“But Sergei? He’ll make that ‘problem’ wind up with a bullet in its brain, all without seeming to lift a finger.”
“He knew my mother. But not in the way you think.” I hesitate. How much of this can I trust him not to spit at me later, twisted into a mocking taunt?
His eyes give me no answers. I have to trust him.
“He kept her here,” I add. “Vanya said… He told me that she wasn’t his captive.” I watch him carefully to gauge his reaction. Did he know that part of the story?
“Interesting.” He observes the grand structure behind me, his gaze narrowed. “This place has been in the Vasilev family for generations. Who knows what Sergei has stashed here.”
A sudden thought occurs to me. “Do you think Anna knew her, my mother?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Anna…” His lips part and close. Whatever he meant to say, he seems to rethink voicing it. Or not. “What do you think of her son?”
I flinch at the intensity of the question. “Her son?”
It’s as if, until now, there was a wall in my head, blocking off any thought of Eli. With one question, Mischa breaks that barrier down.
“He’s beautiful,” I blurt in a rush. “So beautiful. I don’t. I never—” I swallow hard, alarmed to find my eyes are watering. Before I can blink them back, tears fall. “I’ve never been around someone his age before…”
I’m being ridiculous. Furious, I swipe at my cheeks, smothering every bead of moisture into oblivion. Mischa merely watches me, offering neither judgment nor support.
“What about Anna?” I rasp.
Maybe changing the subject to her is my selfish way of turning the tables?
Or perhaps I just want to compound that aching, lingering pinch in my chest. Only now do I feel spiteful enough to name it.Jealousy?
“You loved her, didn’t you?”
“I did,” he admits gruffly. “Ido.She’s family.”
“But as something more?” I’m acting childish now, no better than Eli or Mouse. Even so, I can’t resist pushing him further. “Could you see yourself marrying her? Once the war with the Winthorps is over.”
He strokes his chin. After a moment, he nods. “Yes. I could marry her.”
I don’t register cringing from him until he grips my shoulders, dragging me back.
“I could,” he cruelly insists against my ear. “We’d have a couple of kids. Live in the fucking country somewhere. It would be perfect, Little Rose—except for one thing…”
My heart throbs as I eye the landscape behind him. If he wants me to respond, I don’t.
So he answers for me. “Anna isn’t a fucking hellcat.”
“Bastard!” I lash out with the flat of my hand and he easily evades the blow.
“She’s too sweet,” he goads. “I don’t think she could ride my cock the way you can—”
“You’re disgusting,” I spit.
But he’s laughing and the sound affects me more than if he truly meant his boast. It’s real and lilting, and he doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it: feeling something other than rage.
“Hmm.” His tongue traces his lower lip. “I’d much rather see you bear my child. I could give you a few. Would you want that?”
“Never!” I thrust my chin into the air indignantly. “What makes you think I’d ever want your baby?”
“You’re right.” His face falls, and he lets me go. “Why would you?”
I gape as he pushes past me. By the time I recover from shock, he’s already halfway to the house.