Page 45 of Beautiful Cruelty

"Part of Pyotr's design." His jaw tightens as he says the name.

"Pyotr? Not father or dad?" I observe.

The moment the words leave my mouth, I see pain flash across his storm-gray eyes. He goes still, and I instantly regret bringing it up.

Whatever wound I've just prodded must be deep and raw.

I scoot higher on the bed, giving him space. "Never mind. You don't have to explain."

He bends at the foot of the bed to examine my ankle again. Suddenly, I'm hyper-aware of how close he is. His thumb traces a circle on my ankle, and a shiver shoots up my leg.

"You won't be making any more escape attempts on that ankle," Vadim says, his fingers still tracing circles that send sparks up my leg. "Not for a while."

"I don't know. Being carried around everywhere has its perks." The words slip out before I can stop them.

His eyes darken, and that knowing smile curves his lips. My heart skips, then races as his gaze travels over me.

"What are you so desperate to run back to,zvyozdochka?" His voice drops lower, rougher.

Dad's face flashes in my mind. The way he looked sitting in that kitchen, confused and lost, waiting for Mom to come home. The dishes piled in the sink. Freddy's latest theft. I bite my lip, fighting the urge to spill everything to him. One word from Vadim and all those problems would vanish. But I can't.

"If I agree to play this role you need me for," I say carefully. "What happens next?"

His storm-gray eyes lock onto mine. "First, an engagement ring. Next, you'll need to be fitted for a custom dress to carry our prize." His voice drops lower. "We'll rehearse the heist, and then travel to Paris for the wedding."

My heart speeds up at the intensity of his gaze. Heat spreads across my skin as he steps closer, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

"And what do I get out of this arrangement by the time it's over?"

"Whatever your heart desires,zvyozdochka." His lips curve into that dangerous smile. "But we'll need to look convincing for the crowd if we don’t want it to blow up in our faces before we can get our hands on that bible.”

"How hard can it be?" I say quickly. "I don't imagine most mafia weddings are all lovey-dovey."

"Bratva," he says.

"Excuse me?"

"Italians are mafia," he explains. "For us Russians, it's bratva."

"Bratva," I repeat the word, running it over my tongue slowly. "Just one more thing to add to the list. But who's counting?"

"Not you." There's a glint in his eye that makes my pulse race.

"Not me."

He moves toward me and my breath catches. My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape. My lips part in anticipation of another kiss as he leans in closer, and I close my eyes.

But the kiss never comes.

Instead, he takes my hand in his, and presses something cool and metallic into my palm.

I try to hide my disappointment when I open my eyes and look down to see a small key.

"This will unlock your door from the inside," he says. "I'll have Lenka bring you a pair of crutches. Pankration is yours to explore as you wish,zvyozdochka."

After he leaves, I stare at the tiny key in my palm. I know what my heart desires: becoming a real designer, and finding a way to care for Dad.

As I run my fingertip along the key's jagged edges, an unexpected thought creeps in.

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