Page 34 of Devil's Vows
Next to me, Petrov answers and I only catch a few words as I grapple to keep my composure. Something about a delivery and a container yard at some harbor.
“I’ll call you back in half an hour,” he says, in Russian. Somehow his voice is softer, less grating than Yuri’s, and the cadence of the language becomes a folksong in my ear. He turns to me, his startling blue eyes right there as he ends the call. “I need to go to the harbor, so let’s wrap this up.”
“Okay,” I murmur, wondering what will happen once he’s left. He isn’t going to leave me with this old Russian, is he? His henchman?
I swallow down my fear, reminding myself if Petrov wanted me locked up, I wouldn’t be here reading stories to his girls.
“I’ll show you your room and the rest of the house.” As he stands, his thigh brushes against my knee in an almost reassuring touch. “Yuri can show you the grounds.”
Petrov is leaving and I’m going to have to get used to being in this house, filled with Russians. I’ll have to overcome my fear and stick to my game plan.
I put my book to one side, and we file out into the corridor, the girls now distracted by the prospect of showing me my room. Far off in the opposite corridor, I spot a man in worker’s coveralls as he disappears into a room with a bucket of paint.
“On this level we have a lot of renos going on.” Petrov pauses on the other side of the security gate and holds open adoor for me. “Everything except my suite and your room is off-limits.”
“Understood,” I say, shooting Yuri a glance. His eye is on me all the time, tracking my every move; one mistake and it could give my lie away.
The girls bounce ahead, and I follow in their wake. Yuri stays outside, giving us space as Petrov comes to stand next to me. My suitcases are parked in the corner as if I’ve landed in a five-star hotel room.
“Your bed,” Katya declares, scrambling onto a king-size bed fitted with white sheets. The rest of the room is decorated in calm creams and wood. There’s a reading chair by the window and a dressing table with a matching chest-of-drawers. Everything is new and fresh, and there’s that wet-paint smell again.
“And your bathroom is in here,” Irisha says as she takes my hand and leads me to the adjacent bathroom.
It’s all white porcelain and marble, with a separate shower and double vanity, a makeup mirror and perfect lighting. It’s spotless and looks like it’s never been used. It’s too fancy forme,aconvent girl who’s used to having a small bed with age-softened and mended linen, a cold wooden floor, one lamp on an antique nightstand.
Basically, it’s too fancy for a nanny. It’s too close to the family. It’s too close to Petrov.
“I didn’t realize I was going to be right next door to you.” I’m not sure it’s the right thing to say or why I’m balking about being so close to his room. There’s a gate and a door I can lock.
“When things get busy at work, I tend to get home late. Some nights, I won’t be here at all. I need you here, close to the girls.”
“I see. Are they going to keep on sleeping in…in—” The treasure chest? The safe room? “In the tent,” I manage in a weak attempt to cop out of all the questions I really want to ask, likewhyare they sleeping in a safe room?
“Until we’ve figured this out, yes,” Petrov says, indicating between me and him.
There’s a subtext I don’t get here, and what with the way he pauses, staring at me, it’s as if he’s waiting for me to get it. Get what? I have no clue.
“We’ll work on it and see how it goes,” he says. “This way.”
He gestures for me to walk out first. In the corridor, Yuri is waiting, not blinking, just staring. Cold, disinterested, but somehow calculating. I’m going to have to watch my back and my nerves in front of this man.
We head down the stairs and Petrov stops in front of a closed door. “This goes to Milana’s suite of rooms. She also has a soundproof music room and recording studio.” He hesitates, looking as if he wants to knock. “Now isn’t a good time,” he says, brushing over everything that happened when we arrived. “Let’s not disturb her. She practices piano all the time and hates anyone to break her concentration. She’s an artist and somewhat moody.”
“I see.”A sad, moody, tantrum-throwing artist. Such fun.
We head back to the foyer and through a door to an open-concept space where a big kitchen island separates a round eight-seater dining table from the kitchen.
“This is the family kitchen,” Petrov says. “We have a professional kitchen in the basement, for events and so on, but the basement is also off-limits.”
At this rate, everything will be off-limits. The girls are already heading in the direction of the next room, but I’m drawn to the big window above the sink giving a view over the garden. It’s endless lawn, rimmed by a forest about two hundred yards away.
Something blinks in the distance, and I narrow my eyes in focus. My heart flips, and I clutch at my chest as if that would slow the rapid beating. It’s a man with a…an automatic riffle?
Now that I’ve seen him, I can’t unsee him. Even worse, thereare two of them. And there’s a dog. One of those German Shepherds trained to chase and kill.
A coil of razor wire unwinds in my stomach, hooking at my innards. God help me, I’ve never had assault rifles between me and freedom. Or a brute of a dog eager to rip through flesh. With the size of this property, there are likely to be many more where these came from.
“There’s—there’s—” I break off, giving Petrov a wide-eyed stare, hoping he’ll read my panic as I point through the window.
