Page 115 of Love to Defy You
“Coming back to Andarusia in disguise?” Grigor towers over me, hands clasped behind his back as he regards me with that familiar expression of disapproval. “You’re a disgrace to the Kurochkin name.”
I adjust the baseball cap over my wig, pulling it lower over my eyes. “Your legacy is nothing but a burden.” I glance around to make sure no one else notices him. If I’m seen with another Kurochkin, it will blow my cover. “I look forward to the day no one recognizes me as your son.”
“Perhaps that day is today.” Grigor glances at the customs gate, his smirk twisting with wicked delight. “Or perhaps not. You’ll never truly escape my legacy, and the sooner you accept that, the better.” He returns his cold gaze to me. “Either way, here you are. The prodigal son returns home at last.”
I glance at the sign that saysWelcome to Olininburg. How do I feel stepping into the country I called home for the first eighteen years of my life? The homeland I never thought I’d see again?
“It feels both familiar and foreign,” I admit, adjusting my backpack on my shoulder. It should be impossible to feel like I belong in a place where I am no longer welcome, a place filled with danger and hostility.
But I’ve lived my whole life in fear—of my father, of losing Willow, of the Order of Apollo. No matter where I go or what I do, fear is my constant companion. It’s all I’ve ever known, and perhaps it’s where I feel most at home.
“Next!” The customs agent waves me forward.
“By the way,” Grigor adds, “happy birthday. You’re twenty years old now. It’s long past time to start acting like a man.”
I glance down at my phone, and sure enough, he’s right. Today is my birthday, and if I had a cake with candles, I’d wish for only one thing—to find Willow alive and untouched.
When I look up from the screen, my father is gone, but his cruel laugh follows me as I approach the counter.
My heart stalls as I hand my passport to a man in a navy uniform. With a bored expression, he flips through the pages as the seconds tick by in silence.
“What brings you to Andarusia?” His question is monotone.
“I’m here for a business meeting.” I keep my voice steady. “Just a quick turnaround trip.”
The customs agent glances at me, then at the passport, no doubt comparing the photograph. With my brown wig, brown contacts, and thick glasses, I hope it’s enough to convince him I’m Stanley Oliver from London, England.
“Enjoy your trip.” The customs agent stamps my passport and hands it back to me.
Relief floods over me. The fake identity worked.
With a stiff nod to the agent, I cross through the glass partition with my backpack slung over my shoulder. It takes great restraint not to sprint toward the taxi line outside, but if I don’t keep a low profile, I’ll never get far enough to rescue Willow.
The thought of her drugged up in Enzo’s clutches makes me blind with rage, and I’m determined to murder Enzo Messina, the spawn of the Sicilian Whore. He will pay for what he’s done to Willow and me, consequences be damned.
I’m coming for you,malishka.
Chapter 22
Willow
The urge to vomit wakes me up with a jolt. Clapping a hand over my mouth, I blink a few times to figure out where I am, but the dark, unfamiliar room is spinning.
The curtains are drawn, but a gold table lamp sits on the nightstand beside me. It emits a dim light, but it’s enough to take in the room. Gaudy wallpaper and champagne-hued furnishings decorate the bedroom, including an armoire with intricate vines carved into the wood. Above the dresser hangs a mirror in a gilded frame, and a beige, tufted chair sits in the corner. I glance up at the massive headboard, which is also upholstered in tufted fabric and framed in carved wood painted a champagne color.
It all looks very expensive, but apparently, money doesn’t buy taste.
I stretch my aching body with a groan, but when I do, the silk sheets slip down to reveal my breasts.
How did I get here, and why am I naked? When I think back, I can’t remember anything since the plane ride with Enzo. All I can remember is that he was acting strange, and then... nothing.
I reach for my phone on the nightstand, but it’s nowhere to be found. As soon as I sit up to look for it, a violent wave of nausea overwhelms me. I throw off the bedcovers and race toward an open door leading into a bathroom, falling to my knees in front of the toilet just in time as I throw up liquid bile.
When there’s nothing left in my stomach, I roll over on the gold, fuzzy bathmat and curl into the fetal position, and my body breaks into shivers as goosebumps raise on my arms and legs.
I feel like absolute dog shit, but I have no idea what’s wrong or why. Everything is sore—the red marks around my wrists and ankles, my head, my chest. I’m even sore between my legs.
Where the hell is my phone? I need to call Alek to come pick me up.
