Complying then only intensified the strain in the air. Each second was pulled taut and stretched to impossible limits. “Pochemu ty zdes?” Ronan growled at Albert. By their curt words and severe body language, I recognized Ivan wasn’t supposed to be here, in the same home as me, as well as the fact Ronan knew Ivan had been found while he sat beside me and sipped his tea indifferently through breakfast. He wasn’t planning to share the knowledge with me. Apparently, Ivan had other ideas. I almost wished for ignorant bliss. If something happened to Ivan; if my selfish act of coming to Moscow got him killed . . . My stomach threatened to expel the small contents inside. Ivan’s stare conveyed he wasn’t convinced I was unharmed, and he was now probing for mental wounds instead of physical ones. I’m okay, my gaze promised. But what about you? Seeing the tears running down my cheeks, his split lip lifted in an unconcerned smile. The sight didn’t alleviate the tight sensation in my lungs. After a strained beat, I realized the men had stopped talking and were now watching our silent conversation. “Ubiraysya otsyuda,” Ronan snapped impatiently. Get out. “Take him downstairs for now.” Downstairs? Was there really a dungeon in the house? My heart twisted. Ivan shrugged the hands from his arms and headed down the hall. As cold and still as a block of ice, I watched him until he disappeared around the corner with Albert and Viktor following. “How does he know where to go?” I wasn’t aware the emotionless words had escaped until Ronan answered. “He doesn’t.” Clearly, he did, but my curiosity dissolved beneath the heavy pressure on my chest. As Ronan stood and nonchalantly slipped his phone into his pocket, my entire being whirled with an idea of how to talk him out of whatever he planned for Ivan. “Pll beg you,” I blurted. He glanced up, the look darkly amused but conflicted by a hint of something cold and terrifying that leaked into his eyes. “I’m not sure it would feel very sincere.”