Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (55)

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I don’t bite.”

“Even if you do,” I hear myself say, “I can hold my own. I bite back.”

I blush immediately. I have no idea what made me say that. Maybe I have an intrinsic need to let the world know that I am not okay with this situation, no matter how differently it looks from the outside. To tell anyone and everyone who will listen that I’m no damsel in distress.

She stares at me for a long moment. Weighing me. Searching me.

Then she smiles. “I can see why he was so adamant to get you back.”

I raise my eyebrows. “How much do you know?”

“Everything,” she says calmly. “Probably even more than my sons think I do.”

She’s certainly not the kind of woman who looks like she’s content to sit in the dark. Maybe that’s why I can’t help feeling a grudging sense of admiration for the proud woman.

Honestly, I want to be her when I grow up.

“I hope you’re comfortable here.”

“I do hope you’re comfortable here. I know it’s not easy…”

“And you’re okay with all this?” I ask her curiously. “You’re okay with your son abducting women and plotting revenge on your nephew?”

Her expression shifts. The effect is infinitesimal, but I catch it.

“I never had any control over my boys, Camila,” she says, addressing me like we’re old friends. “I never had much say in their upbringing, either. They were always his sons. Not mine.”

“Your husband’s?”

She nods. “Vitaly was a hard man. He wanted his sons to be able to carry on the legacy he built. He molded them into men who could run a successful Bratva. I got a little extra time with Bogdan. But Isaak… he was his father’s heir from day one. He was the successor and that came with sacrifices. Including his childhood. So when you ask me if I knew about his plans, the answer won’t change the fact that I have no power or influence over either one of my boys. They belong to the Bratva from skin to soul. It’s a beast that swallows children and turns them into men.”

“That sounds… lonely.”

Her eyes flicker to me. “It was. It is.”

I would never have imagined feeling sorry for this woman. She’s so proud, so regal. And yet here I am, feeling pity.

“Not all cages are literal, Camila. Some are entirely of our own making. Some are even deserved.”

That sticks with me. Not simply because of the aching expression on her face. But the amount of regret in her tone when she says it.

“I know what you mean,” I whisper before I can stop myself.

“Do you?”

I sigh. “I’ve spent my whole life striving to be a certain type of woman. And I’m terrified that I’m failing.”

“What kind of woman is that?”

“The kind who knows her own mind. The kind who can stand on her own two feet. The kind who doesn’t need a man to survive.”

“And you don’t think that’s who you are?”

“I don’t know. I’m scared that I want a love story too much.”

Nikita raises her thin eyebrows. “Two things can be true at the same time. You don’t have to sacrifice who you are in order to fall in love.”

“Don’t you?” I ask.

Silence steals in between us. I know immediately I’ve said too much.

Nikita Vorobev is not my friend. She’s the mother of the man that abducted me. Shopping sprees, helicopter rides and fancy dinners aside, I am his prisoner.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I just couldn’t walk past this room when I saw what was in it.”

“It’s quite a big library,” Nikita replies. “Feel free to explore it.”

With that, the air shifts. She’s the kind of woman who can end a conversation with merely the arch of an eyebrow.

But we both turn when we hear a voice at the door. “Camila?”

It’s ridiculous how fast my heart rate picks up. My only consolation is that no one can hear it pounding in my chest.

“You’re back,” Isaak says coldly.

“I… Yes, I was heading to my room when I…”

“Ran into my mother?”

I glance towards her. She hasn’t moved or said a word.

“Saw the library,” I correct.

Isaak steps into the room, looking cold and impatient. He looks at Nikita. “Mother, tea is being set up for you on the terrace,” he says. “You should head there now.”

It’s more of a command than a suggestion.

Nikita gives me an enigmatic parting smile and whisks out of the library without saying anything. Isaak steps forward. The door swings shut behind him. I take an instinctive step back.

I should be wary of him. I should want to fight back. Yell. Shout. Scream.

I should be thinking of all the ways I can attempt to escape him.

But all I can think is: if the Beast has a library like this, he can’t be all bad.

Can he?





22





Isaak





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