“You. Are. Staying.” It was not a question.
“Well, why not?”
“You are Mikhailov,” she said as if the matter was obvious. “You do not belong here.”
“Where does it say that?” I asked with a frown. “I haven’t seen a single sign banishing Mikhailovs from Moscow.”
Her eyes hardened. “He will not let you stay.”
“Who?” I played dumb.
“Ronan,” she growled. “You are nothing but collateral to him. And maybe a fleeting amusement, like a fancy new toy, but I assure you, his interest will pass.”
I dropped my plate on the coffee table. “Is everyone on a mission to ruin my breakfasts?” I exclaimed. “And for your information, Nadia, I’ve never laid a claim on him.” I thought of his earlier dismissal that still burned in my chest. “As far as I’m concerned, you can have him.”
She gave me a disbelieving look.
The heat licking up my back forced me to my feet. “Congratulations . . . the mobster’s all yours.” My gaze narrowed. “Now, all you have to do is figure out how to keep him, because it doesn’t sound like you’ve been doing a very good job.”
Cheeks flaming, she jumped to her stilettos. Even with bare feet, I topped her by multiple inches. Considering the look in her eyes as she was forced to look up to meet my gaze, she hated it.
“You think I cannot keep him?” she asked derisively.
“Mamma,” Kat whispered, “is this passiveagressivness?”
“No, cara, this is just aggressiveness. Now, be quiet and pass me a pancake.”
A tense laugh escaped me. “Let me see . . .” I ticked each point off on my fingers. “One, you know nothing about him. Two, you’re so jealous you’re here harassing the captive he’s about to trade off like collateral. And three, you need a therapist. So no, I don’t think you can keep him. But I wish you all the luck.”
Over this in spades, I walked away, but a sharp tug on my hair drew me to a stop.
She. Pulled. My. Hair.
I gritted my teeth as a rage of resentment washed through me. Inhaling deeply, I decided to take the high road and walk—
“You are practically a slave here,” Nadia spit with malice. “I would like a drink. Fetch me one.”
What was the high road?
Without another thought, I grabbed a chunk of her ridiculously shiny hair and pulled, jerking her head to the side. She looked at me like she was the victim before a vicious fire filled her eyes. It was the next handful of my hair she pulled that made us lose balance and fall to the floor.
We knocked into the coffee table. Plates of food slid off and fell to the floor. Nadia grabbed a handful of porridge and smashed it into my T-shirt, growling, “I do not need therapist.”
“That’s the first thing nutcases say!” I straddled her and knocked her head into the floor.
“Ow! You amazon!” Nadia screeched, slapping me like a girl. “I cannot believe he would ever want you!”
“Go, Mila!” Kat cheered from the couch.
Nadia tugged my hair so hard it was like she was trying to rip out a chunk, forcing me to roll off her if I wanted to keep those strands.
“That tongue emoji was for you, was it not?” she asked, kicking me in the side with her stiletto.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you psycho,” I growled, digging my nails into her wrist until she released my hair. Then I straddled her back and rubbed her face in the porridge on the floor.
“You bitch!” She turned her head so she didn’t suffocate in porridge. “Tomorrow cannot come soon enough.”
Something in the tone of her voice made me falter.
Noticing, she laughed. “You do not know? Tomorrow, you go—how do they say . . .?” When she figured it out, the words were a mocking titter. “Bye-bye.”
A coldness radiated from my chest to consume me whole. I barely felt someone drag me off Nadia.
“No, Dyadya,” Kat complained. “Things were just getting good.”
My feet dangled off the floor as Ronan held me by my waist. He was usually so warm, but now, his arm burned like an icy shackle. Sharp words were being exchanged, but the ringing in my ears drowned them out. My chest heaved from the exertion, though the anger was gone, leaving a cold detachment behind.
Nadia stood and wiped porridge from her face, her eyes glittering with malice. “She did not know,” she laughed, then a small pout appeared. “I hope it was not supposed to be a surprise.”
Ronan seethed, the fury vibrating in his chest.
Nadia stared daggers at me. “I should have known you would be just like your mother.”
She caught a glint of uncertainty in my eyes and laughed. “You do not know about your dear ol’ mother?”
“Zatknis’,” Ronan growled at her. Shut up.
“No,” I returned. “I want to hear what she has to say.”
Nadia raised an amused brow. “Where does one even start?”
As Ronan turned to carry me out of the room, a volcano erupted in my chest at the unanswered questions and the need to know the truth. I struggled violently, cursed him, and when I told him to never touch me again, he finally released me.
Nadia watched the scene with a venomous expression and finally turned her gaze to mine. “Should I start with the bad news or the slightly less bad news?”
“Just spit it out, Nadia,” Ronan snapped.
“Well . . .” She looked at her nails. “There was that rumor Tatianna was a whore who liked it rough. And when I say ‘rough,’ I mean like knives and animals involved.” She scrunched her nose. “But I suppose what she is really known for is what she did for your papa. She saw a cute girl on the street, charmed her into her Bugatti and—poof!—the girl was never seen again.”
I stared at her. My heart raced, but my mind was numb.
“Those are the rumors . . . though they do say in every rumor there is a grain of truth.” Nadia feigned a sympathetic look. “Unfortunately, in your mother’s case, there was an entire grain bin of truth.”
My papa trafficked girls.
And my mother had helped him.
It felt like the room was spinning while I tried to process the news. I needed space. Now.
Ronan turned me to face him and wiped some porridge from my cheek. I couldn’t do this. I just couldn’t. Though trying to pull free from his grip turned out to be as futile as always.
“Tell me you are okay,” he demanded.
“I’m okay. Now, please . . . let me go.”
It looked like he was about to deny the request, but something in my eyes must have changed his mind. He tipped up my chin and gave me a short, sweet kiss on the lips—ignoring Nadia’s outraged, “ARGH!”—before he let me slip through his fingers.
Moving on autopilot, I climbed the stairs, catching pieces of the fuzzy background noise.
“I missed you,” Nadia whined.
“This is the last time I will see you,” Ronan growled. “Or I swear to God, your career will disappear in front of your eyes.”
“But—”
“But no. Get the fuck out of my house, Nadia. And find a therapist, for Christ’s sake.”