Page 85 of Claimed By Desire

“It’s just not fair,” I say quietly.

Alex lays next to me on the bed, still holding the towel to his wound. “I know it isn’t.”

“We fucked up. We slept together in Paris and I got pregnant. Then we ditched my wedding and eloped. We did that, and now Lev has to pay the price for it?”

“You’re right, it’s not fair,” he says quietly and puts a hand on my thigh. I lace my fingers into his, and it feels strangely right, holding him like that. “But did anyone ask what you wanted? Either time?”

“No, of course not. But it’s not like I did it.”

“You don’t care about the family the way Lev does. You don’t get anything in return from the organization the way he does. Lev’s powerful and wealthy because of this family.”

“I was comfortable too,” I say very softly.

“Yes, you were comfortable, but you were never free to do what you want.”

I breathe in through my nose and blow it out. “It just feels wrong.”

“I know, baby, but we don’t have any other choice right now.”

“And if he won’t do it? What then?”

“We’ll figure something else out.”

I nod to myself and lean into him. There’s a quiet voice in the back of my mind that is extremely aware of how satisfied I’ve been sine marrying Alex, and not just sexually. The deep, horrible loneliness has slowly faded away, until now I feel like it was never there to begin with, like it’s only a bad memory.

“I trust you,” I say and I think I mean something else, but I’m not ready to give voice to that just yet.

He squeezes my hand, and I think that means he trusts me too.

Chapter 33

Natalya

Lev parks his BMW outside of a massive block-sized mansion right in the heart of Philadelphia. He kills the engine and I give him a hard look. I tried to talk him out of driving—his wound was only just stitched back together yesterday—but he insists that he’s fine.

“It’s almost not fair,” I muse as we get out and heard toward the house. “I mean, how expensive is this place?”

“Tens of millions,” he says casually. “But that’s how it is these days.”

The Zeitsev mansion is a gorgeous old Victorian-style building. Everything was renovated and updated, and even the gate makes no noise when I push it open.

“I thought there’d be more security,” I comment as we approach the front door.

“Look across the street.”

I glance over my shoulder and nearly stumble over a step. A man’s perched on the roof and he gives me a casual wave. A sniper rifle’s cradled in his arms.

An older woman answers the door. She must be Nikkita, the mansion’s housekeeper. I don’t know much about Valentin and I haven’t been here before, but I’ve heard my father talk endlessly about this place. He hates Nikkita for whatever reason—maybe because she doesn’t bow and scrape at his feet the way he likes.

But I take to her immediately. She’s cold but nurturing in that old Russian lady sort of way. We’re taken to a sitting room off the main entryway. It’s formal and a little stuffy, and I’d bet the furniture alone is worth millions. “He’ll be in shortly,” she says and offers to bring tea.

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all.” She pats my shoulder and leaves. We sit on the couches and I wonder how much money is right below my butt.

“You’re nervous,” Alex comments.

“I’m not nervous. I’m totally fine.”

---