Page 34 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva
“Come.” I hold out my hand and help her climb over the balcony railing. Outside, as expected, our guards wait.
One of them rushes up to me. “Sir?”
“Someone’s at the door,” I tell him, Arina’s hand clutching mine fearfully.
The guard nods and motions at the other. “Take them to the car. Take them straight to the airport. Send over back-up. We’re going to hold these guys off and follow.”
***
We follow our guard to the car, which has been brought up to a private entrance away from the lobby so as not to be seen. Arina’s hand hasn’t left mine for a single second, her grip tight from her nerves.
We get into the SUV, and Arina tries to ask, once again, who that was, but I shake my head, peering out of the window.
“The convoy isn’t ready,” I tell her. “We could be ambushed. I need to be on watch out.”
After that, she doesn’t question me. We reach the tarmac, and I lead her up to the plane.
“What about your guards?” she asks when we’re settled in.
“We should leave now,” I explain. “They’ll fly commercial if they have to.”
She nods, but there’s something in her expression, a fear and confusion, that tells me I won’t get away without telling her what’s going on for much longer. She’s seen us escape danger on two occasions now. She’s not a fool.
She knows someone’s out there to hurt me. She’ll want to know why.
We’ve just managed to take off when my doubts are proven right.
Once we’re airborne, Arina turns to me, and I hold back an internal groan. We have a four-hour flight to New York. Just how long do I think I can keep up this act for?
“Ilariy,” she says firmly. “Someone came to our hotel room this morning, and we ran. Please, tell me. Who are you running from and why?”
As I watch the trust in her face, the hope for answers, I find my heart shatter. The honest thing to do, the easy and right thing to do, would be to tell her the truth. She’s married to me now, and she has every right to know what she’s in for.
But the thing is, I don’t know how to tell her who my family is without her asking how her brothers come into this picture. For so long, they’ve sheltered her from the ugliness of their world.
She didn’t even know the Bratva existed when I slipped the word in once or twice. She has no idea what our families are.
And I hate to be the one to take away that innocence from her.
“Ilariy?” she asks, her voice slightly fearful now.
“Arina,” I try to answer as best I can, without giving away too much. “My family… we run big businesses. The competition is stiff out there, with people wanting to shut us down. They’re threatened by us.”
“Can’t you go to the cops?”
It’s such a simple question, and in a simpler world, that’s what we would have done.
“The cops…they aren’t all honest.” That’s all I can come up with.
“But—” she says, and I’m running out of things to say to her. It’s impossible to say more without shattering her peace of mind.
I pick up my phone and pretend to look worried. “I need to check something with the pilot,” I say as I stand. I walk off and turn around casually, as though it’s a passing thought. “I’m going to spend the next couple of hours working on some accounts for my office. Why don’t you get some rest?”
She doesn’t say anything. She simply glares at me like she can see right through me. I feel guilty, so powerless against that expression, but, like I said, I can’t be the one to break her innocence.
***
In the cockpit, with nothing to do but sit, I close my eyes and try to think. How much longer can I keep this up? How much longer should I?
