Page 112 of Devotion

“You are the most honored guests of my lord Adil Abas. Be welcome and rest.”

20

VANYA

Ican barely believe my eyes.

This place is a fantasy. It cannot be real.

A grin pulls at my lips as I notice the baths, the bed in the next room is massive beyond compare.

Even as a voice inside me warns that this is a prison, that we are still captive.

I have seen some of the Bratva leaders’ homes through the years, at parties and such. Pyotr keeps a relatively nice mansion just outside of town. But this is like the Russian emperors of old.

Forget that, it is beyond.

After so long in tight quarters, I feel strange in the open. The ceiling sweeps so far overhead.

It’s enough to make me feel the opposite of claustrophobic.

Until I smell food.

Suddenly, the surroundings do not matter.

My need overwhelms any other concern. Ciro is right there with me, his eyes lighting up as a we spot the table at the far end of the room on the opposite side from the bedroom. This place has its very own dining room.

Of course it does.

And the spread is unbelievable.

More than either one of us could eat in several sittings. But it is carefully chosen. After so long without food, we must be careful.

Our host seems to be aware of this.

Fresh fruits, mild dishes. Many of them are western, others familiar from home. Still others steam aromas of local fare.

Ciro thrusts a plate into my hands, heaping a bit of everything on his.

“Shakal—”

“I don’t care if it’s poisoned!”

“That’s not…never mind.” I chuckle, selecting a few things for my plate while sampling others immediately. The berries are unbelievably sweet and ripe, mingling with sweet cinnamon and cloves in the porridge. No matter how wealthy I may ever become, some flavors will always satisfy my cravings the best. Call it my simple upbringing.

Once we are full, I am magnetically pulled toward the steaming bath someone filled for us in the jacuzzi-sized tub in the bathroom. It’s bordering on scalding. My toe curls back in sweet blistering delight.

“Ugh, I am bloody mess.”

“That’s a terrible British accent.”

“Shut up and rinse off with me before we get in the bath.”

“So bossy.”

The shower heads rain down on us in the glass stall, big enough for at least four people. Ciro glances around, raising his eyebrows.

“Do not get ideas.”

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