Ruthless Saint

XIII

MIKA MALIKOV

        The smoke detectors rang out, causing me to wince. My gaze flitted over the mess I'd created within the last hour all in the name of baking chocolate chip cookies.

        The only thing I made were burnt cookies that resembled muffins and wet towels on the side.

        Olga ran to the rescue, muttering words in Russian as she grabbed the pan from me and soaked it into the sink.

        She stared at me with arms crossed and a dark look. "Bol'she nikakoy vypechki."

        I chewed on my lip and smiled. "I'm sorry." I didn't know what she said but I knew it would be something about my horrible baking skill.

        A tutt and a shake of her head. "No more."

        I nodded. That was fair. I'd burnt at least half of her precious baking pans over the last few weeks. I didn't say anything as I looked over the recipe trying to figure out where I went wrong.

        I sat at the island, my gaze coasting over the television where the baking show was still playing. It was supposed to be simple recipe, but I couldn't understand why it came out burnt.

        Anatoly walked into the kitchen with a sly smile. "Another burnt cookie, Ptichka?"

        "Unfortunately." The guards were used to my trial and errors when it came to baking.

        Olga muttered something to Anatoly in Russian, glancing back at me before she walked away.

        Anatoly looked at me, a trickle of deep laughter escaped him before he spoke. "You have stuff on your face, Ptichka." He gestured to my face. I touched my face and to my horror, my fingers were coated with chocolate. "And clothes."

        Crap.

        I sighed to myself, thanking Anatoly and scurried towards my room. Roxy was hot on my tail, following closely behind.

        The first few weeks after I'd arrived in Russia, she was wary of my presence, but we'd come to enjoy each other's presence. She was clingy—always cuddling up to me in bed and whenever there was a chance.

        I didn't mind. I wasn't a big cuddle person, but it helped ward the nightmares away.

        A quick shower later and a change of clothes before trouble arrived. I'd taken one glance over at my phone, the twisted knot deep in my belly at the caller ID.

        My papá was calling. I'd ignored all of his previous calls within the last month, but I knew I couldn't keep running away.

        "Mika." His voice was hard over the phone, obviously irritated at my lack of information.

        "Hi, papá."

        I glanced at my reflection in the mirror as I waited for him to speak. He was quiet for a second then spoke. "Are you alone?"

        "Yes." I didn't include Roxy. She was chewing on a toy, playing around and growling softly.

        There was a clink in the background distinctly resembling a lighter. "What have you found out?"

        I hesitated. I didn't want to say anything—It was bad enough I was on the phone with my papá planning to feed him information on my husband, but I knew if my husband found out, Mischa wouldn't like it. Not one bit.

        "What did you find out?" He asked again, the gravel beneath his voice.

        "He has a casino."