Page 4 of Beautiful Trauma (The Irish Rogues #5)

M y stilettos clicked along the tiled floor as I followed behind two hulking movers.

As they eased the enormous crate in their arms to the ground, they didn’t bother muting their grunts and groans.

After scanning the barcode on the side, the title of the piece and image flashed on the screen, sending a triumphant smile to my face.

“Oh good. We’ve been expecting this one for weeks. I was starting to think it had disappeared.”

The tallest of the two movers bobbed his head while keeping his gaze on the floor.

None of the delivery men ever made much eye contact with me.

They all knew who I was, or I suppose I should say who my father was.

Even if they weren’t Bratva, they’d heard the warnings that any misstep could be taken as disrespect, which wouldn’t end well for them.

After grabbing his phone out of his pocket, he held it out for me to sign. “Thanks again,” I said.

“You’re welcome, Ms. Korolova,” he muttered to the floor.

Without another word, they headed out the door. With the gallery empty, I made my way back to my office. After taking the burner cell phone out of my desk, my fingers flew over the keys before sending a text.

The cow is in the pasture. Ready to go to the market this week. M.

Considering my gallery was in downtown Philadelphia, I obviously wasn’t trafficking livestock. Instead, I was giving a cryptic message to Maksim. After being passed over as heir, one of his jobs within the family was laundering money.

Every mafia family from the Italians to the Irish funneled cash through art galleries. Just like Maksim didn’t have a choice in aspects of his career, I hadn’t been given much of a choice when after graduating college, my father ordered me to manage the Lumiere Gallery.

Since it was almost closing time, I made my way back to the main floor. At the sight of a water bottle on the floor beneath a fifty-thousand-dollar painting, I power walked over to snatch it up.

“No fucking respect,” I grumbled under my breath.

“Excuse me, miss. Do you have anything in velvet?” a voice boomed behind me.

The question froze me. There was only one person who would dare to ask such a question. A smile curved on my lips before I even whirled around.

Cocking my head at Dima, I continued playing along. “I’m terribly sorry, sir, but we just auctioned our last Dogs Playing Poker yesterday.”

Dima grinned. “Such a pity.”

“Don’t lose heart. I’m sure if you check any of the local thrift stores, something will come up.”

“Spoken like a true умник.”

With a laugh, I replied, “Last time I checked, the smartass gene runs in my family.”

A chuckle rumbled through his broad chest. Waving a tattooed hand at me, he said, “Come give your favorite brother a hug.”

Glancing around, I teasingly replied, “Is Lev with you?”

Dima rolled his eyes before snatching me into his arms. “I see you haven’t grown kinder in my absence.”

Grinning against his chest, I replied, “You know I never change.”

“I’ve missed you, malyska .”

Squeezing him tight, I choked out, “I’ve missed you as well.”

I couldn’t believe it had been six months since I’d seen him.

Dima was more than just my older brother.

He’d been both my physical and emotional protector.

He was my confident and closest ally. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I wouldn’t have survived those first few years without Mama if I hadn’t had him.

As I pulled away, I smiled up into his handsome face. “How was St. Petersburg?”

Dima grunted. “Cold as balls.”

Wrinkling my nose, I replied, “I’ve always wondered about that expression. Balls are physiologically warm.”

Cocking a brow at me, he countered, “I hope your response doesn’t mean you’ve been up close and personal with many in my absence.”

“My sexual activities are none of your business.”

With a smirk, he replied, “As both your brother and your future pahkan, I disagree.”

As my lip curled in disgust, I replied, “Please spare me from Bratva misogyny.”

Dima’s expression sobered. “Speaking of Bratva, Father has requested your presence for dinner this evening.”

At his reference to my loathsome sperm donor’s command, I stiffened. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

“He told me his requests have gone unanswered.”

Normally, I could go weeks, if not months from having to hear from Father. Considering I’d received numerous texts over the last couple of days, I knew something was up.

And that scared the hell out of me.

Deflecting from my fear, I asked, “His requests or his secretary pretending to be him?”

Dima cocked his brows at me. “Should it matter?”

“Not really.”

“Is there a reason why you’re ignoring him?”

With an apathetic lift of my shoulder, I lied, “I’m busy.”

The statement wasn’t totally untrue. Despite not originally wanting to be part of my father’s dirty dealings with the gallery, I’d thrown everything I’d learned in my Public Relations degree into turning things around at The Lumiere.

Although he’d never throw a compliment my way, I’d made the gallery successful in its own right without considering the money laundering.

I organized and executed events that had the elite of Philadelphia society attending.

While my professional life was exceeding expectations, my personal one left much to be desired. My trust in others was murdered along with my mother. That meant I kept friends at arm’s length. Most could only take so much ghosting before they moved on.

I pretended not to care, but in reality, it left a gaping hole in my chest.

As for men, I never let myself get close enough to fall in love. They were a means to an end. An orgasm or two at the end of the evening, and then a blocked number.

Lately, I hadn’t even partaken in any meaningless sex, which left my neglected vagina protesting my actions.

I was brought out of my thoughts by Dima’s eyes darkening. “You know nothing good comes from ignoring Father.”

“Nothing good comes from trying to escape him either as well we know,” I snapped.

Pain flashed in Dima’s eyes. “Don’t,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“And I understand. I really do.”

As I stared intently into his eyes, words I shouldn’t think, let alone say, slip out. “Yet you stay and do his bidding.”

The vein in Dima’s forehead bulged. Our father did the same when he morphed into rage. “You should know better than anyone else that I have no choice,” he hissed.

For years, I survived only on a dream of Dima spiriting my siblings and I away in the night. Sometimes he took us to Russia. Other times we disappeared to Southeast Asia.

Anywhere from our father’s clutches.

And wherever we went, we were able to follow the desire of our hearts. No living a life of fear in our father’s shadow. No one forcing professions on us. No arranged marriages. No brutality.

Just peace.

But those were fantasies that never came true.

Since I didn’t want to alienate one of the greatest loves of my life, I nodded my acceptance to him. “I’m sorry.”

Dima sucked in a few harsh breaths through his nose. “Good.”

My heart ached at his expression. With every year that passed, I lost a little more of him to Father and the Bratva. I wondered how long it would be until he was completely unrecognizable.

With soulless eyes, Dima said, “Get your things. I’m taking you to Father.”

Another twist of my heart at my protector being my abductor.

“Give me five minutes,” I replied.

I didn’t wait for his answer. Instead, I whirled around before sprinting to my office so he wouldn’t see my tears.

After locking up the gallery, I followed Dima out the back door. As we stepped into the alley, Dima grabbed my hand, causing me to jump.

Regret flashed on his face. “I’m sorry for earlier, zaika .”

A strangled cry erupted from my lips at him using our mother’s childhood nickname for me. While my buckteeth had been corrected by braces, they earned me being called zaika, which meant bunny in Russian.

Searching my eyes, Dima asked, “Are we okay?”

Unable to find the words, I gave him a playful punch to the arm, which caused Dima to smile. He squeezed my hand in return.

To my surprise, Dima’s Marussia sports car was not waiting for us. Instead, a blacked-out and bulletproof SUV was there. It was one of our family SUVs.

With a smirk, I said, “You weren’t taking any chances getting me to Father’s, were you?”

He laughed. “You forget that as the Korolova heir, this is my mode of transportation.”

“That’s the beauty of ranking so low on Father’s list. No bodyguards,” I mused as I hopped in the backseat.

With a snort, Dima followed behind me. “I think after the last time you ditched your security team, Father finally gave up.”

“What coed wants two hulking men following her to frat parties?”

“Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you. I was shadowed all four years of college.” Giving me a pointed look, Dima said, “Try hooking up with a dude standing outside the door.”

“Are you trying to say you had performance issues?”

Dima playfully smacked my arm. “No. I always managed to seal the deal.”

Wrinkling my nose, I replied, “Ew.”

“You’re the one who brought it up,” he countered.

“I’m seriously regretting it.”

As we drove along the busy downtown streets, Dima told me more about his time in St. Petersburg. While he had gone there to meet the future bride of his arranged marriage, I wasn’t stupid. I knew he was pointedly leaving out the parts involving the work for Bratva he’d done there.

“I can’t wait to meet Polina,” I said, as we turned onto Father’s street.

Dima beamed. “She said the same about you.”

“I hope you’ll be very happy,” I said genuinely.

“Father has made a good match with the Andrushkos.”

I hoped rather than believed him. If the match was good, it had nothing to do with Dima’s happiness and everything to do with Father’s business.

Forcing a smile to my face, I said, “It doesn’t hurt she’s beautiful.”

Chuckling, he replied, “Very true.” With a wink, he added, “It does hurt that she’s very virtuous.”