Dance of Madness: Chapter 33

I don’t pour water on her this time.

Actually, I don’t wake her at all. Not when she’s finally asleep after forcing herself to stay awake for close to twenty-four hours. I just watch her, here in the cage with her.

It’s almost day three of her being here. She wasn’t wrong about being missed. People are looking for her. Like, a lot of people.

Chief amongst them, obviously, is Marko Kalishnik. The motherfucker was waiting at the curb outside my house last night when I drove home to pick up some shit. Him, his security guy Rurik, and about twenty other men.

Dom already had about thirty of our guys also waiting outside the house, in case shit went down.

Luckily, it didn’t.

“Where’s my daughter,” Marko had asked me bluntly.

I lied.

I mean, obviously.

I told him we’d gone out to dinner, and that we’d had a nice time. He clearly already knew I’d been with her, which is why he was there in the first place.

Rule number one when it comes to lying: don’t. if it’s not necessary.

I told him we’d had a great night at Oolong, and even told him he could call Jon, the maître d’, to verify my story.

Not a problem there. Jon’s been paid very well for his services that night and is probably expecting such a call.

I told Marko that after dinner, I’d taken Milena to the Mercury Theatre, where the Zakharova Ballet is based, at her request. I told him she hadn’t had anything to drink at dinner, and that she’d told me she had some practice to get in. That I’d watched her unlock the back door and walk in.

He can check the records. Milena’s code for the back door, which was conveniently on her phone, was entered that night at about 11:30.

Marko Kalishnik is not a stupid man. I’m not sure if he completely believed my story, but he also didn’t slit my throat on Central Park South. Just told me Milena was missing, that he was looking for her, and that he’d have eyes on me, constantly, until she was found.

I believe him, too.

This is why I’ve had Dom running interference for me, having some of my guys who look sort of like me dress in my clothes and get escorted into SUVs which are then driven to the ass end of pretty much every borough in New York.

Might as well keep Marko busy while he fruitlessly looks for Milena.

Besides, he doesn’t need to worry.

She’s safe.

Mostly.

I watch her sleep, her hand tucked under her face and her knees drawn up. I want to believe her. More than fucking anything, I want to believe her. But I can’t allow myself to.

I exhale as I squat down next to her, watching her sleep. My hand reaches out on autopilot to brush a strand of hair away from her face, but I stop myself halfway, glowering.

What was, cannot be again. Whatever we were, or whatever we might’ve been about to become… That part is over.

It’s not like I can keep her here forever. But I don’t know the script for this.

This time, when I reach again for the strand of hair, I don’t stop myself as I push it back from her cheek. She smiles quietly, still asleep, shifting a little. Her skin is pebbled with goosebumps. Fuck, it really is chilly down here.

I drape the heavy blanket over her.

I leave a fresh sandwich, apple, banana, new bag of pretzels, a bottle of orange juice, and a large bottle of water on the tray next to her cot, picking up the old one as I stand.

I don’t know what comes next.

I don’t know how to get past this.

Most of all, I don’t know how to stop loving her.

Goddamn her for that.