Page 8 of Crowned

A woman like Lilia doesn’t happen by chance. She is made, forged in brutality and pain. Was it her father who made her this way? Her mother or a sibling? Someone broke her down completely and she managed to build herself up again into something so powerful that she overwhelmed three dangerous men and turned their plans upside down.

I will burn like acid in your heart every time you think of me.

My blood boils as Lilia Aranova’s memory scorches me afresh. One question has plagued me since she dove from the cliffs into the waters of Lake Como.

What made Lilia Aranova similar to me?

No.

Betterthan me?

The sun is coming up over the horizon and trees and houses flash by the window. My nails dig into the leather armrest as my head throbs with pain. Lilia beat me at my own game, and I don’t know what I crave more. To take her in my arms and choke the life out of her or make her mine forever.

Aran Brazhensky lives in a city the next state over, and there are hundreds of miles and many hours between us and our destination. We stop for food and Kirill and Elyah eat, but my stomach is churning. Coffee is enough for me, and it keeps my mind sharp through the pain of my oncoming migraine. I fantasize about Lilia’s cool, slender fingers stroking across my brow. She’s a warm weight in my lap once more, only this time, she’s curled against me, and my arms are wrapped protectively around her. The feeling it evokes is so sweet that my headache ebbs away and I even manage to drift off to sleep.

“Konstantin?”

I sit up and realize that the car has stopped, and Elyah is peering through the open passenger door at me.

“We’ve arrived?”

“Da. That is the Brazhensky house.” He straightens and steps back, nodding at a large, white house with columns out front.

My eyes sweep over the prominent façade as I get out of the car and do up my suit jacket. Lilia was raised in wealth and comfort, an easier start in life than if she grew up in poverty and squalor, but comfortable houses and manicured gardens don’t always mean happy childhoods. I wonder what sort of man Aran Brazhensky is. If he beat his wife or terrorized his daughter. A man who thinks himself above the law can justify almost anything.

It’s late in the afternoon and golden sunshine is slanting over us as we stand on the doorstep and I ring the doorbell. A housekeeper answers, and she takes one appraising look at us and recognition sparks in her wary eyes. We’re like her boss, which means we could very well be enemies.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

I give her my most charming smile. “Good afternoon. We wish to speak with Aran Brazhensky. Is he at home?”

Strangers, and we’re Russian. Elyah and Kirill stand on either side of me, menacing and wintry-eyed. If we were friends of her boss, he’d be expecting us. The housekeeper turns pale and tries to slam the door in our faces.

Elyah lazily sticks his foot out and jams it in the door, hands still deep in his pockets. The woman half turns to scream over her shoulder.

“Do not,” Kirill orders, opening his jacket to reveal the gun holstered beneath his arm.

The housekeeper’s knuckles turn white on the doorframe. “What do you want?”

“We wish to speak to Aran Brazhensky,” I say again.

“He’s not here.” She seems to realize her mistake as she quickly adds, “But many of his men are.”

“We are not here for trouble or violence.” I hold out several bills between my forefinger and middle finger, but she shakes her head. A Russian would know that I’m not asking her to take a bribe. It seems I have to spell things out for this American. I nod at Kirill. “Take it, or my friend here will make sure you never walk again.”

The woman takes the money and holds it gingerly between fingers.

“Where is your boss?” I ask again.

The woman swallows. “Italy.”

Italy? He’s in fucking Italy, the country we just left? From either side of me, I feel shock radiating from Elyah and Kirill as well.

“Where in Italy?” Elyah demands, looming closer.

She shrinks away from the much bigger man. “I don’t know. He left in a hurry. Please, I don’t know anything. I can’t help you.”

Is he looking for Lilia? Why would Aran Brazhensky leave for Italy in a hurry if not to find his daughter?

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