Page 30 of Split

I stop in my tracks, unease washing over me when our eyes lock. I’ve never found a stranger wandering the halls of the manor before, so the sight of him has me immediately on guard.

“Who are you?” I blurt, eyeing him suspiciously.

He cards his fingers through his silky-looking hair as he continues his approach, coming to a halt in front of me and extending his other hand with a roguish grin. “Niko Petrov.”

I tuck my book tighter underneath my arm as I hesitantly place my hand in his, the puzzle pieces slotting together in my brain as I recall Roman mentioning someone by that name.

“You must be the new Mrs. Volkov,” he drawls, giving me a firm handshake before taking a respectful step backwards and pocketing his hands in his slacks. “I’m your husband’s second.”

“You’re in real estate, too?” I question with an innocent tilt of my head.

A smirk curls his lips. “Something like that.”

I nod slowly, accepting his vague response– because even though I’m currently batting my lashes at Niko like a bashful little housewife, I’m actuallynota complete idiot. I’m well aware of what these guys are into. Not the specifics, of course, since the women in this world are never brought in on the actual business side of things, but it all falls under the umbrella of organizedcrime. It’s the reason I was traded to Roman in the first place. I’m just a pawn in some business deal; a lamb for the slaughter.

“So, how are you settling in?” Niko asks in an attempt to make idle conversation.

I continue eyeing him uncertainly as I reply, “Fine.”

A smile comes to his lips, his blue eyes harboring a kindness that feels jarringly out in place within the foreboding atmosphere of the manor. “This old place takes some getting used to, huh?” he remarks, glancing around. “It used to freak me out when I was a kid, I thought it was haunted.”

My brows shoot up. “You’ve been coming here that long?”

Niko nods, chuckling softly. “Only my whole life. I grew up with the Volkovs.” He gestures to the book tucked under my arm. “Reading anything good?”

A blush heats my cheeks as I reach for the novel, slipping it from beneath my arm and showing him the cover. “Jekyll and Hyde.”

“Ah,” he muses, nodding. “A classic. The twist at the end is really something, I’d give anything to read it again for the first time.”

“I’m not even halfway through yet,” I admit, glancing down at the cover.

“Well, you’re in for a treat,” he remarks.

I flicker my gaze back up to meet his, lips curving in a smile. “Guess that gives me something to look forward to, then.”

Something about Niko puts me at ease. He’s not as harsh or intimidating as Roman. I almost forgot what it’s like to just carry a normal conversation.

“So, what’s your connection to the family?” I ask casually, recognizing the opportunity to pry for information. “You said you grew up with Roman?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “My old man was…”

“You’re not spilling secrets, are you Niko?” Roman’s booming voice interrupts, my blood turning to ice in my veins.

My posture goes rigid as I hear his oxfords clipping against the marble floor behind me, his footsteps drawing closer.

Niko snaps his head up, blanching a little before quickly recovering his composure and running a casual hand through his hair. “Just getting to know your new wife,” he replies, an easy grin settling across his face.

Roman comes to a stop beside me, and I fight back a flinch when he sets a possessive hand on my shoulder. “Eliza, why don’t you go wait for me in the study?” he suggests, prompting me to look up and meet those sinister green eyes. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

My stomach bottoms out. I know that look, and my fight or flight instincts are already kicking in as I nod numbly in agreement, Niko sidestepping to allow me to pass.

“Nice meeting you, Eliza,” he winks.

“You too,” I breathe, clutching my book to my chest and averting my gaze as I hurry past him down the hall.

I don’t go to the study.

From the unhinged gleam in Roman’s eyes, I know it’s a trap, and I’d be a fool to willingly walk into it. I stride right past the open French doors, deviating to the adjacent corridor in search of a place to hide. Probably not thesmarteststrategy, but I’ve never been great at thinking on my feet.

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