fasta
(n.) unwavering in devotion to friend or vow or cause
MILA
The next morning, our breakfast “dates” continued. However, the atmosphere couldn’t be tenser if a ticking time bomb sat beside the teapot. I just didn’t know the silence was about to detonate in a way that would make an actual explosive a better alternative.
An edginess flared at the memory of last night. The pressure of Ronan’s body against mine awoke a heat wave beneath my skin that was so hot, I tossed and turned all night in emptiness and confusion. Even now, a restless ache persisted between my legs.
I curled my toes against the marble, knowing I should be ashamed of the feeling—especially since Ronan seemed to have forgotten last night entirely by his apathetic demeanor—but I refused to send myself on another guilt trip.
Instead of the silent maid, another woman served our food, and she was not the docile, invisible type. She could be Kylie Jenner’s blonde twin. I wouldn’t be surprised if the servant’s eyelashes were thickly mascaraed by the celebrity’s makeup line.
Slowly, she set dishes on the table, the clink of each one followed by a glance in Ronan’s direction. He wasn’t doing anything besides scrolling through his phone and running a thoughtful thumb across the scar on his lip.
A few of the maid’s dress buttons were undone, giving a generous glance down her bodice whenever she bent over. And she bent over a lot. I wanted to tell her to have a little self-respect, but I wasn’t sure it would resonate coming from a girl who would have probably had unprotected sex with Ronan on the first date if he’d asked.
I thought he was so busy reporting posts on Instagram he didn’t notice her painfully obvious interest—that is, until his eyes lifted from his phone, caught mine, and flickered with devious amusement.
Ugh.
“Mogu ya predlozhit’ vam chto-nibud’ yeshche?” the maid asked Ronan in a sultry voice. I didn’t need to know Russian to understand she’d just questioned if she could “tempt” him with anything else.
I hated blondes.
With Ronan’s eyes on mine, it couldn’t be clearer he was enjoying every second of this before saying, “Nyet.”
The maid followed his stare to me and finally recognized someone other than Ronan was in the room. She reduced me down to one fell swoop of her eyes. Evidently, my unmanageable hair and floral embroidered shorts romper didn’t exactly scream competition. I bristled at her perusal, but she was already carrying her tray out of the room, casting Ronan a longing glance on the way.
I usually had high respect for blue-collar workers, but that one . . . What a peasant.
“What happened to the other girl?” I asked.
Ronan gave me a look that said it was none of my business. At the thought the quiet servant could have had something to do with poisoning me, my stomach tightened. Ronan killing murderous mobsters was one thing; a meek servant girl, another.
“You didn’t . . . do anything to her, did you?”
His eyes narrowed. “Nyet.”
I guessed that word was all he was going to say this morning. He was becoming worse company than Khaos. The German shepherd growled at me every time I spoke to him and avoided my presence like I was the one who had fleas. I should stop disrupting the animal’s peace, but something behind his tough demeanor felt so lonely it pulled at my own outcast heartstrings. I refused to give up on him.
Even though Albert told me the kitchen was monitored closely now and that my food wouldn’t be salted with poison again, I was still hesitant to eat anything and had survived on Yulia’s crumbs for the past two days. The hesitance was due to the fact Ronan didn’t say a word to reassure me. Considering all his demands I should eat since we met, his silence now made me feel like he didn’t care. Maybe I was being dramatic, but since I’d already started down the path, I was going to own it until the end.
I put on a show of meticulously smearing a piece of toast with the vegan butter Polina made for me, though I couldn’t help but believe Ronan noticed the only thing I was truly ingesting was water. He had nothing to say about it.
As he sipped his tea, the silence sent an uneasy energy through me. I wanted him to say something, anything, to disperse the tension in the room—another “nyet,” a demeaning “pet,” or even a crass comment.
I was taking a drink of water when the front door slammed shut. A familiar masculine voice reached me. It took a few seconds to recognize it, and when I did, the crystal glass slipped from my fingers, hit the edge of the table, and the faraway sounds of tink, tink, tink fell to the floor.
Heart in my throat, I shot to my feet.
“Sit down.”
I barely heard Ronan’s command over the rush of blood in my ears. My mind told me to listen, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. All I could do was stare at Ivan as he stepped into the dining room—at the blood on his ripped dress shirt, at his bruised face, and at his hands tied behind his back. The sight of him was so welcome tears burned the backs of my eyes, but the reality of his presence twisted a knife in my gut.
Albert and Viktor stood on either side of Ivan, each restraining him by an arm. The three of them looked awful: cut lips, bruised eyes, and bloody clothes. Albert bled profusely from his side, which soaked his white button-up.
Ivan’s cool gaze found me and softened with relief before it slid down my body to inspect for injuries, but the only wounded ones were the men in the doorway. My empty stomach roiled at the thought Ivan was trying to rescue me from D’yavol’s hands while I was embracing the heat those same hands left behind.
“Ty v poryadke?” Ivan asked me. Are you okay?
Throat too tight to speak, I nodded.
“Mila,” Ronan said in an ominous tone. “Sit down.”
The volatile warning stroked my skin, but I couldn’t move or force my gaze from Ivan’s. Self-loathing and panic bit at my veins, overwhelming me, though when Ivan gave me a look that told me to listen, numbly, I sat. Complying then only intensified the strain in the air. Each second was pulled taut and stretched to impossible limits.
“Pochemu ty zdes?” Ronan growled at Albert.
By their curt words and severe body language, I recognized Ivan wasn’t supposed to be here, in the same home as me, as well as the fact Ronan knew Ivan had been found while he sat beside me and sipped his tea indifferently through breakfast. He wasn’t planning to share the knowledge with me.
Apparently, Ivan had other ideas.
I almost wished for ignorant bliss. If something happened to Ivan; if my selfish act of coming to Moscow got him killed . . . My stomach threatened to expel the small contents inside.
Ivan’s stare conveyed he wasn’t convinced I was unharmed, and he was now probing for mental wounds instead of physical ones.
I’m okay, my gaze promised. But what about you?
Seeing the tears running down my cheeks, his split lip lifted in an unconcerned smile. The sight didn’t alleviate the tight sensation in my lungs. After a strained beat, I realized the men had stopped talking and were now watching our silent conversation.
“Ubiraysya otsyuda,” Ronan snapped impatiently. Get out. “Take him downstairs for now.”
Downstairs? Was there really a dungeon in the house? My heart twisted.
Ivan shrugged the hands from his arms and headed down the hall. As cold and still as a block of ice, I watched him until he disappeared around the corner with Albert and Viktor following.
“How does he know where to go?” I wasn’t aware the emotionless words had escaped until Ronan answered.
“He doesn’t.”
Clearly, he did, but my curiosity dissolved beneath the heavy pressure on my chest. As Ronan stood and nonchalantly slipped his phone into his pocket, my entire being whirled with an idea of how to talk him out of whatever he planned for Ivan.
“I’ll beg you,” I blurted.
He glanced up, the look darkly amused but conflicted by a hint of something cold and terrifying that leaked into his eyes. “I’m not sure it would feel very sincere.”
I wanted to scream at him that this wasn’t a game, but he was already out the door. He was going to go about his day as usual and desert me to slowly die inside.
On my feet, I reached him in the hall and stepped in front of him so he had to give me his full attention.
He stilled, a muscle tightening in his jaw. I understood then, the ticking time bomb wasn’t an elusive, mystical warning. It was him, as tangible as his eyes, posture, and presence. The darkness inside was close to devastating this home to stone and ash, and it would take me with it. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about humiliating myself. Pride no longer mattered—not with Ivan’s life in jeopardy.
I dropped to my knees in front of him, my blood going colder than the hard marble. “I’m sincerely begging you,” I said, a tear leaking down my cheek. “If you let Ivan go, I swear, you can have anything you want from me.”
Ronan had me where he wanted me—a worthless commoner at a king’s feet—but there wasn’t an ounce of pleasure in his stare.
“I can already have anything I want from you.”
“There’s a lot you couldn’t have.”
He held my gaze to the sound of my desperation consuming the hall. “You’re not really known for telling the truth, are you, malen’kaya lgunishka?”
Frustration pushed at me. If I couldn’t convince him with words, then I would try with actions. I reached for his belt buckle, and as I worked to undo it, I realized my hands were shaking.
I didn’t have the faintest idea how to give oral well, but I needed to figure it out because I knew Ronan wouldn’t guide me. He didn’t believe I was innocent in regard to sex. My stomach was so unsettled, I was afraid if he gagged me, I’d throw up. I was going to ruin this. At the thought of losing Ivan on top of my papa, a quiet sob rose up my throat.
Ronan grabbed my wrist to stop me. “As much as this is turning me on, I’m going to pass.”
He wasn’t turned on. He was angry—deadly even, given the ice-cold, heartless look in his eyes. With a low, furious sound, he tugged me roughly out of his way and headed down the hall.
All I knew at that moment was, I couldn’t live with Ivan’s death on my conscience.
“If you kill Ivan, you might as well kill me.”
Ronan paused, but after a few seconds passed, he walked away, leaving me on the floor as desolate as always.
