Page 51 of Sinful Union

“She needs a minute,” she says, giving me a pointed look. “Let her clean up, change into something else.”

I exhale through my nose, my jaw clenching. We don’t have time for this.

Darya stands awkwardly near the kitchen island, hands gripping the strap of her purse like it’s a lifeline. She looks fragile, which is exactly how Kat sees her.

I nod.

Kat looks surprised, like she expected me to argue.

“There’s a guest bathroom upstairs,” I say. “Spare clothes are in the dresser, there should be some in there that will fit you. Take a shower or a bath, if you need to.”

Darya’s eyes flash with surprise, as if she hadn’t expected such kindness. “Thank you,” she says softly.

“But,” I say and raise my finger, “leave your phone here.”

Without a word, she reaches into her purse and takes out her phone, setting it on the counter.

“This way,” Kat says. “I’ll show you the room.” With that, they leave the kitchen.

As they disappear, I lean against the counter, rubbing a hand over my jaw. I replay everything I know about Piotr in my mind, everything I’ve suspected. My eyes flick toward the hallway where Darya disappeared. She’s curvy, like Kat, like Piotr’s mother. My stomach tightens slightly. Coincidence? Maybe, or maybe, it’s just one more thing to add to the growing list of what the fuck is wrong with him.

The second Kat steps back into the kitchen, I know this isn’t just about Darya. There’s tension in her shoulders and a shadow in her expression that wasn’t there before. It’s subtle, but I know her well enough to see it.

“You okay?”

She hesitates just enough to confirm my suspicion.

Then she says, “After you talk to Darya, we need to chat.”

Her words are too controlled, too definitive. I don’t like it. Not at all. My muscles tense. “Chat about what?” My tone is sharper than I intend, but I don’t like this kind of vague bullshit.

She exhales and crosses her arms as if protecting herself. “Handle her first.” She nods toward the hallway. “It’ll help with our discussion.”

I don’t fucking like that either. But before I can press again, Darya reappears. She steps tentatively into the kitchen, her posture stiff, her fingers gripping the hem of the oversized sweater she’s changed into. Her hair is damp, her face scrubbed clean. Without the smudged makeup and red-rimmed eyes, she looks younger, prettier but still fragile.

Kat straightens beside me. “I promised her protection.”

I glance at my wife before turning to Darya. “If what you know is as valuable as I’ve heard it is,” I begin, eyes locking onto hers, “I’ll protect you from the devil himself. Now, let’s begin.”

Chapter 23

Pavel

“Right this way.”

I guide Darya down the corridor toward my office, aware of every hesitant step she takes. She’s wearing a borrowed sweater from Kat, her damp hair loose around her shoulders, still looking like she’s just been crying.

Under normal circumstances, I’d feel sorry for her.But these are far from normal circumstances, and I’m too on edge, too aware of her connection to Piotr.

I’m torn. Part of me wants to help this young woman, give her some assurance, some peace of mind. Another part of me, however, is all too aware that this could be some sort of trap set by Piotr. I’m not certain she’s innocent. Not yet.

My office door stands open, the dim light inside illuminating the dark wood and leather furniture.I gesture for Darya to enter first. She does, but with clear caution. It’s as if she’s expecting a gang of armed men to be waiting for her, ready to punish her for her betrayal.

I close the door behind us.

“Sit,” I say, motioning to the couch near the far wall.

She obeys, perching on the edge of the cushions. Her eyes skitter around the room, never landing on one object too long, like she’s searching for an escape route.

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