After I let her use the bathroom, I say, “Let’s go printsessa,” and throw her over my shoulder. Having her walk would probably be a better choice. She could use the movement, I’m sure. But I like taking charge of her body. Showing her she belongs to me.
Fuck that, I just like touching her. Having her flesh against mine, especially in an undignified but hot position.
I carry her down the stairs and deposit her on the kitchen chair where I had her last time. I tie her to the chair with her arms free, but the rope knotted in back so she can’t go anywhere and point a stern finger at her. “Don’t move.”
She scowls at me, pushing those pouty lips out in a way that makes my dick harder than stone. I want to push it between those full lips and gag her with my thickness.
“Mika.” I call to the boy. “Watch her while I get the food.” I would send the boy for the food I left upstairs but I know Alessia likes the boy.
I know. I’m definitely going soft already.
Mika positions himself in the doorway between the living room and kitchen and folds his arms across his chest in a perfect mime of a full-grown, dangerous bratva member. A stab of guilt pierces my shield of indifference toward the boy.
Am I really offering him no better than the life I was thrust into? Danger and darkness? Violence and mistrust?
Alessia sees the innocence in him still. How did I miss it?
I guess it’s not something I look for.
I jog up the steps and collect the coffee and fast food. By the time I make it back downstairs, I find Alessia’s engaged the boy in conversation. He’s slicing an apple with his pocket knife and he offers her a slice.
Charming little princess. Her beauty probably gets her everything. Beauty and a natural sweetness. She’s untainted. Privileged, yes. But I wouldn’t say spoiled. She’s probably had the world wrapped around that little finger of hers from the beginning of her short, semi-charmed life, so she expects the best of people.
And they probably give it to her. Especially those who know about her diabetes.
Feeling inclined to give her a break, I set the food in front of her and let her use her own hands for a change.
The grateful look she shoots me makes my moment of weakness worth it.
I pull out a chair beside her and wave Mika into the other one.
Here we all are, one big happy family. I check her blood sugar to see if she requires insulin, even though she tells me checking once in the morning and once in the evening should be sufficient. She’s right—she’s okay.
“What’s your favorite American food?” Alessia quizzes Mika.
He takes a huge bite of his double cheeseburger. “Pizza,” he says with his mouth full.
She nods sagely. “Pizza is pretty awesome. I am crazy about french fries, though.” She dips one in ketchup and puts it in her mouth, rolling her eyes back like it’s a bite of ambrosia.
Mika snorts, but the way his lips turn up tells me he’s as fascinated by her as I am. Who wouldn’t be?
I sit and watch her at work, coaxing Mika out of his surly shell as she devours the food I bought her, then sits back and sips the coffee. Every now and then, she darts a glance at me under her lashes.
When they finish, Mika gets up and leaves, and I reach to untie Alessia. And that’s when everything goes sideways.
Alessia
I grip Mika’s pocket knife in my sweaty palm.
Can I do it?
I have to.
If I don’t get free now, I will end up on a plane to Russia, and my chances of escape or being found go way, way down.
Vlad bends over me, untying the knots that bind me to the chair. The moment he’s done, I have to make my move. This is my best chance. I’ll be untied, with only Vlad to overpower. I heard Mika step into the restroom, so he won’t have to witness my act of violence. And if I do it right—a big if, considering I have zero practice at stabbing people—Vlad will live to take care of the boy.
Because I couldn’t live with the guilt of orphaning him once more.
Really, if I were ruthless like one of my brother’s, I’d go for his jugular. Stab to kill.
But I can’t do it.
I’m queasy just thinking about breaking his skin.
He finishes untying me and grips my upper arms to lift me from the chair.
This is my chance.
With a swift upward motion, I bury the short blade in his gut.
He shouts something in Russian and jerks back, causing me to lose my grip before I get the knife all the way in.
I dart past him—at least I try to dart past him. He puts his body between me and the doorway, his hands gripping the handle of the knife. Blood seeps out, staining his t-shirt.