Going through his nightstand drawers, I examined their contents and dropped a pack of condoms like a hot potato. I was surprised Ronan wrapped it up, expecting him to want to spawn his demons into the world every time he conned a woman into his bed. Although, that would be true of the man I thought he was, and not so much the man I was getting to know one breakfast at a time. Aside from the unsettling prophylactics, all I found were a couple of cigars, his tidy scrawl in Russian on some papers I was annoyed I couldn’t read, and other junk that would serve me no purpose. After stealing one of his razors from the bathroom fit for a king, I opened his closet door and moved inside. It was meticulously organized: expensive boots in a line, rows upon rows of luxury black suits, and shelves of sparkling cufflinks and watches. A safe sat in the corner. I wiggled the locked handle. The keypad required a numerical code for access, so I typed, “6-6-6.” The light blinked red, and the metal box let out an angry beep. “What are you doing, kotyonok?” I jumped back, a shiver scattering through me. Slowly, I turned to see Ronan leaning against the doorframe. The sight of him made my heart do an awkward palpitation as curiosity expanded once again. My fingers tightened around his razor. “Looking for your staircase to hell.” He chuckled softly. “You’re not going to find it in here. I keep it in the basement.” Something synonymous with amusement started in my stomach, but I tamped it down. I may have decided to let twisted feelings run their course but laughing with my kidnapper in his closet would just be crazy. Ronan’s eyes slid to the razor in my hand before he moved into the closet too, and even though it was the size of a child’s bedroom, the space could now rival a cardboard box. I took a step back and watched him warily as he removed his suit jacket. My throat felt tight when he pulled a handgun from his person and set it on a shelf. The pistol simply sat there, a few feet away. If I had the chance to reach for it, would I? If I didn’t, was I a product of my own enslavement? Of my papa’s death? On edge and entranced by that murderous piece of metal, I almost jumped when he spoke, his tone dryly amused. “You’re not thinking about