Page 26 of Savage Reign

I clear my throat. “I’ll keep you updated once the Syndicate responds to my happy news.”

“The minister wants to award the casino contract in the next six weeks. Not much time. You’ll need to show the Syndicate how serious you are—what you’re willing to do to get your way.”

“I’ll do what I have to. I always do,” I say through clenched teeth.

“Good. Everything should fall into place perfectly.” With a deceptively calm smile, Igor hands me a single blood-red rose, full and healthy. There’s a good reason for that. Igor claims human remains make excellent fertilizer. “A blooming rose for your wife.”

My hand wraps around the stem as a sharp pain shoots through my finger. A thorn has pierced my skin, a small rivulet of blood trickling down my hand.

I meet Igor’s gaze, his eyes glinting with intensity. “Be careful, Nikolai. Even the most beautiful things can be dangerous.”

My molars press together. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

CHAPTER

TEN

SOFIYA

The soundof knuckles rapping against the window startles me awake. I’d drifted off again, my head pressed against the cool glass. I didn’t mean to. I tried to stay awake and pay attention to my surroundings and anything that could be useful later on. But physical exhaustion won out.

The light-haired guard with the steel-gray eyes, Emil, announces, “We’re here,” and opens the passenger-side door.

Crisp morning air rushes in, but it does nothing to ease the sense of dread coiling in my stomach. It’s the fact that I have no idea what awaits me. If I’ll be thrown in the dungeon or treated like… well, the pakhan’s wife. That thought is too bizarre to contemplate.

My legs are shaky as I step out of the car, and I brace myself for the worst—rough hands, cuffs, something to remind me I don’t belong here. Instead, Emil reaches out, steadying me with an easy grip.

The house looms before us. Actually, mansion is probably a better term. The exterior is a mix of pale stone and dark wood, with thick columns flanking the entrance. Tall windows reflect the morning light, giving the place an almost magical quality. It’s beautiful, in a cold, intimidating way. Like Nikolai himself.

“In case you’re thinking about running,” Emil says, “I’ll warn you now—there are cameras and security guards everywhere. You wouldn’t get very far.”

I glance around, my heart sinking. Rolling green lawns stretch out, bordered by thick woods. The air is fresh, crisp, too clean to be anywhere near a city. It dawns on me that this isn’t simply a house. It’s a fortress.

“Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of time to look around later,” Emil adds, tugging me toward the entrance.

The inside catches me off guard. I imagined Dracula’s castle—everything dusty and old—but this is not that. Massive windows allow in plenty of natural light, making it feel open and welcoming. The dark wood floors are stately, and Persian rugs are thrown about the place. The art is tasteful and looks carefully chosen. It’s… nice. Cozy, for such a big space.

I clutch Nikolai’s jacket tighter around me, the scent of cedar and smoke filling my lungs. Nikolai’s space is a reflection of who he is, how he controls his world down to the finest detail. And now I’m part of his world.

My stomach swoops as we pass members of Nikolai’s house staff. Their surprised stares dart between me and Emil, but no one says a word.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask.

Emil spares me a quick glance. “You look like you need some coffee.”

We enter a room that is clearly the kitchen. It’s more rustic than the main area of the house, with exposed wooden beams that stretch across the ceiling and a long farm table in the center of the room.

The smell of fresh coffee and baked bread wraps around me, and my stomach betrays me with a low growl, a reminder of how little I’d eaten earlier. My nerves wouldn’t let me.

Emil gestures toward a stool at the counter, and I sit hesitantly, watching as he presses a button on a shiny, state-of-the-art machine. Less than a minute later, he slides an espresso in front of me.

“Aren’t you going to offer her something to eat?” I turn in my seat, surprised as a gorgeous woman walks into the room. She looks to be in her early thirties, dressed in sleek workout leggings and a matching sports bra, her blonde hair pulled into a ponytail that swings with each step. Her flushed cheeks and glowing skin suggest she’s just come from a workout, as does the horrible-looking green drink she’s sipping. “Excuse Emil. He seems to have forgotten his manners.”

Emil mutters under his breath about not being a damn maid before grabbing his own coffee and sitting at the farm table.

“I’m Eva. And you must be Sofiya,” she says as she holds out her hand in greeting.

I shake it somewhat reluctantly, not knowing what else to do. Am I supposed to be friendly with these people? Do they know I’m here against my will? That I’m not Nikolai’s wife by choice?

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