Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (35)

“Stay safe, Cami.”

“I will. I love you. Look after my girl.”

Bree gives me a little wink. Then her picture disappears. I leave her information on Skype, so that I can call her again tomorrow. Even if Isaak were to check up on me, all he’ll see is that I’ve called my sister, just like I said I would.

When I walk out of the study, Edith peels herself off the wall of the corridor, hands clasped in front of her. She must’ve been waiting for me.

I jump and nearly scream. “For God’s sake! How long have you been standing there?”

“Fifteen minutes, madam. Master Isaak instructed me that I was told not to disturb you while you were on your call.”

“Right. Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell; you just scared me. Thanks for waiting, but next time, just… knock or something.”

“Yes, madam.”

I take a moment to eye her. She’s a petite little blond thing, with warm gray eyes and an ever-present smile. I don’t know if my mind was poisoned by Lurch in the Addams Family cartoons from when I was a kid or what, but I always figured that household servants would be dour and off-putting. Edith is anything but that. She’s a bright ray of sunshine amidst all the English gloom.

“What were you waiting for me about?” I inquire.

“Well, perhaps we should get you to your room,” she suggests.

I glance down the hall. My room is two doors down. A literal hop, skip, and a jump from where we’re standing right now.

“Might I ask why?”

“You’re to be downstairs in half an hour, madam. You and Master Isaak will be dining out of the manor tonight.”

My blood curdles at once. “Is that so?” I drawl.

Edith hurries to open the door to my bedroom for me. I step inside and kick off my flip-flops, but my eyes go straight to the beautiful jade green evening dress that’s been laid out on my bed.

“Master Isaak picked it out for you himself,” Edith comments before I can even ask.

“Did he now?” I’m entirely unimpressed by his arrogance, if not his taste in clothes. “Well, it’s actually rather pretty. But I won’t be wearing that tonight.”

Edith blinks in confusion. “Ma’am?”

“Don’t worry,” I say dismissively. “I’ll be down at the appointed hour. We wouldn’t want to keep Master Isaak waiting, now would we?”

She flinches at my biting tone and looks nervously at the dress on the bed. I get the feeling she’s not much of one for conflict.

“If you don’t mind, could I ask what else you had in mind?” she says politely.

“First of all, the ‘ma’am’ has gotta go,” I say gently. “Just Camila is plenty. Or Cami. Whichever you prefer. And second of all, I’m perfectly comfortable in what I’ve got on right now.”

Her eyes flit over my jeans and t-shirt combo and she pales. “You… you’re wearing that for dinner tonight?”

“I am.”

“But—”

“Thanks for your help, Edith,” I say firmly. “You’re off the hook for today.” I give her a wink and a pat on the forearm. “Don’t worry. I can handle him.”

She looks pale, shaky, and rather skeptical as she leaves my room. I don’t like putting a sweetheart like her in an awkward position. But I’ll be damned if I let Isaak fucking Vorobev turn me into his little china doll.

This is my first step towards taking control of the situation.

Smiling to myself, I use the bathroom and then plant myself in front of the mirror. I wash my face with cold water and towel it dry.

Then I do absolutely nothing else.

I don’t even bother running a brush through my hair. I just keep it lying loose around my shoulders and head back into the bedroom. The fuzzy flip-flops will do nicely, I decide.

I step out. There’s a huge mirror hanging at the end of the hallway. I stop and peruse my appearance for a second.

Ripped to pieces blue mom jeans? Check.

Pink flip-flops that look like I taxidermized the Energizer Bunny? Check.

Hair like I just did a backflip in a wind tunnel, not a speck of make-up on my face, and a very carefully crafted “Isaac Vorobev, eat your heart out” gleam in my eyes? Check, check, and check.

“Dinner time,” I say to my reflection with a wicked grin. “Hope you’re ready for me.”





14





Camila





He’s waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase.

I have to try very hard to control my expression, because Jesus Christ—he looks like Adonis in a suit. The dark blue suit coat seems to make his broad shoulders even broader. The crisp white shirt he’s wearing underneath is open at the collar, with two buttons undone to show a smattering of dark chest hair and the creeping tendril of a tattoo.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” Isaak asks. “I believe I chose a dress specifically for the occasion.”

The navy suit gives the intensity of his stare an extra lift. Not that he needed it.

“As a matter of fact, it is,” I say cheerily. “I’m all set for dinner. What’s on the menu?”

I’m ready for a fight. A tug-of-war. At the very least, for him to send me back to my room like a scolded child.