Page 83 of Ruthless Reign

“Don’t worry. She’s safe.” I smirk, though he can’t see it. “Maxim thought it best if she goes into hiding with Kira. We doubt she was the target of the attack, but it's better to not take any chances.”

Maxim's word is law in this city, and Anatoly knows that. What he doesn't know is that Maxim and Kira are out of the country, and unless he has their private cell numbers—which he doesn't—there's no way for him to contact them.

“I’m perfectly capable of protecting Liza,” he snarls. “We’re getting married in less than a week! She can’t just disappear.”

“We were nearly killed last night,” I spit, “and you’re worried about a wedding? Delay the fucking wedding, for all I care. We have a bigger issue on our hands.”

Anatoly's anger boils over, his voice rising. “She's my fiancée. I deserve to know where the fuck she is.”

“Man, I wish I could help, but Kira’s keeping tight-lipped. You know how protective she is of her best friend.”

“I’m calling Belov!” Anatoly seethes.

“You do that.” I think he’ll find Maxim rather unavailable. “Might be smart for you to be careful as well. These days, it's hard to know who's your friend and who's your enemy.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, Vasiliev. I always watch my back.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t.” I hang up before he can say another word.

I sigh and lean back in my chair, the weight of the last twenty-four hours pressing down on me.

“Does that sound like a guilty man to you?” I ask Pavel.

“He sounds like a man pissed off that you’re keeping his fiancée.”

“Screw him.” I rise from my seat. “He doesn’t deserve her anyhow.” My shoulders bunch around my ears. “There was a bruise on her face. I saw it in London. She didn't admit that he's the one who gave it to her, but I could tell. You can always tell.” Pavel knows how broken my soul is. How watching my father beat my mother, unable to stop him, left scars on my heart that will never heal. What he doesn't know is that Liza is the first person to make me feel whole again. To make me feel something other than jaded and empty.

“Fuck me.” Pavel rakes a hand over his face. “Listen, take Liza and get out of town. Lay low somewhere until we can figure out what the fuck is going on with that mudak.”

Viktor’s expression is equally as dark when he says, “I promise to do everything in my power to uncover who is behind the attacks. Justice will be served. It’ll be my pleasure to watch Anatoly burn in hell.”

“Trust me, no one will enjoy that more than me.” I crack my knuckles, feeling a fierce wave of determination wash over me.

Maxim taught me the importance of patience, to wait for the perfect moment to act. When that moment comes for Anatoly, I'll strike swiftly and without mercy..

But I won't sacrifice Liza's safety and well-being ever again. She is and always will be my priority.

“Gentlemen.” I head for the door. “Call me when you have something. I’ll be ready and waiting.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

ROMAN

I push the door to the penthouse open, expecting to find Liza pacing and plotting a hundred different ways to kill me, but instead, I'm met with silence. I call out her name a few times, but there's no answer.

A cold dread starts to settle in my stomach. My men are stationed right outside the door—there's no way anyone could have gotten in here undetected.

Could Liza have hurt herself to get back at me? The thought has me bolting through the penthouse, calling for her, but all I hear is the echo of my own voice against the cold, empty walls.

As I step into the shadowed living room, I feel the cold press of a blade against my neck. I'm ready to toss the assailant across the room when I realize who it is.

"Liza? It's just me," I assure her. I’m so relieved to find her unharmed that I don’t immediately register that she's the one standing in front of me, pressing a knife to my jugular.

“Oh, I’m well aware,” she seethes. “Now, let me be clear about what’s going to happen. You’re going to give me my phone back, and then you’re going to let me go.” She presses the tip of what is clearly a kitchen knife against my skin, just enough that I feel a slow, warm trickle of blood down my neck. “I don’t know where you get off playing God with my life, but I really don’t like it.”

The edge in her voice could cut steel, but I can't help the smirk that tugs at my lips. I appreciate her bravado, even if I could disarm her in a heartbeat and turn the tables with a simple twist of my wrist if I wanted to. But I won’t.

“My apologies,” I say sincerely. “If you’d kindly remove the knife from my throat, I can give you back your phone.”

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