Page 37 of Devil’s Reign

He walks in carrying a tray loaded with perfectly seared steak, alongside what looks like roasted garlic mashed potatoes with basil pesto drizzled over the top, all accompanied by roasted onions, carrots, and asparagus. The rich smell makes my stomach twist with hunger, but my attention stays fixed on the guard as he sets the tray on the table in front of me.

“You know,” I say casually. “I never caught your name.”

“That’s because I never told you,” he answers gruffly.

I wait, expecting him to offer it anyway, but he only inclines his head and turns to leave.

“Well, what is it?” I call after him.

He glances back with a small frown, clearly contemplating whether telling me is a good idea or not. He must decide it’s harmless enough because he finally says, “Boris.”

I offer him my warmest smile. “I just wanted to thank you for faithfully bringing my meals. I appreciate it, Boris.”

He does a double take, like he thinks I might be losing my mind. What kind of prisoner thanks one of their captors?

“Just doing my job,” he grumbles, then walks out of the library.

I wait with bated breath, but he doesn’t close the door. My pulse kicks up. I tiptoe to the doorway and peek out carefully. Boris has joined a few other men by the sofa, deep in conversation. If I want any chance of searching Vanya’s office, I’ll need them to leave the suite entirely.

I retreat to my dinner and devour the meal quickly, anxious to look around before Vanya returns. Sure, I’ll still try the whole ‘make him fall for me’ strategy, but I need a backup plan in case that fails. No one’s ever accused me of being a femme fatale, after all—and for good reason. Who knows if I’m even capable of it.

Once I’ve cleared my plate, I creep back to the doorway and peek out again. It’s just Boris and one other guy now. As if they can feel me staring, they both turn towards the library door, and I scoot back fast, breath jamming in my chest. Did they see me? Fuck, I hope not.

I wait several tense minutes before risking another look, half-expecting Boris to be standing right outside the door. Instead, he and the other guy are walking towards what I know is the front entrance.

Yes. Leave.

They’re so engrossed in their discussion that they don’t even notice me watching as they exit. What luck. I wait a few more agonizing minutes to make sure they’re not coming back, then slowly emerge from the library.

I’m painfully aware of how little time I might have to snoop around. There are so many unknowns. Like, is it normal for Boris to leave after serving my dinner? Is the suite usually empty at night, or did those two just step out for a quick smoke break? And then there’s Vanya. I have no idea when he’ll return. Who knows if he’ll stay at Zvezda until it closes or come back earlier. I’ll have to stay on my toes. Keep alert.

I cast a quick, disinterested glance around the luxurious living area—two large three-seater leather sofas, a black glass coffee table, and a massive TV taking up almost an entire wall. Through an open doorway, I spot a spacious kitchen complete with cabinets, a microwave, an oven, a stovetop, and a coffee machine.

The cooking appliances are probably wasted on Vanya. He doesn’t strike me as the type who cooks.

I look at the four closed doors. I recognize the one leading to my room, which leaves three others to investigate. One of them has to be Vanya’s office. If he has information about Luciano, I might find it there. And if not, then maybe I’ll at least find something useful, like my phone. Vanya definitely has it by now, right? There’s no way he didn’t get it from the bouncers. If I can get my phone, I can contact Mamma and stop her from worrying. By now she must know something’s gone horribly wrong with my investigation. I can’t risk her doing something reckless out of desperation.

Determined, I try the nearest door.

The handle doesn’t budge. I look down, expecting a keyhole, but instead find a digital pad. A frustrated sigh escapes me. Don’t tell me all the doors in this damn hotel have this? I never thought they’d just be unlocked, but I’d at least hoped for something I could pick or break into. Halfway to giving up, I try the next door. Also locked.

I stare at the last one, wondering if it’s even worth the effort. But I force myself to try anyway. Surprisingly, when I press down on the handle, it gives and opens quietly.

I glance around as the door gives, half-expecting alarms to blare and guards to come running. When that doesn’t happen, I push the door wider and step inside. It’s just another bedroom. Disappointment slams into me—until my next breath carries a familiar scent. Vanya’s. This is his room.

I might still find something useful here. But it’s not the thought of discovering information that has me licking my lips as I walk deeper into his private space.

The room is similar to mine, only bigger. Heavy velvet curtains block the window, hiding a view I have no doubt would be stunning. There is a massive bed in the center. His bed. I swallow the lump in my throat as I take in the neatly made sheets of dark navy satin, an even darker duvet, and two pillows that look criminally soft. Like in my room, there’s a small dining table with two chairs. A striped tie is slung over the back of one, and a crumpled shirt lies on the seat. My brows knit in surprise. Vanya strikes me as one of those neat freaks who keeps everything in perfect order, yet this room looks lived in.

Against one wall is an armoire, topped with an expensive-looking bottle of cologne. Next to it, sliding glass doors lead to what appears to be a spacious walk-in closet. Even from here, I can see the contents—rows and rows of clothes neatly hung up.

I close the bedroom door behind me and move further inside, drawn by a curiosity I can’t quite explain. A small stack of books lies on one of the nightstands beside the bed, which is, again, surprising. I didn't take him for the type to do late-night reading. But my surprise fades when I scan the titles: The Prince, The Art of War, The Intelligent Investor, a biography on Alexander the Great, a history of World War II, and The Secret War.

That sounds about right. Why read for pleasure when he can bury himself in mind-numbing strategy guides? My eyes glaze over as I skim the back of one book. How do people read this stuff without falling into a coma?

I shake my head and drop the book back on the nightstand, reminding myself why I’m here—to look for useful information. Maybe even find my phone. Not to learn about Vanya’s reading preferences. Kneeling beside the bed, I open the nightstand drawer.

More mind-numbing books. I roll my eyes as I shut it, then jog around the foot of the bed to the other nightstand, kneeling there as well.