acrasia
(n.) the lack of self-control
MILA
Yulia stopped me in the doorway of my bedroom, giving me a derisive perusal from my head to my toes.
“We have guests,” she said sternly. “You must do something with your”—she flicked a hand at my chest—“bosom.”
I looked down at said bosom and saw nothing wrong with it. I was even wearing pants for a change—high-waisted bell bottoms. One would think Yulia would take that as a win. I knew Ronan would.
I lifted my gaze to hers. “They’ve been called ‘boobs’ for decades, FYI. And considering the fact I was tied to a bed naked the last time we had guests, I find your request a bit hypocritical.”
She put her bony hands on her hips. “That was only in guest room. You were not flaunting your bosom around the house.”
Spread-eagled naked for guests to see in the guest room: 
Not wearing a bra beneath my T-shirt downstairs: 
Made sense.
I sighed. “What would you like me to do with my bosom, Yulia?”
“Strap it in a bra,” she said as if it was obvious. “And not some see-through thing only meant to arouse men’s urges.”
When she began a spiel about the necessary amount of support a bosom needed, I put up a finger to quiet her and said, “I’m taking this into consideration.”
She scowled, tapping her foot impatiently. After a longer than necessary pause, I finally dropped my finger.
“Well?” she snapped.
“No.” I brushed past her and down the hall.
“Insufferable hussy,” she mumbled.
“Old bat,” I shot back.
I headed toward the dining room for breakfast but stopped in the hall when I saw Gianna and Kat on the drawing room couch with a massive platter of food in front of them.
“Mila!” Gianna exclaimed, a sly smile forming as she looked me over. “I told you the next time we saw each other, there’d be less ropes and more clothes.” Then a frown appeared, and she snapped her fingers like an opportunity lost. “I knew I should have bet on it, but you didn’t seem in the right mindset for a wager.”
I had the feeling she was serious.
“Apparently, I’m destitute, so your winnings would be slim.”
“No worries. I’ve already skimmed the top off Yulia’s pocketbook this morning,” she said. “Don’t let her poor housekeeper ploy fool you. She has a mountain of five-thousand-ruble notes in her closet, and she safeguards them like a troll.”
I’d believe anything these days.
I took a seat in the armchair across from her and stole a grape from the platter, pulling my legs up underneath me. “Do I want to know what you were betting on?”
Gianna pursed her lips in thought. “I usually love the power of playing with people’s minds, but I like you, so I’m going to keep this one a secret for now.”
My mind was a complete mess as it was, so I didn’t complain. “Thanks, I guess.” I plopped the grape in my mouth.
She laughed.
My stomach was in such knots from the earlier phone call and scene with Ronan, I had to force the grape down my throat. But in an effort to pretend my world wasn’t crashing down around me, I filled a small plate with fresh fruit. As I did, my attention turned to Kat, who was shoving a folded rainbow-colored pancake in her mouth, her eyes on her demented princess game.
“Your daughter is beautiful,” I said sincerely, knowing she’d be a jaw-dropper someday. Or jawbreaker.
Gianna cast a warm smile at Kat and ran a hand down her pigtail. “I’ll take that as a compliment since she and I seem to look a lot alike. But I blame her personality on her papa one hundred percent.”
A perfectly timed, “Cut off his head!” sounded from the phone, pulling laughs from us both.
When the amusement faded, Gianna made an uncomfortable expression and rubbed her pregnant belly. The baby was either massive like his papa and uncle, or she was close to popping any day now.
“When are you due?” I asked.
“Three weeks, but I have a feeling he’s never going to come out. When I get home tomorrow, I need to start doing yoga.” She sighed as if the thought put her out. “But that’s probably not going to happen because I’ve been excommunicated from my studio, and I’ve never been good at motivating myself.”
“Surely, there’s more than one yoga studio in New York City.”
She frowned. “I guess I should have said I’ve been excommunicated from all the studios.”
“Oh . . .”
After a short pause, we both laughed again.
Gianna radiated warmth, and I already felt lighter, but any chance of a better mood crashed and burned when a familiar sultry voice entered the equation.
“I hope I am not interrupting anything.”
Slowly, I slid my gaze to the doorway to see Nadia in the flesh. Her black hair was clipped to one side in a sleek wave that reached her waist. Dark red lips. Kohled eyes. She wore a nude wrap dress beneath a long mink coat. I wondered if Ronan had bought it for her. The idea wrenched my stomach, threatening to expel the single grape inside.
The opera singer was gorgeous, exuding sex from every pore. She was the kind of woman all women compared themselves to. A look at her made one feel lacking on impact. Why would Ronan spare me a glance when this woman was around? I rejected the thought just as fast as my new family rejected me.
Je suis parfaite comme je suis. Tu es parfaite comme tu es. Nous sommes parfaites comme nous sommes. I am perfect as I am. You are perfect as you are. We are perfect as we are.
Feeling the French work its magic, I pulled my gaze to Gianna just in time to see her roll her eyes. “Of course not, Nadia. It seems you’ve been cordially invited in anyway.”
Noticing the sarcasm in her voice, I finally spotted Pavel standing behind Nadia. He shifted uncomfortably. Clearly, Nadia wasn’t supposed to be here, but it seemed he didn’t know how to remove her. He was taller than her even though she wore five-inch stilettos, so, clearly, his turmoil was an emotional battle and not a physical one.
“Oh, good,” Nadia said with a charming Russian accent, waltzing toward us. “I do not know how I forget how long the drive here is every time.” She pursed her lips. “Though usually, I am not alone, and I do think they say time flies when you are having fun.”
I was going to vomit.
Literally.
I wouldn’t compare myself to her, but I still couldn’t stomach the thought of her hands on Ronan. Or his on her. The idea dropped a boulder on my chest. The urge to get up and walk out seared my every nerve, but doing so would only let Nadia win, so I forced myself to remain.
Nadia pulled off her extravagant fur coat, set it on the back of the chair next to mine, and sat, crossing her legs like a queen. A small gift box fell out of her coat to the floor.
Gianna raised a brow. “Have I missed someone’s birthday?”
Nadia laughed. “No. I saw something at the store and thought of Ronan, so I just had to buy it.”
“Well, don’t leave us in suspense,” Gianna said.
“Oh. Okay.” Her tone implied she was being pressured into telling us when it was clear she was desperate to share. “Do not tell him, but it is a Louis Vuitton scarf with vintage frayed ends,” she announced proudly.
We both stared at her. The only thing Ronan would do with a scarf was strangle someone with it.
“Wow,” Gianna deadpanned. “I am positive he will love it.”
Nadia smiled before saying, “God, I am famished.” Without another word, she began to load her plate with the bliny that weren’t rainbow-colored, apparently oblivious to the tension in the air.
“So what brings you here, Nadia, other than to give gifts?” Gianna sipped her tea. “I’m sure your French cook is just as good as Polina.”
Nadia’s perfect brows furrowed in concern. “I came to check on Ronan after what happened yesterday. I cannot believe that boy had the nerve to shoot him.” Then she added flippantly, “Though we all know it was Alexei who hired him.” Aloof, she rubbed a liberal amount of butter on her pancakes.
I stared at her impassively even as her words stomped on my heart: the fact my papa was the one who indirectly shot Ronan, and the inexplicable detail Nadia had been with him yesterday. If they had such a strong relationship, where was she last night when he was bleeding out?
The awkward silence must have alerted Nadia to the fact she’d hit a nerve—not that she didn’t already know. She looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time and feigned an apologetic pout.
“Oh, right. I forgot Alexei is your papa. Ronan does not talk much about you. It must have slipped my mind.”
I simply watched her. She was a natural beauty, but fakeness oozed from her like cloying perfume. When she shifted, I realized she was growing uncomfortable beneath my stare.
Maybe she’d heard I was a witch.
She glanced away with an awkward laugh and waved the hand holding her fork. “Anyway, I hope you take no offense. I am sure you understand why you may not be Ronan’s favorite topic.”
I almost laughed. I’d been surrounded by jaded high society women my entire life. I might have been the silent wallflower among them, but the position only gave me the opportunity to observe. I knew how to play this game.
“No offense taken,” I said sweetly. “It would be silly for me to not understand.”
“Absolutely silly,” she agreed with a hint of satisfaction.
“Although I’ve lived in the same house as Ronan for weeks now, and I haven’t heard him talk much about you either.” I frowned in thought. “In fact, when I think about it, never. I guess you and I have something in common, don’t we?”
The blin-filled fork paused at Nadia’s lips, her narrowed eyes sliding my way. “It is expected he would not share personal things with you. You are his enemy’s daughter . . .” Her gaze shimmered with pity. “I am sure it is not malicious intent on his part though. Merely captive/captor etiquette, would you not say?”
Gianna absently bit off the tip of a strawberry, her stare soaking in our conversation with relish.
“I would not say.” I laughed. “I’m not so sure Ronan knows much captive/captor etiquette.”
“Really? I always thought he would manage it just fine by all of our games together.”
Ignoring the nausea her words induced, I made a face of revelation. “Maybe that’s why he doesn’t talk about you. It doesn’t sound like there’d be anything appropriate to share.” My expression was sympathetic. “I’m sure it’s just because you come off so vacuous, he can’t see you on a deeper level.”
Kohled eyes spit fire.
“No offense, of course,” I added.
Nadia set her teacup on its saucer with more gusto than necessary, drawing Kat’s attention from her game. She gave the opera singer a single glance before returning to The Princess’s Reign of Terror and said, “Mamma, I don’t like her.”
I expected a scolding, but I forgot this world defied all norms.
“As much as I appreciate your honesty, cara,” Gianna said softly, “passive-aggressiveness gets the point across. It also makes us look like the better person in the end.”
“What’s passiveagressivness?”
“Sweetie, it’s been going on for the past few minutes. Pay attention.”
“Okay.”
Nadia and I pretended the conversation didn’t happen. I reached for a few more grapes. She set her half-full plate down with a frown as if she didn’t like the fare.
“Is there a reason the bliny taste like paper?” Nadia asked.
“Mila is vegan,” Kat announced proudly.
“That is . . . cute.” The wrinkling of Nadia’s nose told the opposite. She waved a hand toward the coffee table. “Is this all vegan?”
“Yep,” Kat said.
As the opera singer took in the knowledge, an ounce of resentment came alive in her eyes. One would think she was starving and had an allergy to all things vegan, but I knew the real reason she was filling with ire. She hated the fact I had any impact on Ronan’s household.
“That is . . .” Nadia was so flustered, I thought she was going to say “cute” again, but she stopped herself and forced a smile instead. “I do appreciate the humanitarian effort,” she told me, “but do you not think it is slightly . . . selfish to subject the whole house to your views?” She put a manicured hand on mine in concern. “Though I am sure you did not consider that.”
This was the first time I’d ever had the urge to stab someone with a fork. Instead, I brushed her hand off mine before her fakeness rubbed off on me.
“I’m not the one doing the subjecting here. Captive, remember?”
She frowned. “Obviously, the staff feels bad for you . . . Just think of the hassle your diet must put on poor Polina. She is getting older and . . . larger every day.” Nadia shot a glance at Gianna’s belly. “No offense, of course.”
“Mamma isn’t fat!” Kat yelled before anyone else could get a word in. “She’s growing my brother. And you’re rude!”
“Kat, what did I tell you?” Gianna chided with a small smile.
The little girl’s scowl at Nadia faded, then she mimicked the feigned look of pity she’d observed countless times this morning. “I’m sure you’re only so rude because of lots of past ’motional trauma.” Then she added, “No offense, of course.”
It was a violent struggle not to laugh knowing she got that “emotional trauma” bit from Ronan earlier. Nadia’s eyes narrowed, about to spit some retort at the little girl, but a frightening glare from Gianna changed her mind.
“’Sides,” Kat interjected, “Polina likes vegan. She told me so.” Kat looked at Nadia from under her nose. “Even Dyadya says he’s vegan because he puts vegan butter on his steak.”
A small smile touched my lips. I had seen him do that, and it was just like him to take the moral high ground with the barest of minimum effort.
Nadia rolled her eyes and glanced at her nails before saying, “So where is Ronan? I hope he is recovering in his room.”
Gianna and I laughed. So did Kat, though I thought maybe she was just picking sides here. Even having been shot yesterday, Ronan was probably out chopping wood. Or something else less manual-labory and more murdery.
“Dyadya is out with my papa,” Kat announced.
“Oh . . . I must have forgotten. He said something like that when he came to see me last night.”
Interesting. I wondered if he went to see her after I blew him and rode his face or before I passed out with him in his bed.
“I suppose I shall wait until he returns then,” Nadia sighed.
I’d rather be kidnapped by the real devil than sit through another moment of this.
“So, Mila, where do you plan to go after this?” Nadia asked coolly.
“Oh, I don’t know. I like Moscow so much, I might stay.” I was lying through my teeth, but her venomous expression made it so worth it.
“You. Are. Staying.” It was not a question.
“Well, why not?”
“You are Mikhailov,” she said as if the matter was obvious. “You do not belong here.”
“Where does it say that?” I asked with a frown. “I haven’t seen a single sign banishing Mikhailovs from Moscow.”
Her eyes hardened. “He will not let you stay.”
“Who?” I played dumb.
“Ronan,” she growled. “You are nothing but collateral to him. And maybe a fleeting amusement, like a fancy new toy, but I assure you, his interest will pass.”
I dropped my plate on the coffee table. “Is everyone on a mission to ruin my breakfasts?” I exclaimed. “And for your information, Nadia, I’ve never laid a claim on him.” I thought of his earlier dismissal that still burned in my chest. “As far as I’m concerned, you can have him.”
She gave me a disbelieving look.
The heat licking up my back forced me to my feet. “Congratulations . . . the mobster’s all yours.” My gaze narrowed. “Now, all you have to do is figure out how to keep him, because it doesn’t sound like you’ve been doing a very good job.”
Cheeks flaming, she jumped to her stilettos. Even with bare feet, I topped her by multiple inches. Considering the look in her eyes as she was forced to look up to meet my gaze, she hated it.
“You think I cannot keep him?” she asked derisively.
“Mamma,” Kat whispered, “is this passiveagressivness?”
“No, cara, this is just aggressiveness. Now, be quiet and pass me a pancake.”
A tense laugh escaped me. “Let me see . . .” I ticked each point off on my fingers. “One, you know nothing about him. Two, you’re so jealous you’re here harassing the captive he’s about to trade off like collateral. And three, you need a therapist. So no, I don’t think you can keep him. But I wish you all the luck.”
Over this in spades, I walked away, but a sharp tug on my hair drew me to a stop.
She. Pulled. My. Hair.
I gritted my teeth as a rage of resentment washed through me. Inhaling deeply, I decided to take the high road and walk—
“You are practically a slave here,” Nadia spit with malice. “I would like a drink. Fetch me one.”
What was the high road?
Without another thought, I grabbed a chunk of her ridiculously shiny hair and pulled, jerking her head to the side. She looked at me like she was the victim before a vicious fire filled her eyes. It was the next handful of my hair she pulled that made us lose balance and fall to the floor.
We knocked into the coffee table. Plates of food slid off and fell to the floor. Nadia grabbed a handful of porridge and smashed it into my T-shirt, growling, “I do not need therapist.”
“That’s the first thing nutcases say!” I straddled her and knocked her head into the floor.
“Ow! You amazon!” Nadia screeched, slapping me like a girl. “I cannot believe he would ever want you!”
“Go, Mila!” Kat cheered from the couch.
Nadia tugged my hair so hard it was like she was trying to rip out a chunk, forcing me to roll off her if I wanted to keep those strands.
“That tongue emoji was for you, was it not?” she asked, kicking me in the side with her stiletto.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you psycho,” I growled, digging my nails into her wrist until she released my hair. Then I straddled her back and rubbed her face in the porridge on the floor.
“You bitch!” She turned her head so she didn’t suffocate in porridge. “Tomorrow cannot come soon enough.”
Something in the tone of her voice made me falter.
Noticing, she laughed. “You do not know? Tomorrow, you go—how do they say . . .?” When she figured it out, the words were a mocking titter. “Bye-bye.”
A coldness radiated from my chest to consume me whole. I barely felt someone drag me off Nadia.
“No, Dyadya,” Kat complained. “Things were just getting good.”
My feet dangled off the floor as Ronan held me by my waist. He was usually so warm, but now, his arm burned like an icy shackle. Sharp words were being exchanged, but the ringing in my ears drowned them out. My chest heaved from the exertion, though the anger was gone, leaving a cold detachment behind.
Nadia stood and wiped porridge from her face, her eyes glittering with malice. “She did not know,” she laughed, then a small pout appeared. “I hope it was not supposed to be a surprise.”
Ronan seethed, the fury vibrating in his chest.
Nadia stared daggers at me. “I should have known you would be just like your mother.”
She caught a glint of uncertainty in my eyes and laughed. “You do not know about your dear ol’ mother?”
“Zatknis’,” Ronan growled at her. Shut up.
“No,” I returned. “I want to hear what she has to say.”
Nadia raised an amused brow. “Where does one even start?”
As Ronan turned to carry me out of the room, a volcano erupted in my chest at the unanswered questions and the need to know the truth. I struggled violently, cursed him, and when I told him to never touch me again, he finally released me.
Nadia watched the scene with a venomous expression and finally turned her gaze to mine. “Should I start with the bad news or the slightly less bad news?”
“Just spit it out, Nadia,” Ronan snapped.
“Well . . .” She looked at her nails. “There was that rumor Tatianna was a whore who liked it rough. And when I say ‘rough,’ I mean like knives and animals involved.” She scrunched her nose. “But I suppose what she is really known for is what she did for your papa. She saw a cute girl on the street, charmed her into her Bugatti and—poof!—the girl was never seen again.”
I stared at her. My heart raced, but my mind was numb.
“Those are the rumors . . . though they do say in every rumor there is a grain of truth.” Nadia feigned a sympathetic look. “Unfortunately, in your mother’s case, there was an entire grain bin of truth.”
My papa trafficked girls.
And my mother had helped him.
It felt like the room was spinning while I tried to process the news. I needed space. Now.
Ronan turned me to face him and wiped some porridge from my cheek. I couldn’t do this. I just couldn’t. Though trying to pull free from his grip turned out to be as futile as always.
“Tell me you are okay,” he demanded.
“I’m okay. Now, please . . . let me go.”
It looked like he was about to deny the request, but something in my eyes must have changed his mind. He tipped up my chin and gave me a short, sweet kiss on the lips—ignoring Nadia’s outraged, “ARGH!”—before he let me slip through his fingers.
Moving on autopilot, I climbed the stairs, catching pieces of the fuzzy background noise.
“I missed you,” Nadia whined.
“This is the last time I will see you,” Ronan growled. “Or I swear to God, your career will disappear in front of your eyes.”
“But—”
“But no. Get the fuck out of my house, Nadia. And find a therapist, for Christ’s sake.”
“I do not need a FUCKING therapist!”
A few moments later, I sat naked on the shower floor letting the water wash over me. Alone. The word was a monster that would consume me someday. It wasn’t until Yulia kneeled beside me and washed me like a child that the tears began to fall—while I mourned the loss of the papa I thought I knew . . . and his executioner.
