“Polina!” My voice echoes down the staircase as I nearly miss a step in my rush. “Polina, wait!”
She pauses down the hallway, a basket in her arms, and turns with that ever-calm look on her face. “Ma’am?”
I push a hand through my hair, still tasting stale coffee on my tongue. “I—I’m sorry I overslept.” The words fall out fast, but they feel too small for the mess I am.
Truth is, it wasn’t just oversleeping. It was three damn cups of coffee last night. Three. And still, sleep danced just out of reach, like it has for the past few nights. I remember collapsing into bed sometime before sunrise, telling myself I’d close my eyes for just a moment, that I’d get up early, fix things, do something.
Instead, I woke to sunlight stabbing through the curtains and my skull pounding like a drum. I meant to sit up, maybe get a grip. Just a few more minutes, I told myself. Just a breath.
Next thing I knew—it was two. Two in the freaking afternoon.
And the only thing I remembered as I rushed out of my room was telling Polina I’d be hungry in the morning, so she had to make breakfast.
“Did you make breakfast?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. I figured you’d be in bed for a while. And since Mr. Volkov didn’t return last night—”
“Wait—” My brows furrow. “Roman didn’t come back last night? Or, sorry—” I shake my head, stuck on technicalities. “This morning?”
I knew he didn’t return last night, because I was up till three. And one of the reasons I couldn’t sleep was because I couldn’t wrap my head around his persistent absence.
Two weeks. That’s how long he’s been away, almost like I’m the plague, and he’s scared of contracting a deadly virus.
“No,” she says. “He didn’t. Would you like anything for lunch?”
I’m lost in thought, so I don’t hear her question until it echoes. I snap out of it, blinking. “Yeah. I’d like something simple, please.”
She gestures to the washing. “I need to change the sheets for Mr. Volkov’s room, but I’ll be out in a minute.”
As she walks away, I take the rest of the stairs one step at a time, hitting the last with a thud. Where’s Roman? The last time we spoke, I overheard him talking about my father.
Then he brought me an ice pack and made me tea. I blurted out a memory I hadn’t remembered in over a decade. It felt like we had a moment, and then he ended the conversation abruptly, leaving me with a feeling of loneliness that I couldn’t shake off.
The next morning, he was gone, and Leo hasn’t been around either. I didn’t care. Sure, I thought about Roman a few times, fleeting moments where my mind indulged in teasing me with certain…details. But he didn’t return.
I went to bed.
The next day, the same. He didn’t show up, and neither did Leo. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I drank the eucalyptus. Then the next. Then the next. At some point, it felt like I was going crazy, coming up with theories for his absence. Switching tea for coffee because I ran out didn’t help either.
Did he find my father, and he’s keeping him alive so he can torture him? It would make sense—to stay away so I won’t ask him questions, and so he can keep an eye on Marco Ricci simultaneously.
But Leo—
Both of them being away at the same time makes no sense.
I shake my head, tossing away my new theories as I walk to the kitchen to wait for Polina. “Why should I care?” I mutter. “He’s dead to me.”
“Roman?”
I whirl around, and a cheekily smiling Leo stands by the door, his hand shoved into his pocket.
“Where did you come from?” I demand.
He shrugs, walking in. “Beats me. I think I was summoned. What were you saying about me, Isabella?”
“Oh, I don’t know. That I hoped you’d disappear forever?”
He winces, touching his chest. “Ouch. That stung. I thought you and I were friends, but…” He smacks his lips. “I get it.”
“No,” I hiss, folding my arms. His amusement only irks me. “You don’t get it. You don’t understand anything, and I’d like you to leave me alone. Please.”
“It’s Roman, isn’t it?” Leo asks quietly. “You want to know why he’s been away.”
I scoff, turning away so he doesn’t see the lie I’m about to tell. “Why should I care? My life doesn’t revolve around him.”
He makes a sound, clearly showing that he doesn’t believe me, but I don’t defend myself further. “Either way, you’re not needed,” I say instead. “Unless you have another reason for being here?” I shake my head, walking to the fridge, pretending I have business there. “Never mind. It’s not my house.”
“But it is,” Leo argues. “You’re his wife. If anything, you have more right over it than Roman does. And I’m here because I thought you needed company.”
My hand pauses as it touches a bottle of grape juice. I look over my shoulder. “Company?”
Leo nods, smiling like a pleased Cheshire cat. “Yup. I’m sure it gets boring staying in a house like this. I know I’d lose my shit.”
It’s hard to tell if he’s offering genuinely or out of pity, but I’m tempted to believe it’s the latter. I’m not delusional enough to think spending one day together suddenly makes us friends…in the way that he’s Roman’s best friend and confidant.
But—
“Since you’re offering…” I grab the bottle and shut the door. “I can think of a couple things to liven the atmosphere.”
He rubs his hands excitedly. I almost feel sorry for him, but since he assigned himself, I don’t. “Lay it on me. I’m down for anything.”
Oh, I intend to. When I’m done, he’ll withdraw his offer of friendship without thinking twice.
“Stick around,” I tell him. “You’ll find out.”
I almost changed my mind in the hours before it finally hit ten pm, but my resolve strengthened every time I thought about Roman being away.
I turn to Leo who’s sitting behind the wheel, and flash him a knowing grin. “What do you think?”
He stares beyond my shoulder at the blinking lights of the club across the street. He sighs. “When you said—”
“You said you were down for anything,” I remind him, feeling giddy from the panic that spreads across his face. “Are you worried I’ll run away?”
Leo’s gaze drags back to me. “Will you?”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “I’m here to have fun. Besides, I know you’ll either be inside watching over me like a hawk or hanging out here, waiting to see me come out.” I shrug. “Or you could relax and have fun. You don’t have to be Roman, you know. A night of letting your hair down won’t kill you.”
He seems like he might agree, but blows out a breath at the last minute, pulling out. “I genuinely fear what Roman will do if he turns up at the house and you’re nowhere to be found.”
My brows shoot up too fast to conceal my curiosity. “Turn up? He’s coming back tomorrow?”
Leo’s mouth curls with mischief. “If I tell you, will you abscond your plan and settle for something less…” He looks at the club again, helplessly. “Risky?”
“In this dress?” I yank the door open, getting out. “See ya!” I call out, waving before I cross the street. As I join the short line of people waiting outside, I spare a glance at the car.
Truth is, I don’t really want to be here.
At the club. With bright lights and people who look like they’re having a better time than I’ve had in years. Like my idea of hiding in the back of a van, this was spontaneous too.
Not really. The bouncer lets me in, and I wince as I enter the club. The music is much louder than I expected, and the building feels like it’s vibrating. I spent some time rethinking my plan, but it was fueled by my emotions and not a shred of logic.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun,” I mutter, leaving the floor and heading to the bar. Snagging a stool, I ask the bartender for a rum and coke.
“Rum and coke?” he asks, arching a brow as he assesses me. “You don’t look like a rum and coke person.”
Yeah, but I don’t plan on getting wasted.
“What am I, then?” I ask, indulging him when he keeps looking at me.
He snaps his fingers. “A moment. This will be on the house.”
Moments later, he places a tall glass of something in front of me with a slice of lime. “Vodka tonic for the lady.”
“Huh,” I mutter. I wasn’t going to go that far, but Leo’s on watch duty, and any chance I have of sleeping naturally was shot to hell days ago, so I might well help myself to an artificial sedative.
I pick up the glass and tilt it to my lips, gulping it down halfway as the bartender starts to say something. Big mistake. The alcohol hits with a vengeance, wiping my balance off the stool.
“Fucking hell,” I hiss, wiping my mouth. He hands me the lime and I squeeze it onto my tongue. “What was that?”
“I was going to warn you, but you were too far gone. I’m sorry,” he says, biting back a laugh. “The tonic water was to flavor the drink, not dilute it, per se.”
“Right,” I drawl, slapping my hands on the counter and leaning over. “So when you said it was on the house, you meant you would use me as some guinea pig?”
He raises his hands, stepping back. “My apologies. I’ll get you the rum and coke. You’ll barely taste the rum.”
That’s not what I want, though. “Wait.” I stop him. “You were right. I’m definitely a vodka tonic woman.” I pick up the glass and hold it up in salute. “Keep it coming, will you?”
Left foot. Right foot.
I can barely see what’s in front of me as I walk through the living room, holding my heels in my hand. I should’ve accepted Leo’s help, but I stood outside the house, waving him off until he drove away.
“You can do this!” I whisper, encouraging myself as I pump a fist high. “Just gotta put one foot ahead of the other, then another—”
Why did I let the bartender talk me into having so many drinks? And then shots? He didn’t really talk me into it after the first one, but I should’ve known better than to indulge in a lightweight’s biggest weakness.
I need to sleep.
I really, really need to lay my head somewhere before I hit the ground.
My vision blurs until I can only see splotches, but I keep going through the hallway, reaching out to the wall for support and working with muscle memory. I get to a door, juggle the knob, and push it open.
It’s pitch-black, and I nearly trip over the rug as I fumble my way toward the bed. My palm slaps the wall, steadying myself as I swallow the yelp caught in my throat.
There it is—bed. I catch the faint outline of the mattress and the crumpled sheet, and relief washes over me like a warm tide. Just a few more steps. I tug the covers back with a heavy sigh, already dreaming of sinking into the warmth, of closing my eyes and forgetting the day—
But then I freeze. Not from cold.
Because suddenly, I’m not alone. I’m trapped. A weight pins me down—solid, unmoving. Two hundred pounds of steel-hard muscle and slow, measured breath inches from my ear. And then I feel it.
The unmistakable chill of metal pressed to my temple.
A gun. To my head. And I can’t scream because my mouth is covered.
There’s an intruder in the house. There’s an intruder in the house!
