightly bowed, pretending I'm not watching him.

Afterward, we return to the cars and head through the city to the function hall where the wake is held. At least a hundred people are here, with tall ceilings and a somber atmosphere. Mikhail, Ania, and Dimitri all sit at a table near the front, accepting condolences and occasional envelopes, presumably of cash. That's what happened at the other Bratva funerals I've been to, anyway.

Thankfully, it's only the Vegas Bratva, so I don't have to put on a show for Dad. Though, if there are spies in the Sokolovs, then word might get back to him. But what can Dad expect from me? Does he want me to seduce Dimitri at his father's funeral or something? Knowing Dad, I probably shouldn't let myself be surprised by thoughts like that.

I can't help but watch Mikhail when he stands up and leaves the room. He walks fast, with broad, powerful shoulders pulled back, his hands curled into fists at his sides. Maybe this is all getting too much for him.

Since I'm sitting alone, I don't need to excuse myself. Yet the instinct is still there, a result of the times Dad scolded me for being rude and ungrateful when I tried to leave without excusing myself first. I leave the room, walk down the hallway, and find Mikhail leaning against the wall, his hands on his head, his eyes closed.

He's breathing slowly, deeply, his chest rising and falling exaggeratedly in a way that makes me want to place my hand on him. His posture looks tight, angry, and almost ready for violence.

Then, suddenly, he launches himself at the wall. He hits it twice, making a tangled noise of pure pain. His hair comes loose, wild as it hangs down, making him look like some Viking warrior. He turns to me when I gasp, staring through his loose hair. He smooths it back and then tries to laugh, but it sounds forced.

"Mikhail, you're bleeding," I say, rushing over to him. His knuckles are dripping blood.

He holds his hand up and studies it curiously. "Everybody is telling me how sorry they are," he groans. "Everybody is telling me I should miss him. Maybe I've been confused, but hell. I'm not that confused."

He's talking like I'm not here and needs to vent what is eating him up inside. He sounds like he could snap again any second. Maybe he notices how I'm looking at him. He sighs sadly. "I didn't mean to scare you, Mila."

"You didn't scare me," I say softly. "Let's get you cleaned up, at least, okay?"

I reach down and gently take his bleeding hand. When we touch, though, it's like I forget about what I was going to do. It's like he forgets about his pain, too. He wraps his hand around mine, holds me tightly, and stares down intensely.

"Why are you making this so difficult, Mila?" he groans.

"Making what so difficult?" My voice comes out raspy. It's difficult to speak and even more challenging to think. His touch is sending warm pulses of lust and belonging through me.

"Being near you," he growls, then pulls me toward him as he leans down simultaneously.

I'm so, so ready for this kiss. I didn't know how ready I was until time slows down, giving me the space to savor this moment and code it deep into my memory. When our lips touch, he makes the hottest groaning noise. It's asound of pleasure mixed with relief, like he's been waiting for this as hungrily as I have.

I slide my hands up his arms, feeling his muscles through his suit jacket, feeling his muscles against my palm. He turns and gently pushes me against the wall, his body locking me in place, letting me feel his manhood pushing through his pants and against my belly.

"This could end so badly," he growls, breaking off the kiss.

"I know," I whisper.

"Good," he groans, then kisses me again.

We disappear into the pleasure. He presses me even closer to the wall, boxing me in, trapping me. Being trapped by his brother is the last thing I want, but being trapped by him is heaven. He groans, sliding his hand down my body. It's not like this is private. If somebody sees us and reports back to Dad …

Suddenly, he steps back, shuddering all over. His tone lowers to passionate urgency. "Do you have any idea what I'd do to you?" he groans. "Even here, even if being with you is the last thing I should think about, I'd own you, Mila. Every inch."

With that, he turns away, leaving me to stand here with my lips burning with lust, my nipples feeling like they're rubbing with tantalizing friction against my bra. I wait for him to stop and come back to me, but he doesn't. He keeps walking.

I go to the restroom not because I need to but because it gives me a chance to mentally and physically reset after what just happened. When I return to the function room, the condolences have ended. Ania sees me enter and wanders over. "I'm glad that's over," she says, jitterbugging from foot to foot. "Are you okay, Mila? You've gone all pale."

Pale is the last thing I would've expected. I thought my face would be bright red. I'm burning up from the inside, fueled by desire, lust, and something I'm not sure I have words for. Maybe this is an example of my survival instinct telling me to hide how I really feel.

"I'm fine," I say.

Over her shoulder, I can see Mikhail speaking with some other men. He's holding a napkin to his knuckles, dabbing at the blood.

"Stop making this about me," I tell Ania. "I'm here for you, okay?"

Ania lets me lead her to a table and sit her down, and I do my best to focus on our conversation. I do my best not to think about later. Will Mikhail want to pick up where we left off? Should I even be contemplating letting this go further?

Good, he groaned when I told him I knew this could end badly. It's like he doesn't want me caught off guard when this explodes in our faces. But is he ready for what this could lead to when we only just met? Am I?