Page 31 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

The door shuts on me. A second later, I hear the click of the lock. Scowling, I pace around the room. It matches the rest of the place.

Exquisite.

Immaculate.

And utterly soulless.

This home is a trap, a threat, a promise of violence. I refuse to let it intimidate me.

The bathroom is brimming with luxury products—face washes and creams and lotions, straighteners and mousse, makeup and hundreds of different brushes. The bed is made up with Egyptian cotton sheets with a six-figure thread count. And even though I shouldn’t be surprised by it, I can’t help letting out a tiny little gasp when I step into the walk-in closet and find it stocked with row after row of clothing—all exactly in my sizes.

I finger the fine fabrics of the dresses. Run my finger along the edge of the shoes. Touch the necklaces, the earrings, the watches.

It all glistens like gold. But I know the truth—it’s fool’s gold. The truth behind these nice things is rotten to the core.

On a whim, I go back to the front door and start banging. “Hey, is someone there?”

A gruff voice answers immediately. A guard posted at my door, like I expected. “Is there something you need, ma’am?”

“I want my son.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Boss’s orders.”

I slam my palms against the door as hard as I can and it bites back. I rub off the sting and try again. “Well, then I want to speak to the boss.”

“That’s not possible, either,” the calm, detached voice replies.

I close my eyes. It’s been a long time since I was so tempted to swear. “I need to speak to him,” I repeat. “Now.”

No answer.

“Matvei then?” I ask.

No answer.

“Goddammit!” I yell in frustration. I have to admit—it feels good coming off my lips.

“If you require food or drink,” the voice says, “I can get what you need. Anything else will have to wait.”

“Screw you!” I yell. “I need to speak to Phoenix!”

He falls into silence. I bang my fists against the door until my fists swell, but he doesn’t answer again. When it’s clear he’s done talking to me, I retreat back into the bathroom, feeling the swell of failure.

I have no idea what I’m doing here. No idea what my purpose is anymore. I’m doing my best not to think about the bigger picture. Because if I focus on anything other than myself and my son, I’m going to go insane.

It’s just too much. Astra Tyrannis. Black swans. Father Josiah. My parents. Phoenix Kovalyov and a wedding I didn’t ask for and the look in his eyes when he walked away from me, when he left me behind on that altar marked as his in a way I never, ever dreamed he would do…

There can’t be this much hatred and evil and untruth in the world. There just can’t be.

I retreat to the bathroom, fill the huge tub with hot water, and watch the steam rise all around me. I discard my clothes, now stained with the grime and sweat of travel, and slip into the tub. The hot water scalds my skin, but I close my eyes and welcome the comforting pain. It distracts me from the thoughts racing through my head.

Relax,I tell myself.It’ll be okay. Don’t think about Theo or your parents. Don’t think about your first or your second husbands. Don’t think about Charity’s dead body or—

I open my eyes. This might be a hopeless endeavor.

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