Chapter 47: A gentle monster
Aaron carried Isabella through the high archway of the private wing, his heavy boots making barely a sound against the thick wool runner that lined the corridor floor.
He didn’t take her to a far-off guest room. He stopped at the very first door past his own bedroom suite... one wall apart.
He pushed the door open with his shoulder and stepped inside. The moment the heavy oak door closed behind them, the soft, distant noise of the house vanished.
"Here," Aaron murmured, lowering her feet to the floor until her shoes touched the plush, deep-pile rug. He kept one steady hand resting against her waist until he was sure her knees wouldn’t give out. "Sit."
Isabella didn’t sit right away. She stood perfectly still, her hands reaching out into the air, her fingers trembling slightly as her other senses began taking in the room.
It was warm... not the dry, suffocating heat of a radiator, but the steady, deep radiance of an underfloor heating system paired with a stone hearth crackling softly across the room.
The air smelled faintly of lavender, fresh cotton sheets, and the clean scent of mixed, crushed flowers.
She took a slow step forward, her hand brushing the edge of a low table. She noticed immediately that the edges weren’t sharp.
The corners of the dark wooden furniture had been rounded down, polished smooth so nothing would snag her clothes or bruise her hips if she bumped into them in the dark.
She reached out further. On the nightstand beside the bed, her fingers touched a small, raised brass stud set into the wood... a tactile marker placed right next to the lamp switch.
Next to it sat a broad, shallow bowl filled with fresh, cool water, and beside that, a small plush chair was angled just right so she wouldn’t trip over its legs when walking from the door to the mattress.
Even the layout was wide and clear. There were no cluttering furnitures in the middle of the floor, no loose cords trailing along the baseboards, no heavy rugs with upturned edges waiting to catch her toes.
Someone had prepared this room for a blind person. Not yesterday. Not in a hurry. It had been laid out with a deep, deliberate patience that made her skin prickle.
Isabella swallowed hard, her chest tightening as a sudden, confusing war broke out in her mind.
’He’s a killer,’ she reminded herself, her fingers tightening around the smooth edge of the nightstand. ’He runs a blood-soaked crime syndicate. He probably carries a gun under his jacket. He takes what he wants and he breaks anyone who stands in his way.’
That was the Aaron Kazarov the rest of the world knew. That was the man her father had warned her about in quiet, nervous tones before he died... the brutal Russian who held human life in the palm of his hand and crushed it without blinking.
He was a thug in a thirty-thousand-dollars suit, a predator who ruled through fear and gunpowder.
Yet here she was, standing in a room where every single piece of wood had been smoothed down so she wouldn’t hurt herself.
Here she was, wearing clothes that fit her perfectly, eating warm broth from his hand while he wiped sweat from her forehead like a protective father.
It was bizarre. It felt like living in two different realities at once. Was this all just a long, elaborate game? Was he pretending to be sweet just to break her down, to make her depend on him until she had nowhere else to turn? Or was this real? And if it was real... how could a man with so much blood on his hands be capable of touching her so gently?
"Is it to your liking?" Aaron’s deep voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. He was standing a few feet away, his broad frame blocking out the soft light from the hallway.
Isabella cleared her throat, pulling her hands back toward her chest. "It’s... very warm. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble, Aaron."
"It wasn’t trouble," he said plainly. "Your bed is behind you. Sleep if you need to. I’ll have someone bring up tea in an hour."
Before she could answer, the faint, sharp vibration of a phone sounded from inside his coat pocket. Aaron pulled it out, glanced down at the dark screen, and his jaw set into a hard, rigid line.
The soft, quiet warmth that had hung around him since they stepped into the room evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold, sharp focus.
"I have business to attend to," Aaron said, his tone dropping into that dark, low rumble that always sent a shudder down her spine.
"Stay in the room. If you need anything, press the button on the nightstand. A maid will be at the door in ten seconds."
"I’m fine," Isabella murmured, stepping back toward the edge of the bed. "Go do your work."
Aaron stared at her for two long seconds, his dark eyes lingering on her pale face before he turned on his heel and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.
The moment Aaron stepped out into the grand hallway, the peaceful atmosphere of the residential wing vanished.
Waiting for him near the top of the stairs was Pyotr... not standing, but leaning heavily against the dark wood railing, a half-burnt cigarette dangling from his lips despite the strict no-smoking rule in the house.
Pyotr was two years older than Aaron, his long, dark hair pulled back into a messy, high ponytail with the sides of his head closely shaved underneath.
He looked perpetually exhausted, dark, natural shadows hanging beneath his sharp gray eyes, a thick layer of rough stubble covering his jaw. He was wearing a dark trench coat covered in faint, dried rain spots, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
"The Princess is sleeping?" Pyotr asked, his voice rough and gravelly from years of heavy chain-smoking.
He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling a thin cloud of blue smoke toward the high ceiling.
"She’s resting," Aaron said, walking past him down the stairs without slowing his stride. "Give me the short version."
Pyotr fell into step right beside him, his heavy boots thudding against the stairs.
"The divorce papers were delivered to Carter’s office two hours ago. My men outside his building confirmed his second assistant brought the envelope up personally. He stayed in his office for three hours after that, canceled all his evening calls."
Aaron’s lips curled into a cold, faint smile. "He’s bringing out the old dogs."
"He’s going to contest it, Aaron," Pyotr said dryly, flicking a tiny speck of ash onto the polished floorboards. "The man is stubborn. He’d rather burn the old man’s properties to the ground than admit he lost his wife to you."
"Let him try," Aaron replied flatly as they reached the ground floor, heading down the long, secure corridor that led to the estate’s underground communications center. "What’s happening in the south?"
Pyotr let out a heavy, tired sigh, running a hand over his shaved sides. "It’s a mess. The Volkov family and the Voronin boys are at each other’s throats again over the shipping docks in Rostov. Three casualties last night. One of Voronin’s warehouses went up in flames an hour ago."
They reached a heavy steel door at the end of the hall. Two heavily armed guards pressed a code into the keypad, bowing their heads as the thick metal door hissed open.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, filled with glowing computer screens, secure satellite phones, and maps of Eastern Europe stretched across wide glass tables. Several men in dark suits were working quietly at terminals, their faces illuminated by the green and blue light of tracking displays.
Pyotr leaned against the edge of a steel desk, pulling out a second phone and hitting speakerphone before placing it down between them.
The line connected with a sharp burst of static, followed immediately by the chaotic background noise of shouting men, heavy glass shattering, and the distinct, wet crunch of iron striking bone.
"Pyotr!" a rough, breathy voice barked over the speaker from hundreds of miles away in Rostov.
"We’ve secured the perimeter at the docks, but old man Volkov is refusing to step down! He says he doesn’t answer to anyone and since Boss is busy playing husband in America, the Lotus alliance is weak!"
Pyotr looked at Aaron, raising an eyebrow with a dry, tired smirk. "You hear that, boss? Old Volkov thinks you’ve gone soft because you brought a girl home."