I can feel Viktor’s eyes burning on me as the other man leaves the bedroom. When I rip a pair of sweatpants from the bag, I stop to quickly drag them up my legs. Finding an oversized shirt, I take off the one Viktor gave me and pull my own over my head.
I throw Viktor’s shirt onto the floor, and unable to handle being in his presence, I glance at the shut door. “Is that the bathroom?”
“Yes.”
“May I use it?”
“Of course.”
I dart forward, and when I’ve hurried inside and get to close a door between Viktor and me, a sob shudders from me.
Pressing my forehead to the door, I try to gasp through the horror of my new reality.
In a matter of hours, I’ve gone from happy teenager to being the future whore of the head of the bratva.
Sinking down to the tiles cries jerk my body.
I cry for the loss of my grandfather and uncle.
I cry for the loss of the innocence that will be taken from me when I turn eighteen.
Which is next week.
I only have five days.
Wrapping an arm around my waist, it feels like I’m breaking into a million pieces.
Chapter 4
Viktor
While Rosalie weeps in the bathroom, I take a seat on the bed and look at the documents Sacha brought.
The first thing I notice is that Rosalie’s birthday is much sooner than I thought.
There’s no way she’ll be ready to head out on her own by next week. She’ll need weeks, if not months, to process her grief.
I let out a sigh because that’s only half the truth.
Blyad', I’ve grown a conscience when it comes to the girl.
I shake my head and try to focus my attention on the documents.
I'll keep her until she’s twenty-one.
Three years.
A frown forms on my forehead as I lift my head to stare at the shut bathroom door. Just then, the sound of Rosalie’s cries change until it sounds like she’s struggling to breathe.
“Christ,” I mutter as I drop the documents and climb to my feet. The door only opens halfway before it knocks into something.
I step inside to see Rosalie lying on the floor, her tears forming a pool on the tiles. Red blotches cover her face and neck, a broken expression making her eyes look bruised and more vulnerable than my heart can handle.
Crouching, I take hold of her shoulders and pull her into a sitting position before I slip my arms under her knees and back. Lifting her to my chest, I straighten to my full height and carry her back to the bed.
I should tuck her in and give her a sedative, but instead, I find myself sitting down on the covers. I wrap my arms around her shuddering body and hold her tightly.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I try to reassure her.