Savage Hearts (Queens & Monsters #3)(79)

When the knock comes on the front door, I jump, gasping.

“Easy, baby,” Mal murmurs against my lips. “It’s just Dom with the bags.”

“Dom?”

“The driver.”

“Oh. Okay.”

But when Mal opens the door, it isn’t the driver. It’s a beautiful young brunette, carrying a large black box tied with white ribbon in her arms.

She bows, like the men at the elevators did, then says something I can’t hear and holds out the box.

Mal accepts the box without a word and closes the door. He stands with his back turned for several long moments, his shoulders stiff. When he turns to face me, I go cold.

His jaw is set. His eyes are black. His expression is stony.

Whatever’s in that box, it isn’t good.

He walks slowly across the apartment until he’s standing in front of me again. Just standing there, holding the box, looking at me like it’s the end of the world.

“What is that?”

“It’s for you.”

The hollowness of his voice terrifies me. I look at the black box with its pretty white ribbon and take an involuntary step back.

Mal sets it on the big marble island and lays his hand on top. “It’s a dress.”

Now I’m confused. “A dress? For me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Then why are you being so strange?”

“Because I didn’t buy it.”

My stomach twists into a knot. Something unpleasant crawls down my spine, a feeling like a centipede is slithering along my skin, its tiny insect legs cold and prickly.

“Who bought it?”

“Pakhan.”

The only sound that breaks the following silence is the whirr of the microwave. We stare at each other until the timer bell rings, then Mal says, “He’s invited us to dinner. We leave in ten minutes.”

“Now? It’s got to be one o’clock in the morning.”

“The time is immaterial.”

I’m sensing all kinds of weirdness coming off him. It makes my already frazzled nerves fray even more. “This isn’t good, is it?”

He hesitates. “It’s unexpected.”

He’s hedging his answers. There’s something he doesn’t want me to know, and it freaks me out. “Did you tell him about me?”

“No.”

“How did he find out?”

He hesitates again. “Any one of a million ways. He’s the most powerful man in Russia.”

My breath shallow, my heartbeat zooming, and my palms starting to sweat, I look at the box as if it’s full of snakes. “But…but if he sent that dress, he knew about me before we got here.”

“Yes.”

Oh, god. Has he been watching us? And if he has been…why?

I can think of a few reasons off the top of my head, none of them good. Adrenaline floods my system, leaving me shaking.

Mal walks over to me and takes my face in his hands.

“You’re not in danger.”

“Are you sure? Because it sounds like you’re only saying that to convince yourself.”

“This is a chess move. A power play. He wants me to know he knows about you, that’s all. I never would’ve brought you to the city if I thought you wouldn’t be safe.”

I lick my lips and try to swallow. My mouth is as dry as a desert. Fear has leached all the moisture from my body. I close my eyes and inhale a shaky breath.

“Look at me, malyutka.”

When I gaze up into his eyes, he says vehemently, “Any man who even looks at you wrong will die. Any man, including him. If I sense any hint of a threat, if anything whatsoever happens that displeases me, I will make him unalive. Do you understand me?”

Trembling, I say, “Not really.”

“But do you trust me?”

His eyes are fierce. His intensity is breathtaking. And the truth of his words is obvious in every taut line of his body, in every muscle and pore.

This man will kill to protect me. Even his own boss, the most powerful man in Russia, isn’t exempt from the Hangman’s noose.

Gun. Knife. Whatever he uses. The fact remains: my assassin has my back.

Fortified by that thought, I stand straighter, taking a breath. “Yes.”

He pulls me against his chest, hugging me hard and exhaling into my hair.

“Good. Now let’s get dressed. The sooner this is over with, the better.”

With that cryptic statement hanging over my head, Mal picks up the box and leads me into the bedroom.





38





Riley





Except for a king-size bed, the master bedroom is as empty as the rest of the apartment.

The walls are painted stark white. The floor is glossy white marble. The bed itself is a masculine affair of black duvet and angular pillows. There are no rugs or drapes to muffle the echo of our footsteps.

Whoever decorated this place didn’t want it to be comfortable. It’s about as homey as a mausoleum.

Mal shows me around, then leaves me in the bathroom with a kiss on my head and a reminder that I have five minutes before we have to leave. I stand in the middle of the enormous space, feeling like I’ve crash landed on Mars and hostile aliens are swarming over the horizon.