“Art? What the fuck areyoudoing here?”
4
SASHA
Art steps into the room with a swagger in his step, so confident that for a moment, I actually think he might be here to rescue me. I have a vision of my kidnappers downstairs, tied up and knocked out, and Art fighting his way through to get to me, the heroic brother stepping in at the last moment.
He’d do it thinking it would win him the girl, which it wouldn’t. Not when I’m grieving the loss of Max, and not even if I wasn’t. Not even if Max were still alive and well, and engaged to Adriana–may she rest in peace. But I would still appreciate the effort.
All it takes is him opening his mouth to dash any hopes I might have had.
“Finally. You’re awake.”
My mouth drops open a little. “What? How–you–” A rush of emotion wells up in me, choking me with a lump in my throat that I have a hard time speaking past at first. “Art, what did youdo?”
His smile is as easy and relaxed as I’ve ever seen it, and that’s when I know I should have believed Max all along. I’d thought Max’s attitude towards his younger brother was just sibling rivalry, old wounds, and unaired grievances, but I’d been wrong.
Art is a fucking monster. And I should have known–I’ve met enough of them.
“Your brother is dead,” I choke out. “How can you stand there,grinningat me–”
“You have a lot of questions,” Art says smoothly. “And we’ll get to them, in time,mia bella.”
The richly murmured Italian endearment drags me right back to the night of the party, to the room spinning as my head bursts with stars after hitting the wooden floor. Everyone around me suddenly comprised of too many people to pick out details. I remember the voice I thought I recognized, as the needle had slid into my neck.
You shouldn’t have fought so hard,mia bella.
“You werethere,” I croak, staring at him. “You–”
“This has all been going on much longer than you know, Sasha.” Art says, leaning against the dresser on the far side of the room. There’s considerable space between him and me, and I glance at the door, wondering if I could make a break for it now that it’s unlocked.
Even as I think it, I know it’s pointless. Even if I got past Art, there’s going to be others in the house. I wouldn’t make it out of the front door, most likely.
I need to be smart about this–especially because I know I can’t count on a rescue this time. Max is gone–a fact that makes my throat close over with grief and my eyes well up all over again–and I don’t know how much he told Viktor, or if Viktor would have any idea of where to look for me.
Idon’t even know where I am right now. And with what I know now about my parentage, Viktor might decide it’s better to wash his hands of me. I might be too much of a liability now, a threat to his family. And if he made that choice–to protect them instead of me, I don’t even think I could blame him.
I’d probably do the same.
“Originally, this had nothing to do with you.” Art looks at me with an expression that’s almost sympathetic. “But you got caught in the middle, swept up in it. Not the first time that’s happened to you, from what I hear.”
“You don’t know anything about me.” I grind the words out from between my teeth, forcing myself to hold his gaze instead of looking away.
Art smirks. “I’ve done my research on you, Sasha Federova, don’t worry. Or rather, Sasha Obelensky?”
He raises his eyebrow as I feel myself go a shade paler. “See? I do know something about you. I know plenty. I know Viktor Andreyev’s man picked you up in Moscow and trafficked you to New York. I know you ended up in his household instead, right about the time that he started disbanding his trafficking business. I know his right-hand man went rogue and took several of the women in his household and his allies’ households captive, and that my dearly departed brother swooped in with the cavalry and helped save all of you. An event which, I imagine, led to the considerable–closeness–between my brother and you. Am I on the right track?”
“Just because you know details doesn’t mean you understand anything.”
Art shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe the details are all that really matter, when it comes down to it. Imagine if Alexei Egorov had known who you were, Sasha Obelensky. Imagine what he could have extorted out of your father, if he had any idea.” His eyes trail over me, assessing me, and I fight the urge to cringe back.
“Imagine,” he continues, “if Viktor Andreyev had known who you were. Do you think he would have taken you into his household then? Or do you think he might have made a deal with Obelensky?”
“He wouldn’t have done that,” I snap back, but even I can hear my voice faltering. The truth is that I’m not sure. Viktor was a different man then. He wasn’t yet the man who had changed his life and his businesses for a future and a family with the woman he’d fallen in love with.
Art shrugs lazily again. “Maybe. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter now. What matters is what you will do from here, Sasha. It depends on you.”
“How?” I swallow hard. “You haven’t answered any of my questions. I don’t–I don’t even understand how you’re a part of any of this. You’re just–”