Page 65 of No Promises, No Lies

Swallowing hard, I pocket my phone and slowly creep closer to the hallway to make out what the voices are saying. I don’t recognize them. The man is shouting in Russian, demanding payment for something. A glass breaks and I flinch so hard I nearly fall over. A few dull thumping sounds follow the crash, each one accompanied by a groan or pained grunt.

Did Papa bring someone here to get money out of them? He has places for that…

Why would he bring them to the mansion?

After a few more of those thumping sounds, I gather up the nerve to peek around the corner; immediately pulling back, heart pounding harder at the sight of two armed men, dressed in black, standing guard in front of the study door.

And not all black designer suits like my father prefers; all blacktactical gear.Military raid style.

Chest heaving, I press myself up against the wall, biting my lip. After a minute, when no one comes looking, I shakily back up a few feet. Freaking out again when I pass by the front window, spotting at least two more men—dressed the same as the two in the hall, conversing with each other out in the driveway.

I scramble away from the window, then completely freeze in panic when the angry Russian man shouts again. This time, I’m close enough to hear him.

“It’s very simple Adrik?—”

My throat catches, realizing the man shouting is addressingmy father.

“—you knew the terms when you borrowed the money. Pay up and we can be done with this ugly business.”

For the first time, I hear my father’s voice, sounding more pinched than I’ve ever heard it, “I just need a couple of weeks. Let me talk to Ronan. We can work something out.”

The sound of what I’ve realized is another fist hitting flesh has me chewing the inside of my cheek. They’re hitting him—hittingmyfather.

“Who do you think sent us, Kostalov?” The Russian man laughs sadistically. I take a step back out of instinct. “You should know better than to make a deal and not deliver.”

I rack my brain for the nameRonan. When you’re quiet, you hear more than you should and I have a small bank in my head of my father’s contacts: friends and foes. But I don’t think I’ve ever heard a Ronan mentioned before…

“Fuck you, Ivan and fuck Volkov too,” my father hisses.

My blood turns to ice.

I may have never heard of Ronan, but I certainly knowVolkov.What the fuck is Adrik doing pissing off the Russian wolves?My father might control most of the East Coast but the Volkov controlallBratva business.

More shattering glass and the sound of something wooden breaking… “That’s a real shame Adrik, are you sure you don’t want to reconsider? I have it on good authority your daughter is upstairs right now, asleep in her little bed. Shall we go fetch her?” I can hear the malicious smile in Ivan’s words.

A string of expletives stream out of my father, but I don’t wait around to hear the rest. Remembering the Russian wolves out front, as quietly as I can, I fly down the hall, veering away from the stairs and heading for the kitchen and the back door.

At the last second, I think to check before racing around the corner and pull back in horror when I spot more of those armed men by the kitchen door.

Shit.

Back in the foyer, the study door crashes open behind me and I don’t think. Instinctively, I scamper up the stairs—the only option left to me—tripping over my own feet in my haste.

I run past my room—not even an option since that’s where they’re headed—and pace frantically up and down the hall, trying to think where else to hide. An idea pops in my head and I open my room, locking the door before shutting it again.Maybe that will buy some time.

Still in the hallway, the sound of boots on the stairs sends me flying into the closest door, the guest room next to my own. I eye the bed but end up jumping into the small closet.

Heart racing, I pull the closet door closed, leaving a crack open so I have a clear line of sight to the hall door. There isn’t much in the closet, except for a few old fur coats that smell like they might date back to the Russian Revolution. I press as far back as I can, but if someone opens the door—it’s game over.

Sinking down, I curl up in a ball, wrapping my arms around my knees and trying to calm myself down enough to think.Remembering the knife I still have strapped to my thigh, I pull it out, gripping it tightly in one hand. The door to my room shakes violently as someone tries forcing their way in.

“Aurora?” Ivan sing-songs my name with false sweetness. “Aurora darling, open up. Your father would like to see you in his study.”

I tremble, almost dropping the knife, thinking about what would have happened if I’d actually stayed in bed like I should have tonight.

“Aurora?” Ivan tries again, sweetness gone. When he receives no answer, he barks out, “Get it open.”

The sound of someone attempting to kick the door down fills my ears. The mansion is old and well built; my door is constructed of thick and heavy wood, but even I know it won’t last long against these guys.

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