Page 7 of Unholy Tsar

“I’m sure you can’t possibly know all the Italian dons in every jurisdiction, Uncle Maks,” Bree interjects, though her smile falters.

“Cecilia, is it? Where were you last Friday by 9 PM?”

Fuck.

“I–I–Excuse me, I have to use the bathroom,” I stammer, stumbling away from the library without waiting for permission. Once out of sight, I pause to catch my breath. Oh God, what am I going to do now? The plan was flawless, and I’m sure if I hadn’t met Maksim last Friday, he wouldn’t be asking so many questions now.

What if he does a background check?

He’ll uncover the truth. It’s been barely a week, and everything’s already about to blow up in my face? That must be a new record, even for me.

Why can’t things go my way just once?

I need to leave before things get even worse. But what about Bree? Sure, I’ve been using her, but bolting now might make things even worse.

Right now, Maksim is just curious. I’m sure—I hope—he’ll only do a cursory background check on me. But if I run away, he’ll definitely become suspicious and dig deeper. What if he finds out I have a criminal record? Then he’ll know someone like me has no business being friends with someone like Bree Kilpatrick. I’m seriously fucked.

Lost in my thoughts, I don’t hear the footsteps. Or maybe he just moves quietly, because I almost jump out of my skin when someone calls my name. I glance back and sag against the wall when I see it’s just the butler. He gives me a judgy stare but bows respectfully. No matter how suspicious I seem, he still treats me with respect, thinking I’m a don’s daughter.

“Just a minute,” I swallow my fear and wave him off. You need to pull yourself together, Cecilia. Falling apart like this just won’t help.

“As you wish, ma’am.”

I wait for the butler to leave before making my way to the back porch. The cool breeze and salty air immediately soothe my soul, and after a few deep breaths, I’m able to let go of some of my worries.

Settling onto the steps, I gaze out at the crashing waves. Then, I pull out my phone to text Bree.

Me:

Hey, I’m sorry but I’ll have to miss this first lecture. I have a migraine that won’t quit. Wait for you outside?

Bree K:

Oh no, that sucks. I’ll let my uncle know you won’t be joining us. I’ll try to rush him off so I don’t leave you alone for too long.

I smile at the message, then lock my phone. A twinge of guilt hits me, but I push it to the back of my mind with the other twinges of guilt I’ve been feeling for lying to her.

She deserves better than me.

“God, I’m such a mess.”

I watch the hypnotizing sea waves with a longing sigh. The Hamptons are truly beautiful, and its shores rival even some of California’s best beaches. California. I was so happy to leave that cursed coast, eager for the added distance between me and him, but now I’m starting to have second thoughts.

Back there, I was able to fly under the radar because Nolan Kilpatrick, California's mafia king, trusted his daughter’s words about me being one of his dons’ daughters. After all, why would Bree lie to him? But here, with Maksim sniffing around, it won’t be long before he realizes there’s no Cecilia Lombardi—or if there is, she isn’t me. And then he’ll find out there’s no Don Lombardi...

Fuck, I’m not prepared for everything to come crashing down. Bree Kilpatrick and her team of security guards are my first, second, and last option.

If my cover is blown and I’m forced to leave her side, I’ll truly be a sitting duck. The thought sends shivers down my spine, making me recall the chilling fear I had last week when I noticed the shadow stalking me.

What does he want with me now? And just when I was finally starting to feel safe again…

A deep, broken sigh escapes my lips. Unfortunately, the only person who can answer my questions is the one person I don’t want to see—the monster from my past who refuses to let me go, even though he’s the one who cut me loose.

“Fuck him,” I spit, lifting my chin in defiance.

I can’t think about him now, not when I have more pressing matters. I can’t leave Bree’s side. I can’t. I have to handle Maksim Smolov somehow. But I know he’s not a man who’s easily handled, and the thought alone makes me almost give up.

“He’s not all hard muscles and steely gazes,” I try to remind myself, remembering the way he touched me last week. But those same hands that caressed me so tenderly might just end up being the hands that kill me too.