Page 85 of Ruthless Lullaby

Timofey's gaze runs over my pink silk robe with a knowing glint. I feel a flush of embarrassment, realizing that he must know I've spent the night with Maron.

"Were you looking for something?” He asks. “Can I help?"

"Oh, it's alright," I manage. "I was just... looking for Maron. But I think I know where he is."

It's a lie, of course. I have no clue where Maron is, and why he disappeared from bed in the middle of the night.

Timofey nods, his expression unreadable. "I see," he says, his tone carefully neutral. "Well, good night, then." He hesitates for a moment, his gaze searching mine. "I'll go check if my mother found her way back to the bedroom."

As Timofey disappears into the darkness of the corridor, I heave a sigh. This was bizarre. Just shows how life can be both brutal and beautiful at the same time. My thoughts drift to my own mother, and tears begin to form in my eyes.

Feeling sleepy and somewhat frustrated, I decide to go back to the bedroom. Maron might already be back himself, wondering where I could be. I don’t even know what I was doing out here looking for him. I should have stayed in bed and waited for him to come back on his own.

I pivot on my foot, prepared to backtrack and seek refuge in the comfort of the bedroom. Walk a few feet in the direction I came from, then turn left, a few more feet straight, then a right, and then… With each step I take, I begin to realize that I have no clue where I came from. I take another right and find myself somewhere completely unfamiliar.

Way to go, Mindy.

Lost in the middle of the night, in the Bratva boss’ palace.

But what’s done is done. I silently curse myself for leaving the bedroom, but the situation speaks for itself: I’m hopelessly lost in this labyrinth of corridors.

I look around and nothing seems familiar anymore. I must have reached a part of the mansion where I hadn’t been before. The wide-open spaces seem to stretch out impossibly before me, like a never-ending maze of identical hallways and closed doors. I turn down one hallway, then another, my anxiety increasing with every unfamiliar corner and dead end.

Unbelievable.

I stop again and stand there like an idiot, trying to figure out how on earth I’m going to get back to the bedroom. That is when I hear someone speak.

Finally, a real person!

Maybe they can help.

The voice belongs to a man. Or men. It is barely audible first, coming from behind a closed door. There are also thuds. Then, there’s another man's voice that sounds familiar. I recognize Pavel's deep baritone.

Bingo.

I creep closer to the door, hoping that Pavel will save my ass and guide me back to where I came from. But as I get closer and closer to the source of the sound, I begin to hesitate. Something in me is telling me this isn’t such a good idea after all. But before I can think better of it, my ear is pressed against the heavy wooden door.

I strain to hear over the pounding of my heart. There are several men in the room. There is one voice groaning in painwhile the rest shout in anger. The words are difficult to make out, but I can hear the anger and frustration in Pavel's tone.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Oleg?" I hear him say, "You know you're not allowed to drink on duty."

Another thud rings out. "Aaaaah ," a voice cries. "Pozhaluysta, Pavel, don't hurt me!"

The next moment, the door swings open and a man storms out. His footsteps echo down the empty corridor as I stare after him. I hold my breath in my throat as I try to hide in a dark corner, praying he didn't spot me. But the door is now open enough for me to take a peek inside. And what I see makes my blood run cold.

A naked man is bound to a chair. His face is a pulpy mess of blood and bruises. He slumps in despair, resigned to the agony that awaits him. I recognize Pavel as the man who looms over him. The air crackles with tension as Pavel prepares to unleash his brutal wrath upon the helpless man.

But it's the figure standing in the corner that makes my heart stop in my chest.

No.

Maron is watching the scene unfold with a detached, almost bored expression on his face. His arms are crossed over his chest and his posture is relaxed. It's as if the brutality playing out before him is nothing more than a mildly interesting diversion, a way to pass time.

Oh my God!

I feel a wave of nausea rising in my throat as a sense of horror and disbelief washes over me. This can't be happening.This can't be the man I'm falling for. And the man I've just agreed to move in with, leaving my life behind to play the role of his wife.

"What the fuck did you expect, Oleg?" Maron seethes, dripping with disdain. "A pat on the back and a bouquet of flowers? That ship was carrying millions worth of cargo, you idiot!"

---