“You’ll cut off my cock and shove it down Nadia’s throat,” Ronan finished, bored. “I heard you the first time.”
Nadia?
The devil had a girlfriend. I wondered if he kept her locked in his basement or if she was the opera singer who played Liza.
“If you show up in Moscow before I invite you, I’ll ship your daughter’s body parts to your home in FedEx boxes. Ponimayesh?” Understand?
“I’ll send you back to hell for this, D’yavol.”
“Can’t wait,” Ronan replied. “We’ll talk soon, Alexei.”
He ended the call before my papa could respond. It rang instantly. He turned it off and fixed me with a heavy stare that chafed my skin.
“So loyal to your papa,” he said coolly, though his eyes were darker than night. “Even after what I showed you?”
I didn’t even want to think about that boy and what was done to him. It turned my stomach and made me question everything. But I wasn’t given time to process it all, and right now, I had two options: the devil, or my father. The choice was easy. My gaze burned with that conviction.
His jaw ticked. “I guess you have more of your mother’s blood in you than I thought.”
I hated what he insinuated, that she was anything other than the honorable mother who died before I knew her. He was a liar. He was lying from the first moment I met him.
My body grew taut as he walked toward me. His shadow was a living presence that reached into my chest and stole the breath from my lungs.
“You don’t have to do this,” I told him.
“Wrong again, kotyonok,” he said, circling my chair. “Your papa will pay for what he’s done.” I exhaled as he tugged my head back by my ponytail, his voice hardening. “He’ll fucking sweat over what I’m doing to his precious daughter. And when I’m finished with you, his head will decorate my mantel.”
I swallowed. “You’re sick.”
He rubbed a thumb over my lips, spreading the blood from where I bit myself across my cheek. “We all have our vices, don’t we?”
My eyes shone with disagreement.
“Malen’kaya lgunishka,” he drawled. “I haven’t forgotten how fast you came onto me—and all over my hand, for that matter. You said so yourself, if it wasn’t with me, it would have been with another.” His grip tightened in my hair. “Albert, maybe.”
I felt sick.
Degraded.
Weak.
I didn’t know if I could survive this.
“Now the formalities are over, shall we give your papa a preview of what’s to come?”
I blinked when his phone moved in front of us.
The devil was sardonic and tech-savvy. My neck ached from his ruthless grip on my ponytail as he posed us for a twisted selfie.
“Smile for the camera.”
Click.
machiavellian
(n.) wicked, villainous, deceitful
“You could have at least tried to make an effort,” Ronan said like he was disappointed in me, examining the photo he took.