Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
I want to cry.
“Yeah,” he says behind me. I hear the telltale squeaky sound of drawers opening. “My operations span a lot. Black market shit. Drugs. We own a few clubs and lots of real estate throughout all of Russia, not just Moscow.”
“And Zalivka?”
“In our pockets.”
I nod. “And America?”
“We have property in America, as well, yes, but I prefer staying here in Russia.”
Right. I nod. He manages properties, clubs, and illegal activities that pad his family’s pockets.
I take a deep breath. The scent of cinnamon and coffee lingers in the air, and my stomach rumbles. Someone’s up.
I swallow, staring out the window from my gilded cage. Inside this well-appointed room, I have everything I could desire. It’s a suite fit for a queen. I almost feel selfish asking for more, but it’s normal and natural to want freedom, friends… family.
I let my gaze wander outside. A wall of tall, sturdy pines, as dependable and impenetrable as he is, line the estate.
I hold my head up high and stand to my full height, bracing myself on the windowsill. “You said I’m your wife. Then maybe it’s time you treat me like that.” I turn to face him. “I want out of this room. Crutches. An appointment with the doctor so I can ask my questions.” I swallow hard. “I want to meet your family.”
A shadow crosses his features before he answers.
“There's always a threat, Anissa," he says. "I'm not letting you walk right into danger. You don’t have to work, but I’ve already accepted that you’d want to.”
He’s bare-chested and sexy as fuck, as he prowls over to me.
I turn away from him, purse my mouth, and gaze out at the evergreens. “Very generous of you,” I mutter. “For fuck’s sake. I’m so over—” I gasp when his palm slams against my ass. I turn around, my cheeks flaming.
“Hey! You can’t do that!”
“I just did. Don’t sass me, and I won’t.”
“Oh, is that all?” I ask as his eyes flash at me.
“No. Definitely not.”
I scowl at him and open my mouth to argue—to tell him he has no right to tell me what to do, but something in his expression stops me.
This… bossiness… I’ve encountered it before. This feeling of imprisonment… it isn’t foreign either.
Who else made me feel this way? Was it him? Or someone else? I don’t know.
I cross my arms on my chest, even as heat rises in my belly, and I feel a strange, albeit maddening, attraction to his dominance. "Just so you know, when I get stronger? I am not helpless."
"I know," he says, his tone softer but still rigid. "But until we know more, you're staying here where I can keep you safe."
This feels familiar… the same story, just a different day. Every response, every feeling… I’ve felt it all before.
The delectable smells wafting from the kitchen make my mouth water. My belly flips. I'm hungry. “Do I get to eat breakfast, or should I wait until you spoon-feed me?”
Why does that narrow-eyed look make me shiver?
“Watch it, beautiful,” he says, shaking his head. “You know what I said about disrespect.” I toss my head to cover up the feeling of the blood rushing in my ears.
"Yeah, we'll go downstairs and eat breakfast. I'll help you with the stairs and get you a pair of crutches. It's something."
I jump at the sound of a knock at the door. My frustration flares as he turns toward it.
"Come in," Rafail barks in a tone that would make anyone cower. The door opens, and one of his brothers—Semyon?—stands awkwardly in the hallway. He's tall and lean, looks a lot like Rafail, but slightly younger, his beard a bit more scant. I don't think he's much older than I am.
"I need to talk to you," he begins, but Rafail cuts him off.
"Not now." He runs a hand through his hair, his patience frayed. "I'm busy."
His brother frowns, his eyes flickering to me, then back to his brother. "It's about the shipments. You told me to keep track of them—"
"I said not now," Rafail snaps, his voice sharp like a whip. His brother visibly flinches. "Stop asking questions and leave us. I’ll talk to you over breakfast." He gestures angrily at the door.
The harshness in his tone catches me off guard, but his brother doesn’t seem surprised. His mouth opens and closes like he's trying to find the right words but knows better than to cross the beast.
"Rafail," I venture. "We're just going down to breakfast. You probably have to put a T-shirt on or something," I add, glancing at his bare chest. "Maybe you should let him speak."
Rafail narrows his eyes at me, jaw clenched, but after a moment, he steps back and looks to his brother. Turning his back to him, he opens a drawer and grabs a white tee. “Fine. Make it quick."