Page 23 of Unholy Tsar

I twirl around in front of the floor-length mirror in my bedroom, admiring my leather pants and silk top. Expensive shit, but worth every penny. My phone pings with a text, and I make my way to the large king-size bed.

It’s Bree.

Despite not seeing each other, we’ve been keeping in touch. She thinks her uncle suspects something is up with me, hence my isolation. She’s promised to wear him down, and according to her messages, she’s been nagging him every day during their lessons.

Bree K:

Cece, Uncle Maks says we’ll move on to firearms for tomorrow’s lessons.

She’s also been keeping me up to date on their lessons by sending me passages from her book and other stuff. Bree doesn’t know exactly what’s going on with me, but she knows enough to understand that I’m running from someone in my past.

Firearms? Unlike the weak points Maksim has been teaching Bree, firearms are not something I can learn from textbooks. That shit is practical knowledge and incredibly valuable, especially to someone like me.

I need to be at that lesson.

9

CECILIA

I need to be at Bree’s lesson tomorrow, but how the hell am I going to manage that? It’s not like I’ve been allowed to leave this apartment since Maksim dropped me off.

Suddenly, there’s a gentle knocking on my bedroom door, and I know it’s Roy. I check the time on my phone. Ah, dinner time. He only ever knocks when he brings my meals up.

I don’t know what exactly Roy usually does for Maksim, but he’s like my prison warden—protecting me while also keeping me confined. When I open the door, he’s holding a tray brimming with food. As soon as I accept it, he turns around and leaves. I sigh.

That’s how my week has been: a knock like clockwork every mealtime, followed by putting the tray outside my bedroom door when I’m done. At first, I tried to interact with the employees, but they wouldn’t engage with me. Apparently, Maksim forbade it. That domineering, overbearing—I inhale sharply. It’s no use getting angry when the asshole isn’t even here.

After dinner, I drop my tray outside and go on my phone. I immediately open the LinkedIn app and go to Maksim’s profile.

What? I have nothing better to do in here, so I caved and stalked him, alright. A lot of good that did me. There’s nothing about the man online, other than this sparse LinkedIn profile. Not even some paparazzi photos or articles. Compared to the Kilpatricks, he’s like a ghost.

Still, I admire the profile photo for perhaps the hundredth time. His salt and pepper hair is slicked back with gel and has a side parting that highlights the handsome angles of his face. His lips are pulled into a taut frown, as if he was annoyed at having his picture taken.

When I’ve had enough, I exit the picture, scroll down the page, and read the same old garbage again. With the amount of time I’ve spent on his page, I probably have the whole thing memorized: CEO of a Fortune 500 tech company, philanthropist, blah blah blah. Boring stuff. Not that I expected him to add “mafia don” to his profile. That would be really wild.

I lock my phone and flop back on the bed, ignoring my now damp panties. The asshole really did a number on me because I can’t help getting aroused every time I check his page, and despite my best efforts, I end up giving in and touching myself to thoughts of him.

Not tonight though, I think sternly. One way or another, I’m going to be at that lesson tomorrow.

But how will I give my guards the slip? After exploring the townhouse, I finally decide to hole up in my bedroom. There’s no way for me to leave unless Roy or someone else lets me out. How will I get them to do that? I ponder, staring at the ceiling.

My phone chimes with a notification. I lift it up. It’s a reminder from the app I use to track my period. Ovulation day is coming soon. I frown at it, then click the notification so it takes me into the app. My ovulation is starting tomorrow. That explains why I’ve been so horny.

Then a light bulb goes off, and I grin evilly at my phone. Bingo! That’s how I’ll get out of this apartment tomorrow. I lock my phone and place it on the nightstand before snuggling into the bed with a smug smile on my face.

The next morning, I wake up with a sense of determination, rise from bed, and get ready to go out in one of my new designer clothes. Then I let out a high-pitched scream and wait. Almost immediately, I hear footsteps rushing up the stairs to my room.

The door bursts open and a bunch of men rush in, guns raised. They don’t wait to ask me what happened. Instead, they start searching the room for the threat. When it’s apparent that there is none, Roy separates himself from the pack and walks toward me.

“What is it, Miss? Did you have a nightmare?” His gaze drops down my body, and his brows raise when he realizes I’m fully dressed.

“If only it was a nightmare,” I sigh, dropping my head in pretend resignation. “But there’s a sensitive matter I need to attend to quickly. I need you to take me to the nearest drugstore.”

When I raise my head, I see him gesturing for the other men to leave. “You know I can’t do that, ma’am. Whatever you need at the drugstore, write it down, and I’ll send someone to get it for you.”

I bite my lips and then say in a scandalized whisper, “But it’s really sensitive. It’s a womanly matter.”

He crosses his arms across his chest, unimpressed.