Page 34 of Vitaly

I didn’t think of Krysa, the rat of a man who happened to share my barrack, that night. I thought of my mother and her roses, and I understood. She was a prisoner at home as much as I was in that room with those men. She simply hid her cries of despair better.

A knock sounds on the door to my room, pulling me from my thoughts and my head away from the window. Before I canget up to answer, the door opens, and Mila walks inside carrying a tray. It’s dark in here, but the vast window gives me enough moonlight to see she’s changed into a loose, dark dress.

“Sorry to bother you, sir,” she says. “Mr. Petrov said you missed dinner, so I brought you something to eat. May I turn on the light, or do you prefer it dark?”

I can’t make out her expression, but I stare anyway, wondering how she can speak so many respectful words in such a strained tone.This morning, she tried to kill me. She claimed—with good reason—that I ruined her life. Are we really going to pretend to move on from that? Is she being ordered to?

The other girl, Felicity, rolls into my mind, her image making me sit up straight. Nikita had her killed for granting me the slightest help and would’ve done even worse if I hadn’t given up the girl’s name.

Mila has every right to be afraid. Whatever she’s doing is ordered by Nikita, and Nikita is … unwavering in his demand for loyalty and obedience, to put it lightly.

“You can turn on the light.”

Mila flips on the light and brings me a tray containing a plate of food as well as a glass of water and a small vase with a single yellow daisy, as if that would be necessary.

“Thank you,” I say, taking the tray and surveying the overabundance. A steak meant for a minimum of two people. Asparagus, mushrooms, a too-large baked potato, and a roll.

I forgot about these portions. It actually stuns me for a moment, and I just stare at the food.

“Is everything all right, sir?” Mila asks. “I could get wine...”

I look up at her. “No, sorry, it’s just a … a meal fit for a king.”

“Or a prince.” Mila gives me a tight smile so pinched I question if her face hurts.

“Right.” I scoot over to make room for the tray before setting it down beside me. “Well, thank you.”

I rub my hand across my jaw, still looking at the tray, and note when Mila doesn’t leave. I look up at her just as she sits on the bench in front of my bent legs. I pull my knees up higher to make a bit more room.

“Is there something I can help you with?” I ask.

She gives me another one of those tight smiles. I don’t like it. “Oh, no, sir. I’m here to serveyou. Anything you need, you just let me know.”

My arms drape over my knees as my head tilts. “So you’re just gonna … sit there staring at me until I need something. Is that right?”

Her eyes widen like she can’t believe my assumption, but it’s exaggerated. “Of course not, sir.” She turns away from me and lowers her head, pointing her eyes at the floor while casually gripping the edge of the bench.

I chuckle and lay my head back against the wood. “Funny.”

“What is, sir?”

“Stop calling mesir.”

“Yes, Mr. Petrov.”

“Mila.”

Now she keeps her mouth shut, pretty, dark hair hiding her expression from me. Her posture is relaxed, not giving away the least bit of fear. I wonder if it’s because she doesn’t see me as threatening or if it’s because she believes she has Nikita to protect her. It’s hard to tell just how delusional she is.

“Why did you tell me you were married to Nikita?” I ask, my eyes naturally drawing to the slit up the side of her dress. It reaches to the top of her thigh, revealing clear, ivory skin any man would have the urge to touch. Any man, including me.

Mila doesn’t answer.

“Were you embarrassed about your status, or did you truly want to intimidate me?”

When she lets out a long exhale, I don’t need to see her face to know what she’s feeling. Her vocal cords hum with what’s practically a growl.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now, does it?” she asks. “You know the truth.”

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