CLAIMED BY THE RUSSIAN TYRANT

7

Alexei bolted upright from another nightmare the next day.

He rose and took a cold shower to clear his head. He instinctively reached for his signature robe, but then he remembered a high-pitched voice that had provoked his senses—and was still ringing in his ears—calling him a monster.

He frowned, opened his wardrobe, and instead chose black slacks and a T-shirt. He didn’t keep mirrors in his room, so he trusted his instincts that he looked like less of a "monster" today.

He still didn’t understand why he’d agreed to loan Maximo anything; that hadn't been part of the plan. For one, he had been distracted by the sight of that wild-haired vixen. He wanted so badly to go down to that wine cellar and unlock the door, but he stopped himself, his fists clenched.

Filthy Monster. Those were the same words his birth father had spat at him when he was a boy, running through the mine rubble in Siberia with dirt on his face, looking for scraps to eat.

Forgotten memories filtered through his minds eye. Memories he had long since kept locked away. Or tried to. Get away from here you filthy Monster, his father would call shout at him, sending his men after him to beat him bloody and hang him upside down against a pavement as punishment till his mother came to carry his unconscious body home.

For a second, he felt it happening again. He tried to still his breathing, feeling the trickle of blood down his nose from being hung upside down for too long.

No. Alexei shook his head, finally leaving his room after regaining a little bit of composure.

He wouldn’t release Anastasia from that cellar until she had truly learned her lesson.

He descended the stairs straight to his office where xander was already waiting for him.

“Good morning, Boss. I have the reports from the mines in Siberia.” Xander dropped the files, a deep frown on his face.

Alexei, already in a foul mood, couldn't have been angrier as he glanced at the papers. “A fire?”

“Yes, sir. The workers complained of a series of explosions deep in the mines.”

“Well, did anyone escape?”

Xander sighed. The answer was written all over his face. “Twenty-seven died in the rubble.” He paused. “Five were the children of the workers.”

Alexei sank into his chair defeated. Twenty-seven bodies. No doubt rumors would soon spread that he built his wealth on the blood of his workers.

“And,” Xander continued, dropping another file. “The explosion affected Emilio’s… merchandise. It’s all buried under the rubble.”

“f**k!” Alexei muttered, flinging everything off the desk. Xander backed away.

Emilio f*****g Rozanov. Leader of the biggest gun-smuggling ring in Russia. Why Alexei had agreed to keep doing business with the man even after his mentor’s death, he had no clue. All he knew was that he was deeply f****d.

Emilio took his business seriously. Having millions of dollars worth of guns buried in Alexei’s mine was more than a challenge—it was a death warrant.

Alexei’s head throbbed. The only way to fix this mess, was to go in person to Siberia.

From the look on Xander’s face, there was still more news, and none of it was good, judging by the way his lips were twitching.

“The number you requested I check—the one Miss Anastasia dialed on your phone—it is indeed from America. New York, precisely. But it’s not from her ex-betrothed like you assumed.”

“Who is it from, then?”

“Her sister,” Xander said simply.

Alexei gazed out the window. So, Anastasia was trying to contact Marina, the long-estranged daughter of Maximo.

Foolish girl, he thought. Foolish, naive girl. If only she knew.

“Prepare the car. I’m going for a drive,” he told Xander suddenly.

“But Boss, aren’t you going to have breakfast?”

“That can wait until I’m back. I need to clear my head.”

“What about the girl?” Xander asked carefully.

“She’ll remain in the cellar until I say otherwise.”

“Of course.” Xander bowed. He knew better than to get on Alexei’s bad side, especially now with multiple losses on their head.

Alexei picked a bottle of vodka, cursing loudly in Russian as he stubbed his toe on his way out.

~~

Anastasia opened her eyes to a wall of mirrors. She stood in the center, clad in a pink leotard. A piano was playing somewhere far away—the exact notes she was supposed to dance to on the Billiard’s stage next week.

Behind the music, the sharp snap of Philip’s voice boomed, punctuated by the strike of his cane against the floor.

“Miss Sokolov, from the top, I say. You’ve been stalling for too long.”

Anastasia moved into place, shoulders squared and back straight, flexing her toes in preparation for the first move. But then, she suddenly froze. The mirrors in front of her cracked, revealing her face in dozens of distorted versions.

She screamed. The music stopped. Voices emerged—male voices whispering in the background. The mirror walls shattered completely to reveal Dmitri, naked on top of Philip, their bodies moving together like snakes.

“Dmitri!” Anastasia screamed in disbelief.

Dmitri laughed, the sound shaking the walls around her. “Spineless fool,” he mocked, the words echoing continuously.

She glanced at her side and, to her horror, the pink hem of her leotard was turning red. She shrieked as she looked down to see a thug, dead, his chest bleeding out onto her feet. She tried to run, but her ballet shoes were fused to the floor.

Suddenly, darkness fell. From the void, a light shone far away. She saw the silhouette of a man walking toward her. She felt helpless, terrified. She couldn't see his face, but she could hear the sounds Dmitri was making—the sleek, wet sounds of his interaction with Philip.

“Please,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Don’t hurt me. Please, I beg you.”

“Why would I do that?” a familiar voice answered.

A bright light flashed down on her. She gasped, shielding her eyes. When she opened them again, she realized it had been a nightmare. She was still in Russia, In a cold wine cellar, and the room was flooded with light. She felt wet, cold, and clammy.

She looked at the expensive loafers in front of her, her gaze moving over powerful thighs clad in black slacks before settling on the familiar, bearded face. She backed away on instinct.

Alexei frowned as he watched the red-haired woman curled in a ball on the ground, desperately tugging at her shirt to cover herself as she scrambled away. Guilt clawed at his chest almost instantly. He was everything the rumors said he was, but he had never been an abuser—especially not to women. Not even to the daughter of the man he hated most on the planet.

He crouched in front of her, watching the lines of her face. She blinked, her expression morphing from raw fear to confusion.

“It was just a dream,” he said softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She flinched away. He sighed, saying nothing more.

Anastasia’s stomach growled loudly then, and he watched her face turn pink with embarrassment. That was his cue.

“Come eat breakfast with me?” He held out a hand.

She eyed it dubiously, not moving an inch.

“Please?” he added, his voice low.

Anastasia told herself it was the hunger in her bones that made her move forward—just enough for Alexei to catch her arm and haul her to her feet. To her surprise, he moved behind her and draped a blanket over her shivering form.

Alexei remained silent as he led her out of the cellar, down the hall, and up the stairs to the room where she had showered the night before. She entered and sat wordlessly on the bed, her gaze fixed on her feet. She was exhausted and, quite frankly, she had learned her lesson in that dark room.

She felt Alexei’s stare against the side of her face. She didn’t move as she felt the bed dip beside her.

“Look, Anastasia, I’m sorry for locking you in the cellar. You really provoked me last night and I just…” Alexei trailed off. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Anastasia said nothing, staring at her toes, convincing herself that if she just spaced out, he would go away—or better yet, she would wake up from this nightmare entirely.

“I believe we got off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over, shall we?”

Anastasia raised her head to meet his blue eyes and her stomach twisted.

She hated him; she knew she did. But still, she couldn’t stop her heart from pounding in her chest at the sheer proximity of the beast.