Page 50 of The Russian's Innocent Prey
“Or to get to Trev,” Anya finished quietly. “If they know about his feelings for her, they could use her as leverage.”
I stopped dressing and looked at her—really looked at her. She was standing by the window, morning light making her look ethereal and fragile, but her voice was steady. Determined.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that if someone took Sasha because of me, because of us, then I’m not going to sit here and wait for news.” Her chin lifted in that stubborn way I’d come to both love and fear. “I’m thinking it’s time I stopped being protected and started protecting the people I care about.”
Before I could argue, before I could tell her that she was staying put while I handled this, she moved to me and kissed me. Soft and sweet and goodbye.
“I love you,” she whispered against my lips. “But I won’t hide anymore while the people I care about are in danger.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to lock her in the penthouse and post guards and keep her safe while I turned Chicago upside down looking for answers.
Instead, I kissed her back and whispered the words that sealed both our fates.
“Then we do this together.”
Because if there was one thing I’d learned in my thirty-seven years of survival, it was that the people you loved were worth any risk, any price, any sacrifice.
Even if it meant walking straight into hell to get them back.
Chapter 16 – Anya
I entered my office after saying goodbye to Lev that morning, still carrying the warmth of his promise that we’d face whatever came next together. The familiar scent of my workspace—fabric samples, coffee, and the faint trace of my vanilla perfume—should have been comforting. Instead, it was overlaid with something else. White lilies. Sharp and almost medicinal.
A girl I’d never seen before stood smoothly from Sasha’s usual chair, her movements fluid and practiced. She couldn’t have been older than nineteen, with the kind of pale, ethereal beauty that belonged in old paintings rather than Chicago offices. Her smile was polite but oddly practiced, like she’d rehearsed it in a mirror.
“Ms. Antonov,” she said, her voice carrying just a hint of an accent I couldn’t place. “My name is Erin. Sasha sent me to assist you until she returns from Germany.”
Something cold settled in my stomach. The wrongness of it hit me immediately—not just that Sasha would send someone without calling me first, but the way this girl stood, the way she smiled, the way she seemed to be taking inventory of my office with those pale eyes.
“Where is Sasha exactly?” I set my purse down carefully, not taking my eyes off her. “I’ve been trying to contact her but—”
“Germany,” Erin cut in smoothly. “Family emergency. She asked me to take over immediately so there wouldn’t be any disruption to your schedule.”
I frowned and pulled out my phone, dialing Sasha’s number again. For the umpteenth time that morning, it went straight to voicemail. The automated message felt like a mockery:Hi, you’ve reached Sasha. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.
“If she calls you,” I said, pointing a finger at Erin, “you come to me directly. I don’t care if it’s day or night. Understood?”
“Of course.” Her smile never wavered.
Over the next two days, Erin worked like a ghost. Efficient, intuitive, never missing a beat. She knew where everything was, anticipated my needs before I voiced them, and handled calls with a professionalism that should have impressed me.
Instead, it made my skin crawl.
I couldn’t ignore the strange tightness in my chest whenever she appeared in my doorway unannounced during phone calls. The first day, I kept quiet even though I caught her in the reflection of my office mirror, standing silently by the half-open door during a conversation with Milo about production schedules.
The second day, I’d had enough.
“Erin,” I said after ending a call with a fabric supplier. “Are you eavesdropping on my conversations?”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t look embarrassed or caught. Just tilted her head with that same practiced smile. “Sasha told me to stay attentive. She mentioned that you tend to give tasks suddenly, and I wanted to be prepared to help immediately.”
The explanation made complete sense. It was exactly the kind of thoughtful instruction Sasha would give. But something in my gut twisted anyway, some primal instinct that whispered danger even when logic said everything was fine.
“I’d like to speak with Sasha,” I said. “On your phone, since she’s not answering mine.”
Erin nodded and dialed without hesitation. The conversation was brief, professional, and thoroughly unsatisfying. Sasha’s voice sounded distant, strained, but sheconfirmed what Erin had told me. Family emergency. Germany. She’d be back soon.
