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)
“You do,” I reply.
“I swear I don’t,” he insists. “I’m not high enough up to know anything. They let me deal with the money and don’t tell me shit.”
“Then call your boss,” I say.
He swallows. “I can’t.”
“You can,” I reply. “You are going to call the person you answer to, and you are going to put it on speaker. If you try anything clever, I am going to shoot you in the head and burn this place to the ground while your customers dance out front.”
His hands shake as he reaches for his phone. He dials.
A voice answers on the second ring, irritated and bored. “What?”
The manager’s voice wobbles. “It’s me.”
“Why are you calling?” the voice snaps.
The manager’s eyes flick to me, and I squeeze his throat slightly as a reminder.
He forces words out. “We have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” the voice asks.
I speak into the phone myself. “The kind where I’m in your club and your manager is about to die.”
Silence.
Then the voice on the other end turns cautious.
“Viktor Kovalev, I presume.”
“Yes,” I say. “You are going to tell me where she is.”
A short laugh, brittle.
“You think I know where Mikhail keeps his fiancé?”
“She is not his,” I reply.
The voice tightens. “You’re in deep, Kovalev. You’re going to get everyone killed.”
As an answer, I shoot the manager in the knee. He screams, loud enough that the music out front almost isn’t enough to cover it. Almost. My men shift to the hallway, weapons up, ready for the sound to draw attention.
I keep the phone close.
“You hear that?” I ask.
The voice on the other end goes quiet.
“Tell me something useful,” I say.
The man on the other end breathes through his nose. “You’re insane.”
“No,” I answer. “I’m motivated.”
24
ANYA
Isit in the chair by the window with a cup of tea I haven’t touched. Morning sickness has made hot liquids the only thing that I can tolerate, but I don’t feel like consuming anything right now. Even the smell makes my stomach roil. I keep the cup in front of me anyway because it gives me something to do with my hands besides clench them.
“Ms. Malenkova,” a female voice says.
I look up to see a young woman standing in the doorway with an iPad in her hand. She’s much younger than the last woman Mikhail hired to handle me. She looks kinder too, though that won’t help her any. He’ll probably kill her in front of me too.
“My name is Dahlia. I’ll be coordinating your wedding this weekend.”
I look up at her in surprise. So, he’s set a date. Probably all of Brooklyn knows by now, including Viktor. He’s made sure I’m the last to find out. I’m surprised he gave me any advance notice at all.
“You have a final dress fitting in an hour. Mr. Grinkov has sent me to get you ready.”
“When is the wedding?” I ask.
“The day after tomorrow,” she answers cheerfully, as if it isn’t strange for a bride not to know when her own wedding is.
“Are we being filmed?” I ask.
Her posture tightens slightly. She hesitates before she says, “There will be cameras at the wedding, yes.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say, turning to look at her. “Are we being filmed right now?”
“I…” she falters. “That’s a strange question, Ms. Malenkova.”
She blinks too quickly, though. I can’t tell if it’s fear of Mikhail or fear of losing her job. Either way, she’s going to play her part masterfully. I can already tell she’s going to do whatever she can to make sure that I don’t ruin this opportunity for her.
She thinks that this is her big chance to prove herself at her big, fancy job. She doesn’t realize that her only function is to eventually be used against me. Mikhail picked a sweet girl this time because he hopes it’ll be harder on me when he eventually threatens to kill her.
I stand slowly, careful with my ribs because the bruising still punishes me when I move too fast. The woman watches me like she’s waiting for me to throw something at her. I don’t. She isn’t the problem. She’s another piece on Mikhail’s board. If I hurt her, I give him an excuse to escalate.
“What does he want me to do?” I ask instead.
Her eyes flick up for half a second, then drop again. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question,” she smiles apologetically.
“Do you understand anything at all?” I ask her icily. “Do you understand who you’re working for? Do you realize that I never consented to marrying him? Can you comprehend that I’m a slave in my own life?”
She has the decency to look flustered.
“I’m just supposed to take you to your fitting,” she squeaks out, suddenly nervous.
I nod once. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” I tell her.
Her lips twitch like she wants to smile, but she doesn’t. She just turns and leaves, and I hear the lock engage again a second later. It shouldn’t make my skin prickle after all this time, but it still does.