Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“What does it say?” he asks.
Viktor doesn’t answer Sergei. Instead, he looks down at the crate.
“Take it outside,” he says.
His men hesitate for just a moment.
“Now,” he says, voice low.
“It’s for me,” I say, and every head turns toward me. “I want to see what he sent.”
Viktor’s gaze snaps to my face and his eyes narrow. “No.”
I don’t back down.
“Yes,” I say. “He was bold enough to send something here. We need to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
His jaw tightens. The men look between us, wondering what they should do. We all know that Viktor’s word here is law, but even he doesn’t seem sure now.
“Open it,” he finally says.
Sergei takes a knife and slices through the thin plastics straps. They snap loose with sharp pings. Then he and one of the guards each take one side of the top and begin to lift. I take a step closer, and wish that I had just let Viktor dispose of it.
White fabric fills the inside of the crate. I recognize the dress immediately, of course. It’s the one Mikhail decided for me. According to him, it was the only one that made me look respectable.
It’s a huge ballgown with a flowing skirt covering layers and layers of tulle. The lace and beadwork is exquisite, but it covered all the way up to my neck. I remember feeling like the dress was choking me. Even now, I feel that familiar sensation and want to grab at my throat. Not here, though. Not in front of all these men.
I keep my face composed. I refuse to let anyone see how afraid I actually am.
I stare at the dress and feel my stomach roil again. My hand twitches at my side. I want to grab it and tear it apart. I want to shove it into the mud. I want to wipe the whole idea of it from the world.
I look at Viktor’s men. Their eyes are on me now, cautious and curious, waiting for my reaction. I give them nothing.
“Burn it,” I say.
The words come out flat and controlled. Viktor’s gaze cuts to me, then he looks at his men.
“You heard the woman,” he says authoritatively. “Take it to the trash compactor at the docks and burn it.”
The men close the box and remove it from the entryway. I never want to see it again.
“What did the note say?” I ask Viktor when only he and I are left.
“You know what it said,” he replies, turning on me with the full force of his gaze. “It doesn’t bear repeating.”
I don’t argue with him. If the dress is making me feel this sick, I can’t imagine what the words in that note would do. This is what Mikhail wants. This reaction, precisely, was his aim. Even from far away, he’s trying to control me, to make me afraid and to bend to his will. I could let him win, or I could choose to say enough is enough.
Now doesn’t feel like the moment to be brave, though. Now, I just feel incredibly exhausted. I actually wish I had listened to the guard and stayed upstairs. I turn on my heel without another word and slowly start the climb up, with the guard once again trailing me.
I sit back on my bed and try not to think about the dress or the note. I know it’s no use. I carefully lie down, deliberate with every single movement. I close my eyes for just a moment when I hear a knock on the door.
“Enter,” I answer, annoyed, expecting Viktor has come to check on me.
It isn’t him, though. It’s a guard, and not the same one who was stationed outside my door earlier. In fact, I don’t know this guard. I’m sure I’ve never seen him before. If I were in better shape, I’d sit up quickly and take a defensive stance, but that kind of movement now would cost me.
“Ms. Malenkova,” he says.
I look at him slowly.
“What?” I nearly bark.
He hesitates, then holds something out in his hand. It’s a small, black phone. It looks ancient, but it’s a working cell phone. I haven’t had one in months. My pulse jumps hard enough that I feel it in my ribs and I wince.
“Where did you get that?” I ask.
He swallows. “Mr. Kovalev wanted you to have it,” he answers evasively.
My guard immediately goes up. I should tell him to leave and call Viktor right away. I should call for help. Instead, I decide to handle this myself.
“Who really told you to bring that to me?” I ask, challenging him.
“Please, Ms. Malenkova, just take it.”
I look at him more closely. He’s so young and looks so afraid. He and I both know that Viktor knows nothing about this phone, but he’s willing to lie about it. Someone probably threatened him to bring me this phone. The question is, was it Mikhail or my father?