Page 39 of Solemn Vow

“You can’t just send a kidnapper when you want to see me. You should have called me, or texted me, and waited until I said I’d like to see you.” I inch to the edge of my seat, closer to getting out of the car.

“I told you this morning I would see you tonight. I guess your meeting was canceled?” He reminds me of the little lie I told him yesterday about not being available to see him tonight. I’d completely forgotten all about it.

“Yeah?” I test the waters. Is he going to let the little white lie go or is he going to get all Neanderthal dramatic on me?

He gently pulls my arms from my chest and slides his hand down to mine, holding it and pulling enough to get me to climb down from the car.

Once I’m on my feet, he shuts the door and calls something to Igor in Russian.

He links his fingers through mine and leads me away from the cars to an elevator. I’m quietly planning exactly what I’m going to say to him once we’re alone in his apartment, while he uses a keycard and punches a code to get the elevator moving.

His fingers squeeze mine gently as the elevator glides up the shaft, further up and up. I look up at the illumined numbers. There are sixty floors, and we’ve passed forty of them already.

The elevator stops, dings, and the elevator doors slide open.

And every thought in my head just falls out.

It’s the penthouse.

He lives in the penthouse, and it’s the most beautiful home I’ve ever seen. He tugs me along, and I step out of the elevator onto the dark gray and cream marble flooring of the foyer that expands forward to a wide spiral staircase.

Windows to one side overlook the Chicago skyline. If I were to press my face to them and look further out, the lake would be laid out before me.

“You live here?” My voice cracks with my question.

“Even better.” He’s helping me out of my coat, but I’m too starstruck at the beauty I’m standing in to stop him. “I own the building.”

“You own this entire building?” How insignificant must my little one-bedroom apartment have looked to him? “I thought the Petrovs dealt in night clubs and bars.” Their other cash flows must come from less legitimate means.

“That’s the business we own as a family, yes. This is my own.” He takes my coat and hangs it up in the closet. He’s wearing his usual button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and apair of black trousers. His hair is neatly swept back, and he’s trimmed his beard again. The man never looks out of sorts. Perfectly put together at all times.

I run my hands over the dark gray sweater I threw on when I got home and the thrift store pleated skirt I gave a higher hem and added small metallic beading embellishments. The only things on me that have never been worn by another human being are my underwear and my black tights.

What do you need more jeans for? Those are just fine for you. You don’t like the holes? Fix them.

My father’s voice comes out of nowhere, making my stomach twist into a knot. He’d brought home a few pairs of jeans for Serena, his girlfriend-at-the-time’s daughter. When I’d asked him if he’d gotten me a new pair since mine all had holes, he’d gotten angry.

“Marlena?” Warm hands press against my cheeks and my eyes move, finding Viktor staring down at me. My body eases beneath his touch.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and a part of me is probably answering my father. I clear my throat. “I’m fine. I didn’t hear you though, what did you say?”

He searches my features. “What happened? You looked sad.”

“Nothing. I’m fine. I promise.” I push on a smile and nudge his hands from my face. “I was just thinking how beautiful your home is.”

He stares at me for another beat, not believing me. It’s frightening how easily he can see through me. I’ve worked hard over the years to not allow my feelings to be so transparent, but with him I might as well be a ghost.

“I said I like having something that’s my own. This building and two others here, and one in New York are my own.”

“You manage all these buildings and work with your cousins?” No wonder the man is always running off to a meeting. I wonder if he even sleeps.

“I have a company that runs the buildings here. An old friend of mine’s wife runs the building in New York,” he explains.

“Why not have your company run that one too?” I ask, curious now what he does with his time outside of being overbearing and overprotective with me.

“Billie started her own property management firm out there. When I bought the building, her company was already running it, so I kept the contract going.”

“Hmm.” I turn on my heel, suddenly needing to get away from him. The spice of his aftershave fills the area between us, and if I stand here longer, I might move toward him. And there’s something I need to yell at him for first.

---