Page 23 of Emerald Vices

I search his face for some sign of a punchline. There’s none to be found. “What do you mean? I’m staying with Katya.”

“Not anymore. A situation’s come up and it’s better that you stay at the manor from now on.”

I gape at him like an idiot. “What kind of situation?”

“A few men were spotted outside Kat’s place this morning,” he supplies. “Another group of men were seen just outside Sunshield as well. All on Nikolai’s payroll.”

I can’t pretend that news doesn’t affect me. But a part of me does question it. It sounds like something someone who wanted me to move back under his watchful gaze would say.

“Does it matter? You have a whole army shadowing my every move.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to cut it. Until the threat has passed, this is your home.”

“But I left because I needed— I want—” I blow out a harsh breath. “I need space.”

Space I can’t get when Andrey demands so much of my attention. Being in such close proximity to him feels more dangerous than ever.

“I know, lastochka,” he says. “Unfortunately, you’re going to have to find space under this roof.”

To which I say: “Fuck. That.”

I get as far as the foyer before I’m stopped. Leif towers over me, his broad shoulders blocking the front door working in direct contrast to the apologetic grimace on his face. “Sorry, Nat, but I can’t let you leave. Pakhan’s orders.”

There are a trillion different comebacks burning on the tip of my tongue—maybe even a right and left hook—but Leif doesn’t deserve them. He’s only following orders, same as the rest of us.

So I swallow down my unkind thoughts, whip around, and make straight for the son of a bitch who does deserve to hear them.

When I burst back into his office, Andrey doesn’t bother to look up from his papers. “Back so soon? What happened to needing space?”

“You’re already holding me hostage here. There’s no need to belittle me on top of that.”

His impassive expression doesn’t change, but he rounds the table and walks over to me. “I’m not belittling you, little bird. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

Those silver eyes hold me captive as he brushes his knuckles against my cheek. Heat courses through me, and I somehow find the willpower to step away from him.

“Come,” he says, taking my hand. “Let me show you to your room.”

There’s something so comforting in letting my fingers lace through his. In letting him lead me. He could be guiding me straight to hell, and I’d just be following along blindly, happy to be holding his hand.

Getting a hold of myself, I pull my hand from his. “I know the way to the pool house.”

“I’m not taking you to the pool house.”

That’s when I realize we’re not heading outside, but up the stairs.

Pure curiosity is the only thing that drives me to follow.

That and the perfect view I have of his ass. He’s fighting dirty, it seems.

He leads me back to the gargantuan guest bedroom where I spent the first few days post-escape, except… it’s different.

There are new shelves on the walls and pictures I remember decorating the pool house with. The baby grand piano is tucked into the window nook.

“What’s this?” I demand as Remi makes a run for the window seat and nestles himself between the cushions.

“It’s your room.”

My glare turns suspicious. “The pool house suits me just fine.”

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