I can see the thoughts running through his head, as he decides whether to answer. His jaw flexes as he swallows. Then he says, “Yes. Jack Du Pont is dead.”
My stomach clenches up in a knot. Jack Du Pont is one of my brother’s closest associates. They went to school together. He’s worked at our house for years. He was my driver and bodyguard, and also a friend.
“Oh,” I say.
I can feel the tears sliding down my cheeks.
Mikolaj doesn’t apologize or look away. His gaze is steady.
“I’ve caused you pain,” he says.
“Is everyone else okay?” I ask him.
“Dante Gallo is in prison,” he says. “Otherwise, yes.”
I cover my face with my hands. My face is hot, and my hands are cool, by comparison.
Aida loves Dante the way that I love Callum. She must be freaking out right now.
My whole family will be. Because I’m still missing. And Jack is dead. And they know more is coming.
I raise my face out of my hands and I try to meet Mikolaj’s gaze with an equal level of composure.
“What’s going to happen?” I ask him.
When we first spoke in this room, he told me he was going to destroy everything I hold dear. I have to know if that’s still his plan. If nothing has changed between us.
“Well,” Mikolaj says, “that depends.”
“On what?”
“On you, Nessa.”
He runs his hand through his ash-blond hair, smoothing it back from his face. It falls down again immediately. It never stays in place. It’s Mikolaj’s only tell when he’s nervous. Otherwise you’d never know.
“Do you like this house?” he asks me.
It’s a bizarre question.
“Of course,” I say hesitantly. “It’s beautiful. In a spooky sort of way.”
“What if you stayed here?” Mikolaj says, his ice-blue eyes boring into mine. “With me.”
There’s almost too much oxygen in this space. I feel a little dizzy, like I’ve taken a whiff of nitrous oxide.
“I don’t really have a choice about that, do I?” I say softly.
“What if you did?” Mikolaj says. “Could you be happy here?”
“With you?” I repeat.
“Yes.”
“You’re talking about a marriage pact.”
“Yes,” he says. “If your family agrees.”
The room is spinning around me. This is both the most terrifying thing I can imagine, and the only thing that could give me hope.
This is nothing I ever pictured for myself. I’m familiar with the concept of mafia marriages, obviously—my brother just married Aida under similar circumstances. But that seems so different.
My brother is a gangster. He’s a politician and a businessman too, but he was raised to this life. I wasn’t. Not even a little bit.
I’m not like Callum and Aida. I’m not tough and resourceful. I’m not brave. I’m afraid of getting hurt. Physically, and in a deeper, more lasting way.
I’m only now realizing how dangerous Mikolaj is for me. In the time I’ve been living in his house, he’s dug his way under my skin, burrowed into my brain. I dream about him at night. I think about him all day while I’m composing my ballet. As my captor, he’s taken me over completely.
How much worse would that be if he were my husband?
I always thought I’d fall in love in the normal way. With flirtation and romance and kindness and gentleness.
Instead I’ve fallen into something so much darker.
Every time Mikolaj speaks to me, every time he even looks at me, he’s throwing a tiny thread of spider silk around me. Each one is so thin and light I don’t notice them. When we dance together, when he kisses me. When he even looks my way . . .
I had no idea how entangled I was becoming.
What frightens me is how much further this could go.
Everything that’s happened so far between us has been by accident.
What if I were to sink into this intentionally? How deep is this well?
I feel like I could fall down into it forever. So far that I’d never see the sun again.
I’m not looking at him because I can’t. His gaze is so piercing, I feel like he’ll be able to read every thought in my head.
Mikolaj takes my face in his hands and turns it toward him, forcing me to meet his eyes.
The first time I saw his face, I thought it was sharp and cruel. Now I think it’s nothing short of devastating. It devastates my notions of what I thought was handsome before. I liked the clean-cut, boyish look. I liked sweet and conventional.
There’s never been a man who looked quite like Mikolaj. He’s the culmination of male and female beauty, all in one. His high cheekbones, sea glass eyes, and white-blond hair, combined with his razor-sharp jaw, thinly carved lips, and ruthless stare.
He’s vicious and tender. His tattoos are like a suit of armor he can never take off, with a few pale spots of vulnerability—his face and hands, the only bits of him that show what he was before.
I know he’s just as multi-faceted on the inside. He’s a leader, a planner, a killer. But also someone who loves music and art. Someone loyal. Who has cared for people before—his sister, his adoptive father, his brothers . . .
And maybe, maybe . . . for me, too.
Mikolaj has embarrassed and frightened me. Taunted and tormented me. But I’m very aware of the lines he didn’t cross.
I don’t think he wanted this connection between us any more than I did. It happened all the same. It’s real. I don’t think I could sever it if I wanted to.
What if he sent me home now?
It’s what I wanted all this time.
I picture myself back in my bright, modern house on the lake. Hugged and kissed and protected by my parents. Safe and secure.
I think of my room at home. Even in my mind, it looks childish now—ruffled bedspread. Fuzzy pillows. Pink curtains. My old teddy bear.
I cringe, picturing it. Would I feel at home there now? Or would I lay in that ruffled, narrow bed and think about the smell of stone and oil paint, dust and citrus, and the masculine scent of Mikolaj himself.
I know the truth already.
I’d miss this dark, old house, and the even darker man inside. I would feel drawn back here like one of Dracula’s victims, bitten and infected and compelled to come home.
Is it good to feel ensnared by a man? Probably not. This is probably sick and wrong on a hundred levels.
But it’s powerful and real all the same. I can’t fight it. I don’t know if I even want to.
All this time he’s been staring into my eyes, unblinking, infinitely patient. Waiting for me to make my choice.
There’s no choice to make.
It already happened, without me knowing it.
He captured me, and there’s no letting go.
I close my eyes and bring my lips up to his. I kiss him, gently at first. Then I taste his lips and his tongue, I breathe in his scent, and it’s gasoline on an open flame. I’m the wood, he’s the accelerant. No matter how much we burn, we’re never used up.
I’m straddling his lap, my hands holding his face, his hands holding mine. We’re kissing each other deeply, hungrily, like we could never be satisfied.
Then he’s picking me up and he’s carrying me out of the conservatory, across the main floor, and up the stairs to the west wing.