Page 68 of Brutal Promise

Me:Me, either. I’m enjoying this private jet, though.

Alena:I bet you are.She sends a winking emoji. How’s Dmitry?

Me:He appears to be horny and focused.

Alena:Sounds like you’re hitting it off.

Me:Maybe. I’m reserving my opinion. I hear our wedding is in two weeks. Will you be there?

Alena:What a question. I better be your bridesmaid. People still do that, don’t they?

Me:It doesn’t matter. I’ll be a bundle of nerves and can’t do this without you, so do whatever you need to do to be there.

Alena:I’ll do what I can. Gotta go but stay in touch.

Me:You, too.

Now that I know the terrible people followed our body doubles, it confirms what Dmitry said about the stalker being after me, not Alena. I must have inherited my mother’s suspicious mind because it’s my instinct to distrust before I can trust. It’s taken a few days, but I’m beginning to trust Dmitry and realize he knows what he’s doing.

I grab the Hermes throw off the back of the couch, curl my legs under me, and settle in for a movie. Halfway through the movie, I stretch and yawn. The excitement, along with the food and the sex, has caught up with me, and I drift off without a care in the world.

I awake to the vibration of the plane hitting turbulence.

I sit up and, for a moment, forget where I am. I notice the overhead lights are dimmed to a relaxing color of blue. I look out the nearest window, and the sky is darker. I would like to know what time it is and count the five-hour time difference on my fingers. I look around for Dmitry.

“What is it?” His voice washes over me. I follow the direction of the sound and find him sitting in one of the four club chairs. He has it swiveled around, watching me.

My face is flush from the warmth of sleep and his intense gaze.

“I forgot where I was for a minute. Are there any new updates?”

“Not yet.” His bad leg uncrosses from the good one, and he stands. “You need to drink water. Staying hydrated is important on these long trips.”

He’s right. My lips are dry.

He hands me a water bottle and says, “I’ve made lunch for you.”

Of course, he did. The aroma of oven-roasted chicken with mango chutney is calling my name.

24

DMITRY

Ifind myself in uncharted territory, watching Izzy sleep. She’s curled up on the couch, and I don’t have the heart to disturb her.

I spent the past few hours arranging for our pickup at the airport and emailing and texting Nikolay, Roman, and my mother regarding dinner. Anya is working with the wedding planner, so I emailed her a list of the flowers I think Izzy will like. I also emailed our jeweler and had our wedding bands made, as well as a pearl necklace and diamond earrings for her wedding day. Mom said the pearls are traditional. Izzy’s wedding band will have an embedded tracking chip in case she goes missing.

I can’t lose her. We’ve begun our journey together. To think she will ever leave me is one I refuse to entertain.

I also emailed her guard, Erik, a man our family has trusted for ten years. He’s staying in the old carriage house that the previous owner had renovated into a huge apartment and game room.

It pays to be connected. A Russian oligarch originally owned the property. When he put it on the market, I got the first call and did a virtual walkthrough with the realtor. She said my future wife would love all the closet space. I bought it without stepping foot in it. Now the workers are tailoring things to my office preference. I also hired a new housekeeper to keep an eye on the house and be there in my absence. I also gave her instructions on the foods we like to eat.

Meanwhile, Kirill has men in Vegas trailing the goons following our actors. I’m feeling smug at how easy it was to outwit them. They are working under someone’s direction. But whose? The mafia, just like the army, is all about following orders.

It’s well known that the Russians use their media to manipulate their people and enemies. I’m beginning to wonder if the US media is stooping to the same propaganda and diversion tactics. We knew decades ago that the press would eventually cave to dogma. It only reinforces my suspicions regarding news stories about James Murphy.

If Izzy’s mother loved and trusted him, I doubt he would sell her out. However, if he knew a secret and was tortured, I could see him giving that secret up.

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