Page 56 of Merciless Queen

“It’ll be yours soon,” Rossi continues without waiting for my comment.

I only tip my head in acknowledgement and plaster on a well-practiced smile before Papa dominates the conversation once more.

I don’t want it,I silently tell him. Not this plane, nor the name attached to it. Not anything about to happen once we reach New York. Definitely not the man intended for me.

A sigh works from my throat, but with a cough and the jets, it’s hidden from the two mob bosses. Anastasia and Dimitri were not allowed to come, and what I wouldn’t do to have them with me right now. Papa said Anastasia is too beautiful, too gentle, and might remind Erico Rossi of his current wife, which makes her competition. A sentiment she and I both rolled our eyes at. And Dimitri’s father conveniently sent him away on a task, keeping him busy.

So I’m stuck alone with these two men. At this point, I’d rather it was only Papa and me travelling overseas to New York, but Rossi insisted, to avoid our plane from being attackedupon entry into the United States, he needed to be the one to get us inside. I think there’s more to it, but who am I to question?

I’m no one. Just the girl who follows the path her father paves. The woman meant to smile and prance around and attract the most important male in the room. The one who’s silent when commanded and spreads her legs when there’s a deal on the line.

At some point in this extremely long fifteen-hour direct flight over the Atlantic Ocean, they start discussing my wedding ceremony, the numerous ways they’ll remove Erico Rossi’s wife from the equation, and everything our union will offer the two organizations. All while I sit there and pretend not to listen, when I’m actually searching for a hint as to why Papa’s so determined for this go through.

By hour four of the trip, I stare at the fluffy clouds and try to find one, single positive in all this.

Leaving Russia. Strange as it is, Papa’s never allowed me on any trip with him, which means my entire life has been in Moscow. Seeing a new city, country, and continent, even if I’m flying into the unknown and my future self’s mental and emotional death.

“Hey.”

Weight resting on my cheek wakes me. The dark outdoors, the small window, the leather couch, it’s all unfamiliar and I immediately tense, readying to fight while blinking through the sleep coating my eyes to see the figure in front of me.

Zeno.Right.Plane. Travelling to Italy. I must have fallen asleep. Certainly unplanned. As if I’d allow the vulnerability.

Warmth covers my face and I jerk away, hissing at Zeno, who’s leaning so close, he’s practically on top of me. Much too close for comfort, and I shove my knees into his chest, making him grunt and return to his place.

“Next time, stop whimpering,” he mutters.

Whimpering? The memory of the trip from Moscow to New York wasn’tthatbad. Nothing to make me feel anything but a mild annoyance.

“Bad dream?”

I shrug, wondering why I even answer him. “Memory of my first time leaving Russia.” Considering this is my second time, I guess that’s why my mind went there.

“How old were you?”

Oh, he’s thinking childhood. That’s funny.“Two years ago. The first time I left home was to go to New York. Pretty sad, huh?”

His head tips to the side. “Not that I sympathize in any way, but I’d think the sad part would have been when you left New York alone.”

I look out the window, at the blob of black sky, and see nothing but the reflection of Zeno beside me. I pretend not to, pretend to be watching the clouds as my teeth bite the inside of my cheek to prevent the grief from creeping up again. I hate these moments. When I know, deep down, Papa’s death cemented my freedom, so it’s a good thing. Makes no sense to grieve the person who allowed another man to rape his daughter.

Maybe that’s why the dream happened. Why this trip, in many ways, reminds me of my last outing with Papa—not that there was many to begin with.

When he took me from Moscow, I truly didn’t know if I’d ever be returning home, to my friends, to my life. This time, although I vow it, I don’t know what Zeno’s planning. Don’t know howdeep his need for vengeance runs. Don’t know if I’ll be returning home, to my organization, my family, or if I’ll be buried in Zeno’s backyard by tonight.

I drop my chin onto the couch and don’t speak. The rumbling of the plane takes me away again and this time, I welcome the distraction.

It’s notZeno’s touch that wakes me, but the thud of the plane landing on the tarmac.

My head bounces against something hard. Something totally opposite from the soft leather I passed out on. Even with shut eyes, the bright sun slicing through the window across from me is too much, and I open them, realizing what the something hard is.

Zeno looks up from his phone after I lift my head from his shoulder, cursing low in a word he wouldn’t recognize without a translation. At some damn point, I turned my body and used his shoulder as a pillow.

He grins slowly. “Morning, sunshine.”

“Fuck off.”

“Cranky. You’re not the one used as a pillow for the past two hours.”

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