Page 15 of Disguised as Love

My heart burned as if someone had stuck a soldering iron to it, burns that would leave scars even if they eventually healed, as the tears fell unstopped down my face.

Papa was dead, and there was talk that Malik was behind it. Even if it wasn’t true?and God, did I ache for it not to be?it meant there was enough bad blood between my father and brother that people could consider it a legitimate possibility. While I’d been doted on and coddled, Malik had been pushed to his limits. I’d been allowed to pursue all my dreams, while the things my brother had loved had been shoved aside in an attempt to shape him into a replica of our father. Tough and kind. Feared and loved.

My thoughts and emotions swirled about me, exhaustion tugging at me until I finally fell into a fitful sleep. In my dreams, dragons crawled out from the crevices, and I was never sure if they were coming to protect me or devour me whole.

? ? ?

The plane hitting the runway woke me. I fumbled my way to the bathroom, cleaned away any trace of tears, and used some of the still-in-their-package products to freshen up. My hair was a tangled mess, and I simply wrapped it up in a bun on top of my head the best I could. It would have to do until I could shower away the grief and stress of the journey.

When I walked out of the bedroom and found my way to the door of the jet, it was to find Ilia and Special Agent Malone both waiting for me. Two men who’d both sworn to keep me safe. I wasn’t sure they could. I’d never felt truly afraid in my homeland before because I’d known my father and his men were there. No one would hurt me on his watch. But now, not only was he gone but he’d told me to stay away, as if even he couldn’t protect me anymore. And if Petya Leskov had been unsure he could keep me safe, what could these two men do?

The twelve-hour flight and the time difference meant we’d landed in St. Petersburg almost a full day after Malone had first appeared at my house in Stanford. The dean hadn’t been thrilled, even though she’d been understanding, when I’d woken her up in the middle of the night to let her know I was going to Russia. My TA would cover my finals, but I’d likely miss commencement altogether. At least this hadn’t happened midterm. At least the school year was pretty much behind us.

Ilia and Malone had already reached the tarmac when I paused on the top step to take in the twilight filling the sky. This far north in June, it never fully got dark. It meant that the White Night Festival was probably in full swing?a time of year I’d once loved. We’d always had exclusive access to the festival’s events because of Papa, and even though the crowds had been in the hundreds of thousands or even millions, I’d never been frightened by them.

Now, the thought of attending any of the activities left me shuddering inside. It would be too easy to pick someone off in the chaos of the hordes with the booms of the fireworks overcoming any screams.

“Raisa?” It was Special Agent Malone who spoke first. He journeyed back to the base of the stairs, taking me in while Ilia remained near two SUVs waiting for me on the runway.

Could I do this? Step foot on Russian soil when I knew I had a target on my back? Papa wouldn’t want me to put myself at risk for his funeral. But I needed to know what had happened. I needed to know the truth. I swallowed hard and made my way down the stairs on legs that trembled. I hid it the best I could, but the man watching me descend seemed to read it anyway.

He reached out a hand, fingers touching my chin and drawing my gaze to his.

“Breathe,” he said. It was the second time he’d told me to do so. The second time he’d tried to calm my frayed emotions. While I knew it was because I wasn’t any good to him if I fell apart, somewhere deep inside me, there was an ache that wished I had a real boyfriend here to help me through. To hold me as I started to break down.

I took a deep breath, holding it and then exhaling slowly. I repeated it, all while deep, dark eyes carefully gauged my reactions.

“Good?” he asked after a moment.

I nodded.

He surprised me by sliding his hand around mine, dwarfing it. The feeling I’d had as a child, with my tiny hand in Papa’s, returned. A sense of safety. Of belonging. Of knowing there was someone who would forever be on your side. I couldn’t afford to think that way with this man, but my body didn’t seem to have gotten the memo.

Malone led me to the first of two SUVs that were waiting for us. Ilia opened the door, and I slid into the back. Malone started to follow me in until a gun pointed at him halted us both. The barrel was so close to my cheek that if I leaned, I’d feel the cool metal against my skin.

“Get out.” Malik’s voice was hard and cruel in a way I’d never heard before. My eyes grew wide as I took in my brother. He seemed even thinner and more angular than the last time I’d seen him. Dark shadows under his eyes matched the darkness of his perfectly scuffled hair and the thin layer of his goatee.

“Malik!” I scolded, but he didn’t once look my way. He just kept eyeballing Malone.

“You let Ivan Gennady’s man bring you home, ‘Isa. That was stupid.”

My heart was pumping at a pace that threatened a violent end both from fear and anger. How dare he call me stupid! Not after all the reckless things he’d done over the years. The number of times I’d forgiven him for abandoning me, using me, and leaving me to take a drug charge on his behalf. Later, I’d blame it on both these intense emotions for saying the words Malone had wanted me to say all along.

“He’s my boyfriend, Malik.”

That caused his eyes to shift to me, narrowing to almost nonexistent slits. He spoke to me in Russian, “You’ve got to be joking, right? Papa would skin you alive for dating one of Gennady’s men.”

Loss filled me. I wished Papa was alive to do just that. Berate me. Demand I give my boyfriend up. And I would have easily done it?fake relationship or not. I’d do anything if it meant he was alive again.

“You have no right to criticize me,” I returned in Russian. “Not when the entire world thinks you’re responsible for this. For father.”

He didn’t even flinch, and that struck a new fear in me. Fear that Malone might actually be right.

“He can ride in the other car with the rest of the bratki.” He said the word with such derision that it was as if he’d called him a lowlife shitbag instead of a simple foot soldier in the bratva.

The entire time the gun had been trained on him, Malone had just stood there, taking in the situation. It was almost as if he understood clearly what we were saying while we talked in Russian, but then his words countered it. “What does your brother want?”

“He wants you to ride in the other car.”

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