“This day just keeps getting weirder. Nadya, that’s a terrible plan. I can’t help you like that. Sorry.”

“Come on, I’ll go back to America, and we’ll get divorced. My dad will forgive me, and I’ll pay you—lots. You’ll finally be able to leave this place, start fresh. Or… I’ll take you with me to the States?”

“Or I’ll end up in prison for fraud,” he cut in dryly. “Sorry. That’s not happening.”

She fell silent, turning away in disappointment. “How long is the drive from Rogosovka to Krasnodar in your junker?”

“About two hours.”

“Wake me when we get there.”

She closed her eyes and got comfortable. Spartacus shook his head slightly and started the engine. As they neared the city, he called out, “You weren’t sleeping, were you?”

“I was.”

“Doesn’t seem like it. Whatever. Where to next? It’s past midnight. I still have to drive back.”

“Do you know Krasnodar well?”

“Well enough.”

“Then take me to a decent hotel. I’ve got money.”

“Hold up. What hotel? Give me your home address and quit messing around.”

“Honestly, I don’t think your ‘vehicle’ will make it.”

“Where is it? Forget Chicago for a second. I’m serious.”

“My father lives in Moscow. I came here by train… and I’ll leave the same way. Tomorrow,” she finished softly.

Spartacus pulled over and slammed the door behind him, pacing and cursing under his breath. He kicked the car’s tire hard.

“Damn that bastard of a stepdad! He’s dead when I get home!”

Nadya sat up, startled by his outburst. A few minutes later, Spartacus returned and stood silently, staring at her. She flinched, thinking he was about to hit her, and shielded her head with her arms.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered.

“I don’t want to marry that guy! He disgusts me!”

“And what about the rest of us, huh?! Tomorrow your father will be here. He’ll find you—and me. Guess who’s taking the fall?!” Spartacus nearly shouted, then turned away and punched the steering wheel. The UAZ honked loudly in response.

“I didn’t ask for this. Those jerks who invited me over got all the info out of me, then locked me in that damn barn.”

Clenching his jaw, Spartacus tried to think, searching for a way out. Pasha would pay—he just needed to get home first. But what to do with the girl? How to protect himself—and her? Why did he get involved at all? Stupid soft heart…

With a heavy sigh, he pulled out his battered old phone.

“Give me the number.”

“Whose number?”

That question made him finally glare at her.

“Your father’s!”

“I don’t have it. I don’t know it by heart… and I lost my phone,” she admitted, blushing.

“You’re kidding me,” he growled through gritted teeth.

“I swear. And don’t try to call him, please! I don’t want to live with him!” She buried her face in her hands and started crying.

Her tears hit him hard. In that moment, she didn’t look like a grown woman—just a helpless little girl. And if there was one thing Spartacus couldn’t handle, it was a woman crying.

He tossed the phone aside, leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes, muttering under his breath.

“…Fine,” he said after a long pause.

She stopped crying immediately and looked up.

“Fine what?”

“I’ll be your husband.”

“We’ll stay at a hotel tonight. First thing in the morning, we go to the civil registry office,” he said wearily, starting the engine. “How much money do you have on you?”

She reached into her bra and began pulling out crumpled bills.

“I’m afraid to ask where you keep your passport,” he said, eyes still on the road.

“Probably best not to,” she replied, laying the cash on the dashboard.

“Even got dollars, huh,” he muttered, glancing sideways.