Thief (Boston Underworld #5)(36)

“This will take all day,” I protest.

“Then you better start now,” she says. “Dinner is at seven.”

She turns away and prepares to work on her own list. As frustrating as it may be, I know she’s also just doing what she’s told, so there’s no further point in arguing. We work together in silence, and I was not mistaken in my estimate. It does take all day.

My feet ache, and I’m covered in flour when I finally pull the last item out of the oven. Baked apples with sweet filling. It is only one of the four desserts we prepared for this evening, in addition to the breads and salads and meat dishes. I have no idea who could possibly be so important to deserve the amount of food we have prepared, but I hope they appreciate it.

“Nakya.”

I turn to find Nikolai watching me from the doorway, and my heart slows. His face is expressionless, and the ocean in his eyes has turned to ice. I have seen that look on a man’s face before. I had seen that look when my father handed down orders to his own men. That same numbness came over them when a job needed to be done, but it wasn’t something they were particularly fond of doing.

And right now, it looks like Nikolai is about to do a job he doesn’t much care for either.

“It’s time to go upstairs and get dressed,” he says. “Come.”

He doesn’t wait for me to answer. I follow him through the house and up the stairs, exhausted and weary of another formal dinner. He is already dressed for the occasion, and it isn’t his usual jeans or motorcycle boots. Tonight, he is wearing all black, from his slacks to his button up to his oxfords. A dangerous style for a dangerous man.

Meanwhile, I am unshowered and messy from the labor of the day. Luckily, he seems to be too distracted by his own thoughts to notice.

“There.” He points to a dress already laid out on my bed. It isn’t one I’ve seen before, but I’m almost certain it might be one of Nonna’s. It’s beige, and it’s ugly. “Put this on, quickly.”

“I have to shower,” I protest. “I haven’t had time to do my hair or makeup—”

“No.” His tone is unyielding, and I’m confused. I went to all the trouble of cooking a feast fit for royalty, yet he believes my appearance is not of importance. My father would have never allowed me to attend a dinner in my current state.

I cross my arms and hold my head high, determined to take a stand. “I’m not going to dinner without cleaning myself up first.”

“Put the dress on,” Nikolai says through gritted teeth. “Or I will do it for you.”

I hold my ground, mostly because I don’t want to believe him. I’m not wearing that dress, and I’m not going to meet guests in this state. But my captor has other plans, and he stalks toward me with tension rippling through every visible muscle. Instinct makes me cower when he grabs my arm, and I try to turn away from him.

“Enough,” he barks. “I would not hit you. I have never hit you.”

The storm is back, and I’m afraid to meet his eyes for fear of what I’ll find there. But when I do, shock punches the breath from my lungs. It’s a storm of a different color. Sorrow so deep and violent, it chokes every bit of blue in his irises, turning them to gray.

Just gray.

I fall limp in his arms when he pulls me toward him and begins to undress me. With the prospect of more bad weather ahead, the fight has gone out of me. Something bad is coming. I can feel it.

Nikolai drapes the beige fabric over my head and zips it in the back. But it does little to conform to the shape of my body. It’s merely a loose, shapeless sack he’s dressed me in. Ugly and unflattering, the way he must see me.

“Shoes.”

The shoes dangling from his fingers are flats. Cheap and plain to match the dress. And just as before, he is the one to put them on. Kneeling before me, he shoves each foot into the uncomfortable canvas.

He resurrects himself, and his eyes stare through me. “Now we go downstairs.”

“Please don’t make me, Nikolai. Not like this.”

I don’t have a scrap of makeup on. My hair isn’t even brushed. Shame is welling up inside me, and I am horrified that he would want to present me to anybody in this state. But his only response is to wrench me by the arm and drag me from the room.

My resistance has returned, and I battle him every step of the way, desperate to avoid whatever’s coming. Halfway down the stairs, he pauses, arresting my face with uncompromising fingers.

“Understand this, Nakya. If you step out of bounds tonight, you will only have yourself to blame for what happens next. Should the pakhan decide you are better off passed around as amusement for the brothers, there won’t be a thing I can do to save you.”

Fear paralyzes my throat, and I can’t breathe. I can’t even move. Because this time, he is not a liar. The leader of his mafiya is coming here tonight. The man who Nikolai answers to. The man who might, in fact, decide my fate.

I wanted to believe I was safe here. I even foolishly fell for the notion that I might be able to trust this man. But that trust was misplaced. As powerful as Nikolai might be, he is not in control. Yet he is the only hope I have. I must do what he tells me, and I must believe that there is still humanity inside him. He won’t let those animals take me. He will fight on my behalf to keep me alive.

Once he sees the acceptance on my face, he lurches me forward again. Already, I can hear the voices of our guests. But before we reach them, we are met by another man at the bottom of the stairs. He is young, perhaps younger than me. And even though he bears the Vory tattoos, his features are not as harsh as my captor’s.