CLAIMED BY THE RUSSIAN TYRANT

8

“Let’s start over, shall we?”

Anastasia tried not to squirm under his stare. Though his face was hidden behind a thick, bushy beard, those eyes were chillingly cold and intimidating.

“I will never hurt you, or force myself on you,” Alexei went on. “I know your father might have told you things about me. Some could be true, but I’m not the monster you think I am.”

“Does… does that mean you accept my terms? Marriage?” Anastasia stammered hopefully.

“No,” Alexei answered without a second thought. “But I will treat you well.”

That answer only incensed Anastasia further. “If you’re not offering me marriage, then you must offer me freedom.”

“That, I cannot do.”

Anastasia’s heart thudded in her chest, her eyes narrowing. “And why is that? Why can’t I have my freedom?”

Alexei reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded paper. She flinched.

He raised a brow. “Relax. It’s not a gun. Look.”

He passed it across the space between them. The first thing Anastasia saw was her father’s signature—bold and daunting. Below it, her breath hitched as she read the agreement.

‘PROPERTY MUST BE HELD UNTIL DEBT IS FULLY PAID. THIS IS TO PREVENT PROPERTY FROM FALLING INTO THE WRONG HANDS.’

It was the word ‘Property’ that made her jaw tighten. Her own father had signed her away like an object.

Alexei gave her a look that almost bordered on guilt. “I apologize. You came on such short notice that my lawyer didn’t have time to draft a proper contract. This one here is for my company… for merchandise.”

She shifted her gaze, a sharp hunger tightening in her stomach. Despite her anger toward the man in front of her, she couldn’t find it in her to hate him entirely when it was her own father who had handed her over.

“I’m hungry. Am I allowed to eat now… sir?”

“Sir?” Alexei laughed. “Call me Alexei.”

“Alexei…”

“Yes. But before that, I would like to clarify a few things,” he started. “The thugs I killed, I did so for a reason. You see, those men have been on my radar for months. My retail chains around Tver have been raided by them countless times, and they hurt my female workers the exact way they intended to hurt you.”

The mention of the thugs made her skin crawl. She had dreamt of them. For some reason, the memory of the encounter reminded her of Dmitri’s slick hands on her arm, covering her mouth as he threatened her. Even if he hadn't violated her body, the feeling was the same. She felt violated nonetheless.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me… Alexei. I know the kind of man you are.”

Alexei arched a bushy brow but said nothing. He left, returning moments later with a shirt and pants ten times Anastasia’s size.

“Shower and wear this. Come meet me downstairs for breakfast.” He dropped the clothes on the bed.

As he turned, Anastasia spotted the gun tucked into the back of his pants. Her pulse leaped into her throat. No, she thought bitterly. She wouldn't stay. It wasn't safe here. She would pretend to be meek and polite, then find a way out of here.

After showering and feeling more human, she stretched her limbs and glided down the stairs. She couldn't deny that Alexei had taste; the living area was decorated with rich, masculine decor. Expensive traditional paintings that belonged in a museum lined the walls. And, of course, there were his guards.

She sighed. He wouldn't take his eyes off her for one second. She was his ‘Property.’

Atleast he wasn’t forcing himself on her… yet.

Voices echoed from the other side of the room. She rounded the corner and peeked through the heavy oak doors. The smell of seared salmon assailed her nose, followed by the sharp sound of glass shattering. She froze.

Alexei was pacing the dining area, a hand raking through his hair and a phone pressed to his ear. His Russian was so fast she could barely follow it, but she caught two words: ‘Trafficked’ and ‘The girl.’

She didn't want to believe it was about her, but it made sense. If he had requested her specifically from her father, surely he had dark intentions—like selling her for something bigger. Her father, Maximo, had powerful enemies who wouldn't turn down the chance to ruin his youngest daughter as payback. A shiver crawled down her spine.

The door swung open, nearly hitting her in the face. Xander stood there, a frown on his handsome face. He raised a brow. “Are you coming in, or do you plan to eavesdrop all day?”

She said nothing, her cheeks flushing. As she entered, Alexei quickly pocketed his phone.

“You look refreshed,” he noted.

She remained silent, sinking into the nearest seat and staring at the array of food. He sat at the head of the table and barked an order. The butler from yesterday walked in and filled Anastasia’s plate, never once meeting her eyes. It was odd.

They ate in silence, but Anastasia was alert, her eyes darting around for any chance of escape. When Alexei turned his attention to a newspaper, she quickly slipped a table knife into the waistband of her oversized pants. She looked back, hoping Xander hadn't caught the movement. Thankfully, he was no longer in the room.

“Xander will take you shopping later this afternoon,” Alexei said out of the blue.

“What?”

“I suppose you’ll need amenities of your own. Skincare, better fitting clothes, and… underwear.”

She blushed, looking down at her plate. “Yes… I suppose. Or, you could just send me back to my father’s house to retrieve my things?”

Alexei chuckled, lighting a cigarette. “Nice try, sweetheart.”

She sighed. Despite everything, she wanted to know the condition of her father’s health. Her mother, on the other hand, could kiss lava. A thought occurred to her suddenly. “Aren’t you scared of what the police will do when they find those bodies?”

To her surprise, Alexei laughed. He folded his newspaper and stood, clearly amused. “There are a lot of things you will have to get used to while staying with me, Anastasia,” he said, his thick accent making her name sound far too intimate. “And one of those things is that the police wouldn't dare meddle in my affairs.”

He motioned behind her and excused himself. As soon as he was gone, the butler stepped forward to clear the plates.

Anastasia found it hard to believe he could get away with murder. What kind of power did he wield? The hair on the back of her neck stood up as her suspicion of human trafficking reached a peak.

“Miss.”

She looked up. The butler—an old man with thinning gray hair—was staring down at her, his eyes sharp and alert. She realized he had used English.

“You speak English?” she gasped.

He silenced her with a finger to his lips, his eyes darting toward the door. He leaned closer, clearing her dishes to maintain the appearance of work. “Call me Ambrose. I want to help you.”

“Ambrose. Do you know my sister?”

He frowned. “I don’t know anything about your sister, Miss. But when you go out today, take this.”

She looked down just as he pressed her cell phone into her hands. Her eyes widened. “How did you—”

“Shhh,” he hissed, glancing at the door where Alexei was still pacing in a phone call. “Be very careful, Miss. My boss is everything you’ve heard about—and more.”