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In the garden, Renata turns to me, grinning.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she taunts and gives me a broad wink. "I'm not afraid."
She is though. I know she is. I see it in the way she bites her lips and twists her hair, the way she looks over her shoulder.
I vowed I will take care of her, and I never say anything I don’t mean.
I watch over her with almost fierce protectiveness, ready to shield her from any threat.
“You’re mine, Renata,” I whisper in her ear when the last photo is taken and we’re finally alone again. “And I’ll do anything and everything to protect you.”
“Anything?” she asks, her gaze holding a world of hurt.
I kiss her forehead. “Anything.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Three weeks ago…
Renata
Waking feltlike slipping between worlds—the dream still clinging to me like a shadow. I had been held in isolation by the Romanovs for several days, Ollie, my primary captor. He would come in and bring me food, and at first, he’d leave silently. I was told that this was always his way: silence and aloofness.
"I speak only when it’s necessary," he finally said to me one day when I questioned him.
But I suspected beneath that calm exterior was a man capable of doing terrible things.
And honestly? I found it kind of hot.
Being near him felt like standing on the edge of oblivion—one step would send me hurtling into the abyss. But goddamn, I craved the fall.
I reveled in the heart-pounding moments of fear. It felt like a sort of anticipation.
One night, in the middle of the night, I got up to use the bathroom and realized Ollie wasn’t sitting in his usual place.
In the Romanov family estate, it was almost a maze, and they’d recently granted me some freedom to explore. I planned on using that to my full advantage.
I wanted to find Ollie.
I walked down the hallway toward a sliver of yellow light spilling from a door that stood slightly ajar.
My instincts said I shouldn't be here. That I should be hiding, or at the very least, I should be in bed. But I felt drawn to that doorway like a moth to a flame.
I wanted to see Ollie. In the short time I'd been a prisoner of the Romanovs, I'd begun to crave his presence.
The harsh sound of a Russian accent made a shiver skate down my spine. I paused in the doorway, my breath catching as I took in the scene. Ollie was there, standing over a man tied to a chair, his voice low and menacing. The man’s face was a mask of fear. Ollie stood, bare-chested and slick with sweat, like a warrior on an ancient battlefield, ruthless and unyielding. My God, he was so sexy. The sight of him, so powerful, so commanding, stirred something primal in me. I finally understood why my cousin once confided in me that the best way to get turned on was by watching a man fight.
I knew he was aware of my presence because of the way he tilted his chin in my direction before he went right back to work. He continued to ask questions, none that I couldunderstand because everything was in Russian, but his voice was calm and void of all emotion.
I watched as the man spat something out in Russian and turned his head away. Ollie growled back in Russian, stepped forward, and fisted the man’s hair. I swallowed a gasp, forcing myself to watch in silence. To not look away.
In one swift movement, Ollie elbowed him in the neck. The man’s screams echoed in the room, but Ollie showed no signs of remorse. He wrapped his hands around his neck, and the man turned purple as Ollie barked out instructions in his ear.
Something had threatened his safety… or the safety of someone in his family. His calm was terrifying, a storm just beneath the surface as he delivered blow after blow, unshaken by the raw violence.
He spoke in calm, measured Russian tones, and the man nodded, pleading.
I took a step into the room.
