Page 10 of Prince of Control
“That’s between my father and hers.” My tone says fuck off.
Anya lets it go. “Pozdravleniya.” She offers congratulations in Russian.
“Leo, you’ll need to code her thumbprint to the door.” I start handing out orders, as is my way. “Anya, hack into the registrar and see if they have a schedule for her yet.” Classes start tomorrow.
Anders and Phoenix appear with the other two suitcases. I switch to English because they don’t speak Russian. “My room,” I direct them. Anders picks up one suitcase I brought in and carries one in each hand up the stairs. Phoenix follows with the third.
“Are you hungry?” I ask Lara.
She shakes her head. She appears shellshocked. I get it. Baranov House and its occupants are a lot to take in, even to those who haven’t been abruptly uprooted and sent off to marry a stranger. “Let’s get you to bed–you’ve had a long day.”
Lara digs her heels in when I try to steer her toward the stairs and sends me a furious look.
I look back at her, keeping my expression mild.
Her mouth thins to a mutinous line, but she squares her shoulders toward the stairs and marches up them.
I pick up the final suitcases, drinking in the delectable sway of her ass as I ascend behind her.
Fume all you want, printsessa. You belong to me now.
Lara
I don’t know where I’m going, which makes my dramatic exit far less dramatic. All I know is that I don’t appreciate being controlled by the twenty-two year old gangster who has more swagger than half my dad’s men.
What…was all that?
My brain is having a hard time assimilating everything that’s going on around here.
At first glance, this seems like a normal college living situation with normal college students. Of course, I’ve never been to an American college before, but I’ve seen movies. Since we moved to Russia I’ve returned to visit the United States many times over the years. My aunt Nadia and Uncle Flynn live in Los Angeles.
I take it all in. It’s a big house–like the fraternity or sorority houses in the American comedies filled with friendly, good-looking young people. But the old Victorian-era house is in perfect condition, like it’s been newly renovated. A lot of money went into this place. And the thumbprint security? Why is that necessary? The furniture is high-quality, and the house is spotlessly clean–other factors that don’t go with student housing in my mind. And the weirdest thing is the way the students obeyed Benjamin’s orders like he’s their pakhan. One look from him, and they jump to comply. But several of them speak Russian, which means they could be born into it. Like him. Like me.
A shiver runs through me.
I’m in danger here. I can feel it.
I still don’t understand anything that’s happening. There’s a bigger picture I can’t see, and the undercurrent of secrecy and violence scares me.
I pass the Asian guy with a Norwegian name and accent–Anders, I think–and the slight-figured Phoenix, who might be trans, on the stairs. I must be headed in the right direction. I pause at the second landing.
“Keep going, malyshka,” Benjamin murmurs behind me.
I flush and whirl. “I am not your baby.”
He looks at me with no emotion–just that hint of amusement. Of power. I hate how his fathomless expression unnerves me. He says nothing, just looks at me. It’s somehow more intimidating than any reply he could have made.
Suddenly breathless, I turn back to the stairs and continue upward. I pause at the next landing.
“One more.”
At the top of the last flight of stairs is an enormous bedroom, clearly the prince’s chambers. It’s as beautiful as the rest of the house, with hardwood oak floors polished to a sheen and covered in a thick, plush shag orange rug. There are large windows on three of the walls. On the fourth wall is a closet and an en-suite bathroom with a small window.
It’s surprisingly cheery for a criminal’s lair.
There’s a king-size, four-post bed draped in what looks like a fluffy goose-down comforter in a dove grey silk duvet. Like Benjamin, the bedding shows measured control. The bed is made, but the king-sized feather pillows mound in a casual heap at the head.
Benjamin props the suitcase he carried on its side on a footstool and unzips it. “I’ll get a second dresser in here for your folded things. For now, there’s plenty of room and hangers in the closet.”
