He glanced down at my source of amusement, then chuckled. “They did not want me to hang myself with my shoelaces. Took my belt too. Grebaniye ublyudki.” Fucking bastards. Grasping the bars, he slid his gaze down my body with narrowed eyes like he was trying to see into my soul. “I thought you would be . . . different.”
He assumed he’d find me a ghost of myself, not dressed in bright yellow without a physical wound in sight.
“I’ll admit, being locked in his guest room for days on end really sucked, but other than that, it hasn’t been the worst situation for me.”
His presence exuded frustration. “Why must you always make light of things?”
“I’m not. I really haven’t been treated that poorly.”
He released a caustic sound and pushed away from the bars to pace. “You have been degraded, drugged, held captive, poisoned, and God knows what else. I would hate to see what you consider poor treatment.”
“How do you know all that?”
He cast me a dark look. “I have my ways.” Continuing to walk the perimeter of his cell, he said, “The blood thing. How did that disappear, Mila?” His anger burned like fuel against my skin.
I chewed my lip nervously. “A walk in the underworld, I suppose.”
“Which you seem to be handling well.”
It felt like he was accusing me of something. “Don’t look at me like I’m happy about these circumstances just because it rid me of my phobia. I’d rather be fainting at a mud run again in Miami than have you locked up here and my papa’s life in jeopardy.”
“Interesting you have not said anything about your own situation.”
I grew flustered. “Of course I don’t want to be a prisoner anymore.”
“You seemed so . . . comfortable”—he almost sneered the word—“with your kidnapper in the dining room.”
My throat felt thick. “It was breakfast, Ivan, not a cozy heart-to-heart.”
He made a noncommittal noise. “You know they do not call him ‘D’yavol’ for nothing, do you not?”
“I’m aware.” This conversation couldn’t be more uncomfortable if bugs were crawling beneath my skin. I never said the right thing when I was unsettled. “He doesn’t like sugar in his tea.”
Ivan shot me an aggravated expression.
“I have no misconceptions of who he is, but don’t pretend you’re a saint. You work for my papa. If you want to discuss my fear of blood and where it began, you should talk to him.”
“Your papa has never mistreated you.”
“That doesn’t mean he hasn’t hurt others.”
A bitter breath passed his lips. “Are you taking D’yavol’s side?”
“I’m not taking sides. I find you all a bit despicable.” The dry humor was supposed to lighten the mood, but Ivan didn’t find it funny. Unable to handle the grave tension rolling off him, I announced, “Maybe I could find a key to your cell.” I wondered if Ronan had a doggy guard around here with the key in its mouth like in Pirates of the Caribbean.
“I would ask if he has touched you, but I already know the answer. Out of all the men in Moscow, you had to go and fuck him?”
His words chafed me raw. Had he watched the video? The thought made me sick, so in an effort to hold down the nausea, I ignored the statement. “Maybe with the right leverage, we can pop this door right off.” I glanced around in an attempt to find something useful.
“How could you not see through him, Mila? I thought you were smarter than that.”
A girl could only be called an idiot so many times. I halted my search as heat ran up my neck.
“You know what? Maybe I wouldn’t have been so stupid if you and Papa didn’t shelter me my entire life.” Sarcasm took over. “I’m sure college has a course called ‘How to Not Fuck Mobsters.’ If only I was allowed to attend . . .”
“This is not a joke.”
“I’m not laughing. I might have made a mistake, but so did you and my papa by not telling me the truth. If someone hadn’t killed that boy, none of this would be happening.”