A deadly calm comes over Constantine. “How did he hurt you?”
“Well, he just… expects many things from me. I have to look perfect, behave perfectly. I had to get perfect grades, drive a perfect car. Anything less than perfection taints his reputation, and on more than one occasion, he’s upbraided me for not being the daughter he expects me to be.”
To my surprise, a lump rises in my throat. I hate thinking about this. I’ve gone to therapy for years to deal with this, but apparently, I’ve just buried it all.
“I see. So this is why you hid your job from him. He’d never approve of his perfect daughter soiling herself by working in a prison.”
So he believes me, then? I nod. “Yes. Why do you want to know?”
“It’s simple. If he hurt you, too, I’ll remember that when I get my hands on him.”
I stare at him. He’d… get revenge for me? I don’t know how to respond.
I try to stifle a yawn, exhausted with everything that’s happened. Constantine’s eyes go to the shackles above my head.
“It’s difficult to sleep cuffed. I can remove the restraints, but if you try anything remotely stupid, I’ll tie you up and whip you. Do you understand me?”
A jolt of fear spikes through me. Not a doubt in my mind he would.
I nod.
“Outside this door are three armed men. They all obey my command. I’ve paid good money for a good night’s sleep, and I’ve waited way too fucking long to jeopardize that.”
I nod again.
“First, eat.”
I open my mouth and allow him to feed me. Rich cheeses, small bites of dainty finger sandwiches you’d find at a party, and olives, followed by water he mercifully lifts to my mouth. I turn my mouth away from his hand when I’ve had enough, and he doesn’t press the issue.
When I’m done eating, he unfastens my cuffs, and my wrists swing free.
“I have to use the bathroom.”
“I’ll go with you.”
I make a face, but he only chuckles. “You can have a measure of privacy, little bird, but make no mistake, I don’t trust you.”
I push myself to standing and stretch my aching limbs. I’d give half my inheritance for a massage right now.
I’m in a temper after all that’s happened, so I toss over my shoulder, “You’re the one who broke out of jail, shoved me under the floorboards of the escape vehicle, took me to a disgusting slaughterhouse, then interrogated me, and I’m the one you don’t trust?”
I gasp when his palm cracks against my ass so hard I nearly stumble. I gape at him, but he stands behind me, clearly prepared to deliver another smack if I talk back.
“Watch that tone of voice, ptitsa. You’ll do as you’re told.”
My cheeks flame. I walk to the bathroom on tenterhooks, scared of what he’ll do to me next, but he only follows and waits outside the door. I stare at myself in the mirror. My hair’s wild and untamed, my makeup long since faded. There are rings under my eyes and little red marks along my shoulders and chest, probably from being chained and dragged around like a rag doll.
I look savage and fearful. I don’t like that. I stand up taller, splash water on my face, and drag my fingers through my hair.
My parents must be frantic. I can’t imagine what they’re going through. But if my father did what Constantine says he did… he might be afraid for an entirely different reason.
I need sleep. I need to put this away for now. I need to think about what to do next and prepare for what Constantine will do.
I close the door, stand up straight, and walk straight back into his lair.
Chapter 9
Constantine
I have to leave my little bird caged at the Emporium while I attend to a few personal matters. She’s carefully guarded by three of my soldiers, but still, I feel a strange sense of unease at leaving her, even after barking at Yury on my way out of the club, “Nobody goes in my suite, and no one comes out. Don’t speak to her. Don’t look at her. Keep that door locked.”
“Yes, boss,” Yury said, humbly.
The thought of Clare—messy-haired, sleepy-eyed, and naked in that rumpled bed—is constantly on my mind as I meet with Emmanuel, catching up on the state of each of my many businesses.
Emmanuel is my cousin and one of my closest friends.
Our fathers are brothers.
Uncle Ivo is nothing like my father. He loves food, wine, and women—usually in that order. He likes to joke how pleasant it is to be the younger brother, with none of the responsibilities of leadership, and all of the accompanying rewards.
“Probably more rewards,” he teases my father, “since I’m the only one who has time to enjoy them.”
Emmanuel is just as irreverent as his father, and one of the only people who can truly make me laugh. He’s a good Avtoritet, someone I can always rely on—as long as he hasn’t been over-indulging. Much like his father, Emmanuel likes to sample the wares of the underworld a little too frequently.