Page 73 of Little Blue

“Why didn’t they?”

“Mother,” Ilya growls low. He’s far too close now, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from Tara.

“Not only was Alexei Volkov the sole proprietor of the Volk Vault Bank in Russia and much of Europe, but he was the owner of multiple highly successful businesses in America, as well. He was and is an Oligarch; a highly successful, enormously rich, man. But that wasn’t why no one spoke up about my abduction. They remained quiet because Alexei Volkov was also the Pakhan—or head—of the Russian Bratva.” Her eyes bore into mine. “No one goes up against the head of the Bratva.”

I feel as though I’m falling, but something strong and warm and hard catches me before I hit my knees. Iron bands around my belly pin me in place as I blink through the ringing in my ears—and then I understand it’s not just my ears ringing, but the pot on the stove whistling.

“Take her to the table, Ilya,” Tara instructs softly, and I’m scooped up in strong arms.

My head is still spinning. Young Tara was taken from her home in America by the head of the Russian Bratva. And she was alive? The horror she must have endured. How can our stories be so similar and yet—wait—did she say Alexei Volkov?

Volkov as in Ilya’s last name?

Horror lands like a whip lash across my heart as a fresh burst of panic lances the wound of this new revelation. Ilya is the son of the head of the Russian Bratva.

He lowers me into a chair, and I sit stone stiff. No, I’m not stone stiff. I’m trembling like a leaf. He’s so close. Too close.

I’ve kissed him. He’s made me come.

I sleep tucked in close to him every night.

I’ve come to feel safe in his arms.

He’s killed people. He comes from a line of brutal men. Brutal killers.

A whimper escapes from between my lips as he pulls a chair close to mine. I close my eyes. I’m afraid to look at him.

I think my teeth are chattering.

A cup clinks on the table in front of me. The soothing scent of chamomile wafts below my nose, infiltrating the invasive scent of winter and flame, spiced berries and sin. Of him.

My lip quivers.

Another chair scrapes against the floor, and then a soft voice says, “Give us girls a minute, Ilya.”

“No.”

“She needs?—”

“No.”

“Very well.” Tara sighs. “Please look at me, my darling girl.”

When I feel a small hand touch my arm, another whimper escapes my lips. I shake my head. I’m trying my best to hold myself together, but I feel as though I’m crumbling. I’ve been kidnapped by a very bad man.

Of course, I knew he was bad. He kills people. But his family is Bratva. Bratva.

I can’t cope with this level of bad.

I’ve been falling for him. Falling into—no.

“You are safe,” Tara says, but it’s a lie. It can be nothing but a lie.

I’m going to die. He’s going to kill me now that I know.

I’m going to die.

Is that my heart beating fast in my chest? I gasp in breath. One, then two. My hand comes to my chest as my eyes pop wide.

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