But it’s locked. I frown, yanking at the doorknob. I rattle it, glaring at the knob that won’t budge. Eventually, I start to pound on the door, yelling. I can hear someone on the other side, too.
“Hey! Hey! Open the fucking door!”
I hear the sound of a phone being dialed, then a masculine grunt and a few words in Russian. The man goes quiet, and I start pounding again.
“Hey! Open this door!”
The man is talking again in Russian. But this time, I hear a woman’s voice too. The lock clicks open. I step back as the door swings open, blinking in surprise when it’s Nina who steps in.
“Yes?” she says testily.
“What?”
“Yes, what is it you need?”
I frown. “I need to not be locked in my rooms. I was going to go for a walk.”
She looks at me impassively. “What do you need? I’ll have it sent up—”
“I don’t need anything to be brought up to me. I’m not a princess locked in a freaking tower.”
She smirks. But I just glare back.
“I want to go for a walk.”
“Are your quarters not large enough for you?” she says sarcastically.
“Guess not,” I snap back.
Nina sighs. “Well, I’m sorry, but you’ll need to stay in your quarters.”
“Says who!?”
She shrugs “Mr. Komarov says so. While he’s gone, you’re to stay in your quarters.”
I gape at her. “That’s insane!”
She shrugs again. “Mr. Komarov was quite clear in his instructions.”
“What am I, a prisoner?” I blurt.
Nina smiles. “Ms. Murray, what would have given you the impression that you were not a prisoner here?” I glare at her furiously. But she doesn’t seem phased. “Well, if you do need something brought up, just let your guard know through the door.”
She turns smartly on her heel to walk out.
“You know it’s not my freaking fault if my being here throws a wrench in your little crush on your boss,” I spit at her back. Nina freezes. “I didn’t exactly ask to come here, you know.”
Slowly, she turns to look at me with amusement. “My what?”
“Your crush, or whatever your freaking story is with Viktor. I don’t care, Nina. I’m not trying to get in the way of anything, okay?”
“Ms. Murray—”
“You very clearly hate me for being close to him or stepping on whatever history you have with him. But if you could lose the attitude about something I have zero fucking choice in, I’d really appreciate it, got it?!”
She looks at me, her smile widening. Slowly, she starts to laugh softly. My temper flares as I glare at her.
“Oh, that’s funny to you?”
“Yes,” she smiles, chuckling softly. “It’s amusing to me how little you understand about what’s going. Now, if there’s nothing else, I have my pathetic, jaded little ‘crush’ on my boss to get back to.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “I haven’t quiet finished writing ‘Mrs Nina Komarov’ on my schoolbooks yet, you know.”
She gives me a sarcastic sneer, whirls on her heel, and leaves. The door closes and locks behind her, and my anger throbs. I hiss furiously and whirl to stomp across my quarters. I angrily sit at the vanity I was using as a desk before. I grab a legal pad and a pen, and I start to write.
I don’t really know what it is I think I’m doing. But I start to write out detailed accounts of everything I’ve seen at Viktor’s house, and what I’ve overheard since being taken by him. It’s not much, but it feels like I’m doing something. Maybe it feels like I’m taking out insurance or something.
I list the weapons I’ve seen around his house that I’m sure are illegal. I detail my own captivity, and how I’m not allowed to leave my own room, under guard. I write about Viktor’s land deal with a known criminal, both of them working through shady shell companies. I even detail how Viktor was using me—a captive, and not a real attorney—to leverage Joey Drucci with their arrangement.
I know what Viktor’s told me the property is for. And he was even fairly convincing about it. But the more I think on it, the more I realize how bullshit it is. There’s no way that man is opening a freaking home for lost children or whatever on that property. It just doesn’t add up. Not the utter fortune it would take to open something that will most certainly lose, not make, money. Nor does the idea of a man as ruthlessly vicious as Viktor Komarov building something so selflessly giving.
I go back to the paperwork for the land and the condemned factory that sits on it. I look at trucking routes nearby, and its access to the airport and lake ports. I don’t have proof, but I have enough business paperwork and past accusations against Viktor to put together some ideas. Under what I’ve already written, I list my thoughts on what he most likely is using the property for—gun trafficking, possibly a narcotics distribution center.
When I’m done, I sit back and glare at what I’ve written. I’m still angry, but it feels good to get that all out. It’s like insta-therapy. As good as he felt earlier, and as much as he made me want to throw myself at him, he’s still what he is. He may have made me feel things I’ve never felt before, not even with just myself. But he’s still a monster. He’s still a merciless, ruthless Bratva kingpin.
I end up shoving the garbage I’ve written into a drawer of the vanity. I walk over to the bed and throw myself across it. I’m still feeling pissed and confused. So I pick up my phone and call Zoey. I know damn well someone—maybe even Nina herself—is listening in on my conversation. But I don’t care. I just need someone to talk to who isn’t part of my imprisonment.
“Hey, girl!”
I smile. “Hey yourself.”
“So, really,
