Page 8 of Unholy Tsar

But… but what if I seduced him again? I did it once, so I should be able to do it again. Right?

That might buy me some more time.

“Cece? Cecilia!” A soft palm lands on my shoulder, and I jolt up from the porch steps to see Bree staring at me with concern. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ve been trying to call, but you didn’t answer. Are you okay?”

I let out a shuddering breath and nod. Sure enough, when I tap my phone screen, I have several missed calls and texts. Fuck, how long did I zone out for? Anyone could have just walked up to me. I seriously need to work on my self-preservation skills, because what I have right now is shit.

“I’m sorry. I was just thinking about California.” I glance at the beach in shame as the lie escapes my lips. All I do is lie now. If ‘professional liar’ were an academic degree, I’d have a master’s—no, PhD by now. Call me Dr. Cecilia, LLR, for a liar.

“The Hamptons always make me nostalgic too.” Bree gives me a reassuring smile that tugs at my heartstrings. If only she knew. “Are you ready to go back to the city?”

“You’re done with the lesson already?” I ask, surprised.

“It’s been two hours. Of course, we’re done by now. If it went on any longer, I might have jumped into the ocean.”

Shit, I’ve been sitting here for two whole hours? I pause briefly before climbing the steps to her. “What about your uncle?”

“Uncle Maks? He probably left already. Like I said, we’re done with the lessons—at least for today,” she adds with a soft sigh. I feel zero sympathy for her predicament, though. At least she has a family who cares enough to teach her about the dark web of the mafia world and how to protect herself from predators. I only have myself. I’ve always only had myself.

We exit the house and make our way to the garage where three range rovers are parked. Bree and I enter one with two of her security details, while the remaining eight men divide themselves into the other two jeeps. We leave the Hamptons in a convoy, our car squished in the middle.

I thank God I didn’t run into Maksim again. I’m not ready to face him yet.

We arrive safely at Bree’s apartment on the Upper East Side, but I find it hard to relax despite her best efforts to distract me with the new series she’s watching. After ten minutes of sitting in front of the TV, I get up and start pacing.

Bree watches me quietly for a few seconds, then pauses her episode. “Okay, spill. What’s going on? You’ve been acting strangely since Uncle Maksim came into the library. I know he can be a bit intimidating, but he’s not the reason you’re this concerned, is he?”

Sure, Maksim is only part of my worries, but I latch onto the excuse she’s provided for me, knowing I have to give her something. “You saw how he was questioning us, Bree. Your uncle is getting suspicious. What if he does a background check and finds out I’m not actually a don’s daughter?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” she says calmly.

Easy for her to say. She doesn’t have to worry about what will happen to her after we cross that bridge. Her safety is secure. “All that’s well and good, but—”

“You know what?” Bree interrupts, getting to her feet. “I know what will cheer you up, or at least get you out of this funk.”

“Oh really? What?”

“Come with me to find out.” She winks mischievously, and I can’t help but laugh a little.

Bree’s genius plan is to take me to one of the nearby night markets. Food. Damn, she knows me better than I thought. We stuff our faces with all types of junk, and I can’t lie, it works. For the first time since I saw Maksim, I finally relax a bit. I’m so at ease that I even leave Bree and wander off into the market on my own. Stupid, I know.

I realize just how stupid when the back of my neck starts to heat up and itch. I know that feeling—it’s the sensation I get when I’m being watched or followed. I slow to a stop and scan the area, but Bree and her security are nowhere in sight. Shit, just how far did I wander?

Taking a deep breath, I resume walking, slowly, so as not to let my stalker know I’m on to them. But when I take a sharp turn between the stalls, the itchiness becomes more intense. That’s when I start running, twisting and turning and ducking, but no matter what I do, I can’t shake it, and I still can’t find Bree.

“Damn it.”

Sweat trickles down my back as I make another turn, only to realize it’s a dead end. I prepare to backtrack when I stop. Why exactly am I running? I’ve been running for over two years, and what has that gotten me?

The thought weighs heavily, and suddenly, I’m so tired of it all. Why does life have to be so hard? From the moment we’re born, we work and struggle, all to end up dead anyway.

When I think about myself running for another two years, my shoulders slump. I can’t keep running forever. This has gone on long enough. It has to end. Even if it means the end of my life. It’s time to face my shadows, no matter the cost.

“Come on, you bastard,” I mutter through gritted teeth. But as I stroll toward the end of the alley, a wave of emotions washes over me: fear, acceptance, and then anger. I embrace the latter, my hands clenching into fists beside me. “Let’s end this.”

If I’m going out, I’m going out kicking and screaming, not cowering like this.

Inhaling sharply, I turn, finally ready to confront my fate.