Chapter 5 - Boris

I pace back and forth as Viktor works on the Frenchman, who has, surprisingly, not let a single thing slip about what Allard is up to. Either he doesn't know, or Allard has truly done a good job of training his men. Either way, it's endlessly frustrating to me.

"It was a wrong move, brother," I say, running my hand over my chin. "I think we're just further alerting Allard to our movements. I'd wanted to catch him by surprise—how am I going to get the real Olive now? I need his daughter if I want to hurt him."

"You're still going on about that?" Viktor laughs, pausing in his careful work on the man's hand to turn to me. "You can't marry more than one woman at once, brother, as much as you might like to."

"Well, I obviously don't intend to keep this marriage," I mutter, thinking about what Fiona said at the chapel. It's not a real marriage, anyway. She signed Olive's name, which means none of the paperwork will go through, which means I'm technically married to nobody. But if Viktor didn't hear that, I'm not going to repeat it. I don't need to drive home the truth of my mistakes to my brothers.

"I know you're trying to follow in Kervyn's footsteps," Viktor says, grinning as the guy in the chair grunts in pain, "but if I'm being frank, kidnapping a woman and forcing her to marry you isn't exactly an admirable action—as if forcing a woman against her will isn't what every other man does. If you want to do something truly different, you have a woman wanting you. Seducing Olive and making her desperate for you would be a far more interesting way to take what the man loves most."

I think about that—about the idea that by forcing a woman to marry you, you're just showing that you wouldn't be enough for her without the parameters of a forced marriage. I shake the thought away—Penelope is the most ruthless Bratva queen we have ever seen, and she came from one of these arrangements.

But she and Kervyn had also spent time together before the forced marriage, so maybe that makes things different.

"I guess you don't value your limbs, my friend," Viktor says, grabbing a bone saw from the table and spinning around, nearing the man in the chair. At the sight of the spinning blade, the man struggles against his bindings, desperately trying to get away, but there's nowhere for him to go. I watch, fascinated, as, instead of just telling us what we want to know, the man screams through his gag as Viktor places the blade against the soft flesh of his pointer finger, applying pressure until blood starts to spatter against the walls and Viktor's plastic face mask.

" Disgusting !" I call, turning my head. Viktor has always had a certain psychotic streak to him, taking on the parts of torture that even our other brothers aren't interested in. Punch a guy, knock him around, threaten his family—that's one thing. But Viktor is the kind of man who likes to rip out a man's fingernails, one by one, or place toothpicks under his toenails, wedging them in further with each minute the man refuses to tell us what we want to know.

I hear the tiny thunk of the finger hitting the floor and watch as Viktor grabs a blowtorch, cauterizing the wound carefully so it won't become infected. The care with which he treats wounds must be infuriating to his victims, who are likely begging for death by the time Viktor has the bone saw out.

Right as I'm about to tell Viktor that it's enough, that he doesn't need to take another finger at this moment, I hear the tiniest creak of movement from outside the room, in the hallway. Viktor must hear it, too, because he goes completely still, holding the blow torch up with one hand.

Slowly, moving as carefully as I can, I round the corner, catching a glimpse of a white sneaker moving quickly up the stairs. The housekeeping staff know better than to come into the basement—we have a completely different set of cleaning staff for the kinds of messes that happen down here.

I know, instinctively, by the way the person moved, that it wasn't a housekeeper running up the steps, desperate not to be caught by us. It was Fiona, being crafty, having found a way to move throughout the house unnoticed. I wonder what happened to the poor housekeeper whose uniform she took, and my heart rate quickens at the thought of her fighting someone and taking them down.

Before I can move toward the steps, Viktor darts past me, running to the base of the steps and moving at breakneck speed after her. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that if he catches her, he will kill her. I take off after him, my muscles burning as I race up the stairs.

I see Fiona, her hand stretching toward the front door. She throws something at Viktor— a knife —and it buries in his thigh, making him cry out in pain. But as he falls to the ground, he gets a hand around her ankle, yanking her to the ground. He reaches down, pulling the knife out of his own flesh and raising it up like he might stab Fiona in her back.

Without thinking, I kick the knife away from him, watching as it skitters across the floor, coming to a stop at the base of an end table. Fiona takes this as an opportunity to kick Viktor in the jaw, which sends a splatter of his blood across the floor.

"Fuck, brother, what the fuck — "

Fiona is getting to her feet, her hand on the door handle, turning it, her body moving through the threshold. She's laughing, I realize, as she sprints out onto the grass, running as fast as she can.

But those aren't her shoes, I realize, as I run after her. She was much faster in the office when I was chasing her. Now, she's limping a bit, clearly wearing sneakers that are too small for her. When I catch her, I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her back, sucking in a breath when her back presses firmly against me.

We stand like that for a moment, breathing hard, her back pressed to my chest. I can feel myself starting to get hard, the exhilaration of chasing her, of catching her, sending too much blood south.

"Oh no," she breathes, twisting in my arms, those bright eyes shining at me. "You caught me."

***

"You're not touching her," I growl at Viktor, who's limping on his leg, his face murderous.

"Where did she even get a knife?" he growls. "Who the fuck is this—this crazy person you've brought into our home, Boris?"

"That's what you get for not patting her down at the chapel," I chastise, though I wouldn't have thought of doing that, either. What were the chances that a Mafia princess would be armed to the teeth?

My chest tightens when I think of how it felt, dragging Fiona up here to my bedroom, tying her hands to the bedpost, and patting her down. I didn't want to be crass—but it was a good thing I felt every part of her because that's how I found the knife hidden in the padding of her bra.

My neck flushes hot when I think of the way she looked up at me, through her eyelashes, while my hand dipped into her bra, touching the warm skin there, drawing out the knife.

Insane. This entire situation is just insane.

Then, after ensuring she was secure and weapon-free, we'd gone searching for the housekeeper, only to find her wearing Fiona's clothes, tied to the bed, crying and choking on her gag, a tampon on the floor next to her.

That room was in a state, too—the bugs ripped out of their spots, the bookshelf covered with a blanket, shards of glass hidden throughout the space, as though Fiona was ready to slit a throat at any moment.

If I weren't so annoyed with her preparation, I'd be impressed.

"Boris," Viktor says, holding his leg and looking up at me. "Can't you see that we have to get rid of that girl? She's going to fuck us over, one way or another. She's proven that she has the capabilities to escape. And when she does? What kind of information has she already gathered that she can take back to Allard?"

"She is not your concern," I say, holding up a hand in front of his face. "Have you forgotten that we don't kill innocents?"

"You call that innocent? Even if she doesn't know about Allard's mafia, there is something going on with that girl. You found a knife in her bra? We can't risk her getting out and spreading out information. Or selling it."

"We do not kill innocents," I say, shaking my head. "And, if you ever lay a hand on her again, there will be consequences."

"Can you hear yourself right now, Boris? I'm starting to think the blow you took to your head when you were taking this woman has knocked your brain loose."

"Focus on yourself, Viktor. Ask Roman to help you if you can't carry on with the questioning yourself. But Fiona is my problem to deal with—do you understand? Make it clear to the rest of the men that nobody is touch a single hair on her head. Or there will be hell to pay. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Viktor says through gritted teeth. "Absolutely crystal clear."

I watch my brother limp down the hallway and hear him muttering something about how insane I'm being. It doesn't matter what he thinks of my choices. All that matters is that he obeys my commands, which I believe he will do.

Viktor has been reckless in the past, just like with this move, kidnapping Allard's lackey, but I've made myself clear about Fiona. Laying a hand on her would be a direct violation of my orders. I decide that I'll have a conversation with all my brothers—warn them that Fiona can be tricky but that she isn't to be harmed by anyone.

I take a deep breath and turn into the room, rearing back when I see Fiona's bindings hanging loosely from the bed where I had her.

"You should really double knot," she says, and I whirl around, seeing her sitting in one of the armchairs on the other side of the room. She has her feet over the arm of the chair, a book in her lap, and a red sucker in her hand like it's the most casual thing in the world that she got out of her bindings and is sitting in the chair right now. "I'm starting to think you're not taking me seriously, Bor-y Wor-y."

"Don't call me that. And where did you get that candy?"

"But you're my husband! Shouldn't I get to have a pet name for you?"

"No."

She smiles at me, running sucker over her tongue. My stomach clenches at the sight of her, my body urging me to be nearer to her, but I push that thought away.

Dealing with Fiona Chase is going to be a lot more difficult than I thought.