“I am not married to Sevastyan.”

“Details. You will be soon. Roman considers you engaged.”

“You mean plighted?”

“Oh, no, I mean on the cusp of a legal, binding marriage.”

Did Sevastyan just assume I would? The a**hole hadn’t even proposed! I felt my fists balling.

I’d asked him when I would get to know his business. He’d considered us engaged and still hadn’t deemed me worthy of his trust?

How much more twisted could this “relationship” get? “I wouldn’t put money on a wedding.”

Sevastyan ground his teeth until his jaw muscles twitched.

I turned to Maksim. “I heard you say you’ve been helping me. How?”

“I’m a politician in Russia. A powerful one.” He grinned, buffing his nails charmingly. Still, I sensed pain lurking inside him. Did he use his charm as a concealment, his own mask? “At present, a few of us politicians share the same resources as the vory in the mafiya—and even tactics. Roman knew I had men on hand to secure Berezka for you.”

“Then, in that case, spasibo.” Thank you.

Voice deep, he murmured, “Vsegda pozhaluista.” You’re quite welcome. This man’s charisma was off the charts. He gave me another grin that revealed white teeth. I recalled the one time I’d seen Sevastyan truly smile, and realized the two men looked even more similar than I’d thought. “You still call my brother by his surname?”

“That’s what he told me to call him.”

Maksim turned to him. “You’re no longer a mere enforcer. Your fiancée should call you something more personal.”

“I’m not his . . .” Oh, forget it. Neither man was listening to me.

The two stared each other down, Roman seeming on the verge of blows. Before the shit hit the fan, I might as well try to get answers out of one Sevastyan. I asked Maksim, “Why have you been meeting with him all week?”

“He’s been using me to help extricate you from the mafiya—trading syndicate holdings for clean ones of equal value. Like a billion-dollar game of Monopoly. He has power of attorney, and I have the means to get these things done secretly and quickly. So I have—without even a single thanks, I might add.” Maksim cast a pointed look at his brother, but there seemed to be an underlying amusement in him, as if he found this situation humorous.

I whirled around on Sevastyan. “You could have taken me to those meetings, or at the very least told me about them. They concerned my inheritance!”

“You’ve shown no interest in this money—”

“You’re one to talk, brother,” Maksim cut in. To me, he said, “Roman could have made himself a billionaire this week. But for reasons I don’t follow, he refused to rob you, refused to break his word to your father. He’s worked on your behalf to disentangle Kovalev’s legacy from crime. And once that’s complete, Roman will step in as vor in the territory.”

My eyes narrowed on Sevastyan. “I asked you about this! Seems like that might’ve been a decision we made together.” He’d signed on for a new position without even a mention to me. Because I wasn’t a partner; I was a possession.

One didn’t ask one’s favorite toy to discuss potential career paths. Ugh!

Scowling down at me, he bit out the words, “Natalie, upstairs—now.”

“You did not just bark another order at me.” In front of his brother? Blood heated my cheeks. Did he think he could command me like this simply because he did in bed?

Why wouldn’t he believe that? Dear God, I hadn’t made things better by trusting him sexually—I’d made them worse.

Weeks ago, I’d asked myself what I was prepared to do to get more from Sevastyan.

My definitive answer: not this.

I needed to accept that nothing I could do was going to move the needle with this man. He would always be closed off. And I deserved more than a satellite’s orbit and a collection of lies.

I deserved preservation of self. Or I’d rather be alone.

It was as if a neon sign was slowly crackling, clicking, popping to life in my brain. The lights spelled: This relationship is doomed, dumbass!

I had steel in my backbone and fire in my belly. My time was valuable; I didn’t reward shitty behavior with more of it. I can’t fix him, Paxán.

Maksim told me, “Don’t listen to him, dorogaya moya.” My dear. “You need to teach him that orders—outside of some . . . situations—are unwelcome.”

How much did this man know about my sex life? If they went to the same club, did the two brothers share similar interests?

You know what? That is none of my business.

“Roman is a handful, no?” Maksim continued. “A silent, brooding handful. If it’s any consolation, he has always talked this little, sharing nothing of himself. When we were children, quiet was rewarded. The opposite was . . . not.”

I didn’t have time to puzzle at his words before Sevastyan growled, “Zatknis’ na hui!” Shut the f**k up! Clearly about to go ballistic, he told me, “Leave now! Or I will carry you to our room.”

When I told Maksim, “It was a pleasure to meet you,” he flashed me a look of disappointment, as if he’d thought I would fight more. “I’ll be upstairs,” I said. A lie, to put with Sevastyan’s.

I won’t settle. I’m going to keep my eyes on the horizon.

In our room, I packed a messenger bag with my new passport, my cherished letter from Paxán, and some cash. I grabbed my wrap coat, my cell phone, and nothing else.

On my way out, I flipped off the bedroom camera. ABC, baby.

Do svidaniya, Siberian.

Chapter 41

“Your flight is about to board,” a French security guard told me as he inspected my ticket and fake passport.

In a matching fake accent, I said, “I’m surprisingly quick.” Especially if properly motivated.

An hour ago, I’d used the maid’s entrance to slip out of the town house, sneaked past the groaning guard, then hailed a cab. On the way to the airport, I’d used my phone to buy an economy ticket to Nebraska.

I’d chosen my flight based on one criterion. It departed, like, now. I just had to hope that this passport would work.

I stifled a sigh of relief when the man handed it back. “Mademoiselle, you’ll have to run to make your plane.”

“Thanks!” I called over my shoulder. Run? In heels and a demi-cup bra? Beautiful. My heels clicked along, boobs bouncing—to the delight of a pair of males I passed. This is why I preferred to wear minimizers!

As I rushed down the concourse, I called Jess.

She answered on the first ring. “How’d the splinterectomy go?”

“I left him to die on the table.” I darted glances around me, wondering how much time I had before Sevastyan noticed I was gone. “I’m at the airport right now.” Leaving him was for the best. I needed to go home, to see my friends and my mom. To sort through everything that had happened to me. To get back to my old self.

“He’ll come after you?”

“You have no idea—”

A text chimed on my phone. With a grimace, I read it.

Get your ass back here or I will whip it raw

“Shit, Jess! He knows I’m gone. He’s going to assume I came here and follow me.” To catch me and bring me back.

How had I gotten myself into this monumental mess? This had all started because I’d wanted to find my biological parents. Both were dead, and now I was saddled with a fortune that was still in the rinse cycle—along with a lying, stalker ex-boyfriend, who also happened to be an assassin.

Fuck!

“You’ve got a good head start on him, right?” Jess said. “And there’s got to be security everywhere.”

“If I can get away now, do you think we could hide out at your parents’ lake cabin for a couple of weeks?” Months? Years?

“Hide out? Nat, what did he do to you?!” She sounded on the verge of skull-fucking something.

“Nothing like you’re imagining. But he isn’t who I thought he was.”

“Skeletons in the closet?”

“Boneyard. And I still don’t know the half of it. He told me he had no family, but I just met his brother a little while ago! A big-shot politician. And their family is rich.”

“I thought you said Sevastyan was a street kid.”

“That’s what he led me to believe. You can imagine my shock. Jess, I didn’t even know his real name.”

“Holy shit, that’s serious. So to the cabin we go. I’ll make Jell-O shots for our trip, pick you up at the airport, and then we’re off. Quick question of no particular import: was the brother hot?”

“Jess!” I slowed, swiping my palm over my nape. The first night I’d met Sevastyan, I’d had a sense that I was being watched; I had that feeling again.

Wary, I surveyed the terminal—

Sevastyan! He was here, on the other side of the security checkpoint, charging through milling travelers.

God, even now I found him breathtaking to behold, with his powerful body and determined demeanor.

His intense golden eyes swept the area. Because he was hunting.

For me.

“Gotta go. F**ker’s here.” Click. How had he found me so quickly?

Our gazes met. Confusion flashed over his face. As if he truly had no idea why I’d left?

Too bad, Sevastyan, I am done.

I had to hope that he couldn’t get through the long line at security. What were the odds that he’d already bought a ticket—and lost his ever-present pistol?

His confusion was turning to fury. His body language said he would murder anyone who got between him and me. For me, his eyes were filled with warning. Don’t you dare run.

My expression told him, This dumbass can finally read neon signs. I gave him a pilot’s two-finger salute, then made my way toward my distant gate. They were boarding! If I could just get on the plane . . .

I was out of breath by the time I filed into the slow-moving line. “Excuse me,” I said to a group of sweet-looking elderly ladies in front of me, “do you mind if I skip ahead?”

They gave me bitch, please looks.

Out of the corner of my vision, I spied the crowd parting for a very tall black-haired man. Shit—he’d cleared security! My line snailed forward. . . .

Panicked, I scurried away from the gate down the terminal, knowing how this would go down. He’d catch me and I’d have to scream and fight.

And then he’d still never let me go.

When I had nowhere else to run, I spun around, squaring my shoulders.

His eyes were crazed as he stalked up to me. “Come.” He snatched my upper arm.

“Let—me—go.” I tried to wrench free of his viselike hold. “I’m not leaving with you.”

“Natalie, now.”

People were staring at us, whispering behind hands. Under my breath, I snapped, “Why can’t you just leave me alone? You’ve been doing it for weeks!” At least during the days.

“Fight me, and I go to jail. Because nothing short of that will keep me from you.”

Damn it! I’d seen his body language, promising pain to anyone who got between us. In the banya, he’d told me he’d do murder to possess me.

I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. And I didn’t want him to go to prison. Again.

“Interpol would love to take someone like me into custody.”

I glanced past him, saw a gate attendant reaching for a red phone. To alert security?

Talk about making a major decision under pressure: My freedom for his?

I recalled how Sevastyan had been last night, in our bed. My dream man.

Damn, damn, damn! It seemed I could leave him—but I couldn’t send him to prison. Not after everything he’d done for me.

This man saved my life.

His grip tightened, and his frenzied gaze pinned mine. His pupils were blown, his eyes appearing almost black. “I won’t be taken from you. Do you understand me?”

I swallowed, hoping very much that I did not understand him. I had a flashback of what he’d done to Gleb, and pitied any guard who confronted this enraged enforcer. I had no choice but to go with him. For now. “Let go of my arm, and I’ll come with you.”

Instead, he dragged me along, my wishes ignored yet again.

“You can’t do this!”

“Doing it.”

Okay, so he could force me back—didn’t mean I’d stay. He couldn’t watch me every hour of the day and night. I promised him, “Short of your locking me in a cage, I will return to Nebraska.”

“I’m not above using a cage.”

“You dick!” As soon as we were outside the airport, I launched the toe of one of my pointy heels at his calf, booting him as I had his car back at Berezka.

He didn’t seem to feel it whatsoever. So I kicked his ankle.

Nothing. And then he was tossing me into the back of his limo, signaling for the driver to go.

Apprehension overwhelmed my anger. The privacy window was up; I was at Sevastyan’s mercy.

What was he going to do to me?

As if even a foot was too much distance between us, he yanked me across his lap. He squeezed me against his chest, those massive arm muscles rippling around me.

On the way back from the club, he’d held me like this. Never had I felt more cherished and protected.

Now? I’d never felt more conflicted. Had some traitorous part of me clamored for him when he’d scanned the crowd for his woman? Had some part of me thrilled earlier to hear myself called his fiancée?