Page 42 of Devil’s Reign

I let go and force myself out of bed before I do something stupid again. I need to get my head straight, not make it worse.

Every step to the bathroom reminds me how worked up I still am. I sit on the toilet and thoroughly clean off the wetness clinging to my thighs and pussy. Then I brush my teeth and hop into the coldest shower I can stand, gasping as the icy spray hits my overheated skin.

For a moment, I consider playing with the showerhead again—maybe getting myself off this morning will help reset whatever’s happening to my body. But I decide against it. I’d hate for Boris to walk in with my breakfast while I’m screaming his boss’s name. The mortifying thought keeps me moving, and I finish my shower quickly, then dress in record time.

My body is still humming afterwards, restless and charged, and I wonder if I might be ovulating. That has to be it, because what the hell? But then again, ovulation has never felt this intense before—ever. No. It’s Vanya and his cursed touch. He hasn’t even fucked me yet, and I’m already like this. I can’t imagine what will happen when he does. I’ll be utterly screwed, in every sense.

Boris arrives with my breakfast right on schedule. He doesn’t look at me as he enters, just places the tray on the dining table and walks out without a word.

I wait for the door to close behind him before sitting down to eat. At this point, I’m definitely going to gain some weight before Vanya ever decides to let me go. All I do is sleep and eat—three square meals at that. I can’t remember the last time I had that.

When I finish my meal, I push back my chair and begin pacing the room. So my plan to find information about Luciano flopped spectacularly. The same goes for finding my phone. What’s my next move?

The door opens again, and I freeze mid-pace as Boris returns to collect the empty tray. He checks that the utensils are there, then leaves. A moment later, he comes back with two men behind him. This time, I don’t miss the bulges at their waists. Guns.

“Come.” Boris beckons me forward, and I swallow, wiping my suddenly sweaty palms down my pants as I hesitantly follow them.

What now?

I expect them to take me to one of the other rooms in the suite—maybe Vanya’s office. But to my surprise, they lead me straight to the front door. My heart leaps into my throat. Am I being… released?

A strange lump of disappointment forms, and I try to swallow it down.

Did Vanya finally realize I’m not a threat to him? This is a good thing. It is. Boris closes the suite door behind us, but instead of heading for the elevator, we walk down the hallway to another hotel suite.

My stomach clenches with heat as I remember the keycard in Vanya’s nightstand. For when he gets bored. Is he bored right now? And wants me? Is he planning to continue from where we stopped last night? My blood rushes in my ears, muffling the electronic beep as one of the men taps a keycard against the panel.

Boris opens the door, and after only a brief hesitation, I step inside. The door shuts behind me, none of them entering themselves, and anticipation crackles through my veins. Is Vanya waiting for me somewhere in here? I swallow nervously and move deeper into the suite, trying to figure out how I’ll handle this interaction with him. What I’ll say, how I’ll play it⁠—

My thoughts come to a screeching halt when I see the person sitting on one of the sofas in the living room.

“Mamma?”

She turns to face me, and her eyes go wide. “Melani!” She jumps to her feet and—to my surprise—runs towards me, wrapping her arms around me in a fierce embrace. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you? What happened?” The questions tumble out in rapid succession as she pulls back to search my face.

My lower lip trembles, and I bite down on it, blinking away the sudden sting in my eyes. Mamma hasn’t exactly been cold since we arrived in New York, but she’s kept her emotions tightly under wraps. This open display of affection catches me completely off guard.

“I’m–I’m fine,” I whisper. “What about you?” I grab her arm, scanning her for injuries.

“I’m fine,” she assures me, then glares towards the hotel door. “Someone suddenly dropped a black sack over my face and dragged me off the streets. In broad daylight!"

My eyes widen because I know who’s behind it. Vanya. I’ll have your mother brought here if you’re truly worried about her. I lick my lips, unsure how to tell her I’m the reason she was—what? Kidnapped? Taken off the streets against her will?

“Is this what became of your investigation?” she asks, disappointment heavy in her voice. “I told you it was a bad idea, didn’t I? Now look at us, locked up in one of Ivan Petrov’s hotel rooms.” She says Vanya’s name with such contempt that my hackles rise, a sharp wave of defensiveness surging through me. A dozen words crowd my throat, ready to defend him, but I swallow them. She wouldn’t take them well.

“My investigation wasn’t for nothing." My voice is a little stilted because of how angry I am at her. How dare she talk about him that way? Huh? Where the hell did that thought come from? It’s irrational. Just over two weeks ago, I was talking about him the same way.

Frowning, I push the feeling aside. No, I’m not defensive of Vanya. He doesn’t need me to be.

“Oh, really? Look around you, Melani. Where are we?” Her contempt snaps the fragile lid I’m holding over my temper.

“It looks to me like we’re in one of the safest places we could be,” I shoot back.

“What?” she asks incredulously.

“This is the one place Emilio Sciarra would never think to look for us, Mamma. The safest place we could hide from him—don’t you see that?” Urgency creeps into my voice as I try to make her understand.

Her lips part as I talk, and she stares at me like I’m a stranger. “How is this the safest place when it’s where your brother got—got—” Her voice breaks, the words refusing to come.