adonisxblanchett:
He was supposed to be looking for Sophia, that was the entire reason he had come back to New York City in the first place, but as evidenced already by his young ward, he had always had a soft spot for little lost blondes, especially when their eyes were as doe-wide and vulnerable as the impossibly pretty one that he was talking to currently. She was more out of place than anyone else in the ballroom, an easy form of prey for any one of the dangerous-looking men prowling around like vultures, he wondered just how she had ended up all alone in the first place. She was incredibly soft, that much he could tell right away, but her timid nature and the anxiety she seemed to be positively radiating had Adonis wondering if she hadnât lived quite as much of a sheltered life as the majority of the other attendants at Bunny Golightyâs birthday party. And that accent, her fragmented English ⌠it gave so much away about her, while also raising a thousand different questions. He was curious, that was for damn sure. He wanted to help her.
He heard the hitch of her breath when he reached out to brush a stray curl from her face, he instantly worried that he had overstepped. It was meant to be a small, reassuring touch, something to comfort her when she was clearly ill at ease, but with how nervous she seemed already ⌠he had to remind himself that not all lost things were like Sophia. Eager and desperate for affection in any way that they could receive it. She looked up at him, though, with those brilliant eyes of hers, and he had to smile back down at herâlord, she was pretty. âNothing to apologize for, Anya,â he said calmly, quietly, everything he was doing was meant to soothe and placate. She brought out his nature as a caretaker so effortlessly, his always-present desire to nurture and protect coming out in spades.
âAnd you can call me Adonis, if youâd like, or Mr. Blanchett. Whatever youâre most comfortable with.â He wouldnât deny that he quite liked the way that sir sounded in that tinkling, submissive voice of hers, but he wasnât about to ask her to call him anything but his name when they were first meeting like this. âLetâs focus on finding Tatiana and Emmaline firstâyouâre a little more lost than I think my friend is, and Iâd like to make sure that youâre taken care of first. Is that alright?â He looked down at her, very gently he brought one of his big, calloused hands to her tiny arm, he could have closed his fingers around the thickest part of it and they still would have overlapped. He stroked softly at her creamy skin, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles right into the crook of her elbow. Concern, consent, and care, Adonis was a dominant man by nature but he always made sure that his girls were well tended to. âWhere did you last see them, little doe?â he asked in that same low, evenly measured voice, to account for her broken English he spoke slowly so that she wouldnât need to get too flustered trying to translate internally. âWere they together when they left?â
Anya was no stranger to vulnerability. Of all her siblings, she was indubitably the most fragile, the weakest. It was something her parents had fretted over since the day she was born. She was protected to the best of their ability, and they tried to insulate her from suffering where possible. Yet in spite of all of thatâin spite of her own softness which gravitated toward the quiet corners of the world and the gentle comfort of kindness and peaceâAnya herself had always hoped that those closest to her might someday come to think of her as more capable than she appeared. She had, after all, taken over caring for her family after her fatherâs death when her mother was so sick with grief. She might not be fearless or physically intimidating or even particularly gifted socially, but she was an adult who could take care of herself. At least, thatâs how she wished to be. And surely there must be some bravery in her, or else she wouldnât have offered herself up to the Bratva to save Sergeiâs life. But at times like this, she wondered whether that hint of courage had been a fluke, a one-time miracle that could never be replicated. Stranded in a foreign land, in a strange hotel, cut off from her friends and surrounded by strangers, Anya had immediately succumbed to fear. It made her sick to her stomach to think of what might have happened if she had not been able to ask for help. She would have curled up in a corner and sobbed until either she was saved or snatched up like prey. Her own timidity would get her killed one day, if her bargain with the Bratva didnât first.
Looking up into the strangerâs face now, though, Anya marveled at how much sheâd already relaxed. Her anxiety was ebbing away bit by bit, and the more they talked, the more certain she became that she would be alright. That she would find her friends and get home safe. Something in the manâs voice was a balm on her nerves. He must be used to helping other peopleâmaybe he was a doctor of some kind. His eyes were blue, but not in the way that Mr. Greyheartâs were, or any of the other soldiers. Their eyes held the coldness of Siberian nights; of ice that covered rivers and seas and choked the nation in winter; of the isolation cells of gulags she heard tell of in hushed voices when she ought to be asleep in bed. This manâs eyes were warm and curious, a blue-gray that reminded her of scattered clouds across the sky and the gentle thrum of rain on a window, lulling her to sleep. Be it a wise or foolish choice, she decided to trust him the moment he tucked that strand of hair away from her face.
âA-Adonis? Is very nice name!â Anya said. She felt as though she had heard that name before, perhaps from a story of some kind. It had a nice ring to it, one which she couldnât help but try out at least once. âOh yes, is alright. I am hoping I donât pull you away from party for long, though.â Given how kind he was being, she would hate to burden him too much with her problems. Goosebumps ran up her arm at his touch, but she didnât pull away, or even gasp this time (she would be proud of that later). In fact, she leaned into it just a bit, enough to feel that same sense of grounding and stability that Tatia and Emmaline had provided. And... little doe. She almost didnât understand at first. Doe... like a deer. It was so sweet she had to stifle a kind of giggle. Hopefully she hadnât misinterpreted. âI am thinking yes, they were together!â she replied. âI was standing... thereââ she gestured a few feet away to the nearest table of food and drinks ââand then I turn around, and poof, they are gone. I donâtââ
A shot broke through the air, cutting her off abruptly. Anya inhaled sharply, eyes widening further as a new form of panic chilled her blood. She had never been around guns much, but the day she sold herself, one of the soldiers in Moscow had fired his pistol into the air as a warning to scare her, to amuse himself and the rest of the thugs who guarded the Pakhan. That sound had ingrained itself in her brain instantly. It had kept her awake all night every Fourth of July, huddling in terror under her blankets as fireworks burst across the city, making her think New York was awash in blood and bullets. Another shot, and another, and another. Screams. Yelling. People were pulling guns all around them. Anya felt the world spin and reached out desperately for Adonis. His hand on her arm was the only thing keeping her upright. âM.... Mister B-B...â She couldnât breathe. âWe go now!â


















