Page 36 of The Mistake

I’m a prisoner.

For seven days I’d been locked up in the penthouse apartment, waiting for Ive to return home.Each night, he wanted me ready at seven, and we went to different restaurants each evening. My favorite so far had been the Mexican one. I loved the food, the spice, the sensuous atmosphere. Ive never showed a preference. Each night, he ordered our food. He’d change the drinks from wine or beer to whiskey and water. Some nights he didn’t drink the whiskey. I had to wonder if it was a bad day at the office when he did.

Stuff had to be happening. He was part of the Volkov Bratva. You don’t get ignored all your life without hearing bad stuff about a lot of people.

Hubert brought the car to a small café. It looked rathersweet and quaint. Not a place I would have thought the Volkov Bratva owned.

He climbed out of the car and opened my door for me. I stepped out beside him, aware of his hand going toward his waist. He had a gun there. I’d seen it a few times, but then I knew what I was looking for.

Stepping into the café, Hubert stopped me from sitting near the window, and instead took me far from the windows, near thebathroom. Great. The one place no one wants to sit, and that was where he put me. I wanted to complain, but I just didn’t have it in me.

Picking up the menu, I saw there were mostly breakfast items. I wasn’t on a diet, so I was going to order hash browns, bacon, mushrooms, and a few grilled tomatoes. It was a breakfast I couldn’t wait to enjoy.

Hubert tookmy order and approached the counter. Sitting back in my chair, he returned with a couple of cups of coffee. He placed one in front of me, and took a seat opposite. This was new. Hubert didn’t do anything with me. He rarely spoke to me, even back at the country home. I think he tolerated me.

“If I walked out of this café, would you follow me?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“If I tried to run away, would you stop me?”

Hubert frowned and nodded.

“Have you been toldto kill me if I approach a police officer?”

“I cannot kill you.”

“Would that be Ive’s job?” I asked.

Hubert’s frown deepened.

If I wasn’t so hungry, I’d demand he take me back to the penthouse suite, or better yet, back to the country house where I could pretend to be free. I felt tears fill my eyes, and I quickly glanced down at the table. I felt anger. No, I felt rage. The rings on my finger were nothing but a joke.

The waitress Hubert had spoken to brought us our food. I was about to tell her to takeit back, but the scent of the hash browns and bacon was too good. I wouldn’t eat it all, I promised myself. Fifteen minutes later, the breakfast was finished, and I did eat bread and butter. I was that hungry. However, my rage hadn’t dissipated.

“Take me to Ive,” I said to Hubert. “Crap, how do I pay?” I had no money.

“It’s already paid for. This is owned by Mr. Yahontov.”

“Of course it is. Well, my order still stands. Take me to him.” That felt so stupid to say, ordering my prison guard to take me to my captor. The one I’m freaking married to.

I shouldn’t bepissed off, but I am. No, not just pissed off, I’m angry and upset. This time I don’t wait for Hubert to open the car door, I do that all by myself, because I am capable.

Sitting in the back seat, I watch as Hubert sits behind the wheel.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“Take me to my husband.” I don’t care where he is, but I need to talk to him. No, that’s wrong. I need to yell at him.

My hands clenched into fists. It’d been a long time since I felt this angry, but I needed that. I didn’t want to be a prisoner. I thought after getting married and swearing my loyalty to Ivan Volkov, all of this would be over and I’d be free. The fact I had more freedom with my father was a joke. That man had … I didn’t even want to think about it.

I didn’t know how long the journey took, but we arrived at some kind of casino. My anger had subsided, but I was still annoyed, only now it was mixed with sickness.

Hubertparked the car around the back, and before he’d even put on the hand brake, I climbed out and headed toward the entrance. Hubert caught up with me and placed a hand at the base of my back.

“Mrs. Yahontov, youmust be careful.”

“My name’s Charlotte, or Lottie. Either of those will do just fine.” I didn’t feel like a Yahontov. I wasn’t a wife. A wife didn’t have to ask permission to go anywhere. They were not prisoners.

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