Page 63 of XV (Fifteen) (War of Roses 1)

Robert was all knowing in my world. All powerful. He protected me when he felt the urge and punished me when he thought I deserved it. My life was ruled by his whims, and it was all I knew.

“Good.” Mischa nods in approval. “It should make it easier to die for him.”

“Does it?” Once again, words sprang from my lips without my soul’s permission. “No one decides how they die.”

Or anyone else’s death, for that matter. Robert controlled my life. I’d always assumed he’d planned it down to the very end. And now?

There are blank pages hidden in the twisted book he wrote for me. While Mischa dictates the narrative, I have some control over what goes on every page. Some say in the final chapter of my story.

“The man, Kostas?” I ask, once again speaking without permission. “Will you kill him?”

Mischa’s eyes lose what little patience they had, turning hard like flint. “I suggest you don’t trouble yourself with Kostastantin Vorshev,” he warns. “In fact, Rose…Vorshev should be the very least of your worries.”

My heart races, pounding against my rib cage. Hearing him call me “Little One” is chilling enough. ButRose?His lethal cadence sharpens the name, transforming it into a weapon more than a moniker.

“Do you know what you’ve seen tonight?” he asks, his voice still dipping toward that alarmingly low octave. “Do you?”

I shake my head, even as my mind spits out what few adjectives describe it. Ten groups of men gathered together who, for the most part, deferred to him. What is that word he said before?Mafiya.

“Every last soul in that room wants your husband dead, Little One,” he tells me, running his fingers through my hair without warning. “And not only that. They want his head on a pike, your family name ruined. You have no idea, do you?” He looks into my eyes and frowns at what he sees. “Even Vanya. He’s not as innocent as he seems. Once, he was in my position so don’t doubt for a second that he couldn’t return to his old ways if given enough incentive. The Winthorps killed his daughter, after all.”

He waits, watching as his words sink into my skull.

“You want to know what happened the night you think you saw me? A young fuck-up had been on a mission to claim the next victim in the feud. Thirteen. And he failed. But I haven’t. You will pay the price for Anna’s life,” he declares. “She was the sole heir to the Vasilev name, niece of its head, Sergei. You haven’t heard his name, either?” He chuckles, low in his throat as if amused by the absurdity of it all. “Oh, I’m sure your husband knows. He may seem collected now, but Sergei was a million times worse than I am, Little One. During his prime, he would have gutted you without hesitation, and so much worse. I can tell you for a fact thathewouldn’t be fooled by your little stunts—” He breaks off, his eyes narrowing at his use of the phrase.

By accident?

“And neither am I.” He shakes his head fiercely and grits his teeth together so hard that I hear them crack. “Sergei wreaked hell over the Winthorps. I will finish what he started.” There’s admiration in his tone. There’s some disgust as well, lurking deep where I doubt he even realizes it. “You are nowhere near the prize Briar would have been. But your husband seems to want you back. The question is: How badly?”

Me? No, Robert wants his numbers back. His dutiful wife. His willing victim. So many titles are tied to me, personally. Yet here I am. Still captive. Still Mischa’s.

Does that reality dishearten me? Or comfort me?

“Don’t look so excited,” Mischa warns. “I’ve been wondering why he let you go so fucking easily if he’s willing to kill to have you back. Is he that confident I won’t kill you? Or does he have that much trust in you?”

Heat prickles through my skin as he advances, backing my body into the wall with his sheer presence alone. I taste his flavor on my tongue, unwanted and unbidden. Salt. Musk. No Vodka, however. He wanted to be sharp tonight. For the meeting? Or to finally put an end to his game?

“T-trust?” I echo, playing along.

His nostrils flare in triumph and he nods. “Oh, yes,” he murmurs. “You have Vanya wrapped around your finger—he begged me not to kill you. Did he tell you?”

I swallow hard. Is he lying? I want to assume so, but his eyes are too dark. Confused. “N-no,” I croak. “He didn’t.”

“Your husband must have trained you well,” Mischa admits. “I saw how Kostas looked at you, though I can tell that you didn’t choose him for yourself. Did he make you, hmm? Your precious Robert?”

He pauses for an answer I don’t bother to give. I can’t.

“And yet, youlovehim,” he reiterates, lowering his mouth near my throat as if to taste my pulse through my skin. “Describe it for me, Little Rose. How does a man like that earn your love?”

“W-what?” My thoughts run together and collide, thrown into turmoil by the question. “He is my husband—”

“That’s not what I asked.” He lunges, grinding his weight into me with more menace than any weapon could ever inflict.

I want to run. I want to shove him off and risk his anger. But I can’t; my arms stay woodenly at my sides, paralyzed by his heat.

“When he touches you, what do you feel?”

He cups my breast through the silk of my gown. What do I feel? Fire.

“Does he make you scream, Little One? Do you come around his cock as easily as you do around mine?”

Too…dangerous. My mind shies from the mocking taunt, but there is no escape from him. No escape from the memories haunting me—not Robert. Just him. Wrecking, violent, unbearablehim.

“If I were a good man, I would just kill you,” he breathes out almost as if to himself more than to me. “But I’m not. Am I, Little Rose? I want your husband to suffer more than just your death.” The words come in growled snippets. It’s like he’s thinking up the plan as he goes, embellishing his own twisted ending. “I’m going to break you…” He brings his massive hands to my skull, cupping both sides of my face. Bit by bit, he applies enough pressure to make me wince. “I’ll exorcize him from your head, Little One. I’ll rip him from you until there’s nothing left.”

It’s a heated promise. A threat. And he means every word.

So why does a part of me sigh in relief?

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