Page 14

Rapid and urgent knocking on the glass startled the shit out of me, and when I raised my head, I didn’t expect to see Rafayel and Tikhon, and a bunch of other men, breathing heated fogs down my window.

Rafayel pulled back, only to say something to Tikhon that I couldn’t catch on to, before leaning back in and motioning that I wind the glass down. I unclamped my palms and touched my head, chest, and shoulders before rolling the glass down.

The look in his eyes was unbelievable. “Were you...were you praying ?”

“No. It was the Shadow Clone Jutsu.”

He couldn’t be more baffled. “What?”

I shook my head. “Never mind.” I was going to pretend that my heart wasn’t racing a thousand miles per hour at the sight of him, with his head lowered through my window. “The question should be, what are you doing here?”

“Saving you, that’s what. And you’re welcome.”

Once in a while, there were times I had visions, more like flashbacks, of a woman talking to me, smiling down on me, and putting my palms together, then drawing signs of the cross. I’d hear her whisper in my ears that whenever I got scared or felt alone, I should do what she’d shown me, and I’d feel better. Her voice was calm and soothing, like birds chirping over the rush of a waterfall.

I never saw her face clearly. A blinding light always shone behind her, like the harsh rays of the golden sun, leaving nothing but her laughter and smile for me to hold onto.

Sometimes, I’d thought she was a figment of my imagination, a dream, or a reflash from a movie I’d seen, until a few days after I’d turned thirteen and saw an old photograph of the exact same woman in Papa’s room. She was beautiful and looked happy, flung over Papa’s shoulder, clad in a red polka-dotted bikini. She had jet-black hair resembling silk cascading down her back and piercing green eyes that reached the depths of my soul, with fair skin holding an unearthly glow like an angel.

I’d shown Papa, and he almost scorched me with deathly glares. He never talked about her. But our oldest maid knew who she was and how she was murdered in her sleep, the night of her and Papa’s marriage anniversary by a rival syndicate, four years after she gave birth to me.

So, yes, I’d been praying because—I’ll admit—I got scared and felt alone, and it made me feel closer to my mother. Because I wasn’t prepared to face the reality of being pregnant or an encounter with Luca fricken’ Rossi. Because today had been the shittiest day, and I wasn’t sure how much longer my strength could hold on.

But shit, I didn’t expect an answer that fast. And I certainly didn’t expect my mother to send Rafayel as comfort.

But here he was, so I had to deal with him.

One of his men came up to his side and muttered something about the area being clear and Rossi not in sight. The man looked badly beaten, with patches of blood smeared over the skull tattoos on his arms.

Rafayel faced me. “Get out of the car.”

“And why the hell would I do that?”

His eyes darkened when he sneered. “Because I said so. Now’s not the time to be fucking stubborn, Leonya. You’re riding with me, and Tikhon will follow behind us in your car,” was all he said before stepping aside, waiting for me to open the door. His tone left no room for an argument, and I didn’t even have the strength to start one.

Quietly, I snatched my purse and opened the door.

****

“I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Rafayel spoke in Russian, but I heard him loud and clear, so I looked up from the doctor applying ointment on my face and asked him, “Why?”

Why did he want to kill Luca?

But the stubborn man didn’t answer me. He still had the killer look in his eyes and was looking everywhere else but my face.

As far as I was concerned, Papa and I were the ones with the major Rossi problem. He was on our turf, so we were responsible for taking care of him. I didn’t understand why Rafayel had his men search the area to hunt down Rossi, and I sure as hell didn’t know why it wouldn’t have bothered me if Rafayel put a bullet or two in his head.

The stone-faced, silver-haired man, whose name I’d learned was Grigor, adjusted his jacket, fixed his briefcase and first aid kit, and backed away from me. “The wounds on her hands will heal soon. She just grazed her skin. Plenty of rest and consistently applying that ointment, and she’ll be good as new.”

He was talking to Rafayel in more Russian, speaking indistinctly in hushed tones. And when he started leaving, I waited for the door to close behind his back before I faced him and asked again. “Why do you want to kill him?”

“Why?” His anger was misfiring. It was intended for the other Italian, but I got the brunt of his scowl. “Have you seen your fucking face?”

Crazy, wasn’t it? Barely two months ago, this same man had me bound to an iron chair with a knife pressed to my throat, ready to kill me if he had to, and now he wanted to snap someone’s neck for touching me.

“I can handle my own shit, thank you very much.”

“Sure, with your Shadow Clone Jutsu, right? And why the fuck were you alone? Something could have happened to you out there.”

“Yeah, like another encounter with Rossi. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen, right?”

“You think this is a joke?”

“Do you see me laughing?”

Now, he looked madder and spoke with more aggression than before. “I don’t know, you tell me, because, at one glance, you look normal and okay in the head. But then you’re taking lone trips to hospitals and shutting yourself in your car by the roadside after a rival spins a surprise ambush on you. Does any of that sound normal to you?”

I started to respond, ready to yell his ear off for questioning my sanity, when his words replayed in his head, on repeat, and anger flared up in my veins when I realized. “How dare you? How dare you stalk me?”

“While you’re fucking yelling, remember it helped me find you in the first place.”

“Who asked you to find me? Who told you I needed your help?”

It was a shouting match now, regardless of who heard us outside those doors. He didn’t care, and I sure didn’t give a fuck either.

“How could I forget? You’re an ungrateful bitch.”

Ouch?

“And you’re an arrogant, narcissistic bastard! Fucking asshole.”

“Whatever you say.” There was a small smile dancing on his lips, like he was enjoying this. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re with me right now.”

I glared because the rest of my words dried on my tongue. He was right, and I remembered why I was here in his house, lying on his bed in the first place.

When I looked again, it felt like years since the last time I saw him, although he looked the same. Maybe even more handsome than before. Now, in the light, I saw him more clearly. Tonight, he wore a simple pale grey shirt that clung to the ridges of his torso and black slacks that I considered sexy. His hair wasn’t gelled back like I expected it to be. It was more tousled, like he’d forked his fingers through it multiple times. Like he was stressed.

There were worry lines between his brows, small eye bags underneath those beautiful dark irises of his, and a constant frown on his lips. Somehow, this familiar image of him calmed my racing heart...and kickstarted the waterworks all over again.

He’d gotten a doctor to take care of me, had one of his maids prepare dinner for me, and ordered one of his men to wash my car because I’d driven it into a muddy puddle. I wasn’t sure how to handle all of this.

And like a broken dam, I let everything out again. Nose running, shoulders quaking, tears rolling—all of it. And it freaked him out, too. I noticed the instant tightness in his shoulders and the crease between his eyes, like he didn’t know what to do. But I knew what to do and what I desperately wanted to do.

I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his torso, burying my head deep into his chest. His scent hit me, forcing out more tears. God, I’d missed him. This was completely insane, but I’d missed this man so frigging much. And when he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer, I thought I would die from all the fuzzies floating up to my head.

“I swear, I didn’t know what to do. Everything was...everything just—my walls felt like they were caving in on me, and I couldn’t escape even if I tried.” It was an honest admission, one I couldn’t even admit to myself. I hardly remembered the last time anything frightened me, leaving me cornered and helpless.

I sniffled on his shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind. “I was so scared, Rafa.”

He tensed, and I cursed under my breath. Shit. Where the hell did that come from? I called him Rafa. Rafa!

“Shh, you’re safe now. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. If they try, I’ll fucking kill them with my bare hands.”

I knew he wasn’t bluffing.

We stayed like that in each other’s arms for a while, quiet and brooding. Being with him like this was absurdly warm and indeed made me feel safe and protected, like I was exactly where I should be.

Rafayel stroked the back of my hair with a gentle caress that warmed its way down my spine. And when he pressed a soft kiss against my forehead, my toes curled under the blanket.

“I like hearing that.” His voice was low. And it was his own honest admission. “I like hearing you call me Rafa.”

I pulled back because the sudden urge to have his lips on my mouth clouded the rest of my thoughts.

I could have stayed with him that way for years and not wanted to pull away, but that nagging voice in the back of my head reminded me that this was wrong— very wrong. And it hit me: the memory of the paper in my hand in Josè’s office.

I was pregnant for this man, this full-blooded Russian male, who was, unfortunately, a Yezhov. Who was, unfortunately, a man Papa would never accept. Any association with him, besides business, was doomed from the start. These moments shouldn’t even be happening.

We were allies now, but how long was that going to last? Papa wanted them crushed to dust, and he wanted me to do it. We were rivals, enemies, destined to hate each other until the end of time.

Hugging this man and crying on his chest couldn’t even be a dream. Wanting—desiring to kiss him should have been a nightmare.

God.

I needed to leave here now.

“What—where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

I didn’t look him in the face. If I did, I’d be crying again, and those tears would have nothing to do with being scared. It would be tears of loss because, somehow, leaving this man made my heart stretch until it felt like it was ripping apart. Like paper dumped in a shredder.

“My father,” I choked out the only excuse I could give, holding back a lungful of tears while I painfully picked up my purse. “My father needs me. I need to go.”

The reverse was true. I needed Papa. Despite his illness, he had to know everything that had happened between me and Rafayel. I wasn’t sure how much longer the secret would stay with me.

Rafayel wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t press further. “Tikhon will take you home, and Vasili will follow from a distance in your car, just in case there’s someone on your tail.”

“Rafa….”

I did it again.

His lips made the slightest twitch when he came up to me. He moved his hands to my face like he wanted to touch me but withdrew like he had second thoughts. A shutter closed over his eyes, leaving them cold and unreadable before he walked to the door and said over his shoulders, “I’m not in the mood to argue with you. Tikhon’s taking you home, and that’s final.”

****

Tikhon took me home as Zver instructed, and except for the occasional heavy stares he gave through the rearview mirror, he remained silent throughout the ride. He stopped a few meters away from the gate of Papa’s estate, and I switched cars with the man called Vasili before driving the rest of the way to the house.

No one saw the Russians, and it was good that they didn’t.

Marco stood by the entrance, his greeting unusually quiet. Something was cloudy and undecipherable in his eyes.

“Marco. Stai bene? ”

“ Benvenuta, senorita.”

I eyed him, but the man was as solid as a wall. He didn’t give anything away. “ Si.” His eyes flitted back and forth from the door to my face. He lifted a brow. “What’s that?”

I wasn’t going to tell Marco before informing Papa, so I made something up. “Ran into another car on the track and bashed my face against the wheel. I had Josè look at it—” If Rafayel could have me followed, anyone else could have their eyes on me. Including Papa, “and he says I’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about.”

Marco wasn’t buying it. If I were him, I wouldn’t have bought it either. But he moved aside, still wearing that uncomfortable grimace. And it was suspicious as hell.

“Want to tell me why Papa’s got you doing patrol outside?”

“He’s got a visitor in the study and wants me to keep an eye out.”

I looked behind my shoulder but didn’t see any unusual car parked in the shed. They were all Mercedes, black and shiny, except for my Audi, which was sitting pretty by the fountain.

“A visitor. Interesting.”

“Leo....”

Knowing Marco, he was going to say something to deter me and give Papa privacy with his guest. But this couldn’t wait. I had to speak with him. I marched up to his study with the announcement on the tip of my tongue. I didn’t care if his visitor heard. This was a code-red situation.

“Papa, I was attacked by Rossi,” was the first thing I said once I breezed through the door, slamming it behind my back.

“ Principessa .”

Papa was in a wheelchair, looking up at the tall man standing at the edge of his gleaming desk. His eyes met mine through the man’s lean physique, slightly blocking the full view. From where I stood, I saw the scarlet spots of blood on his shirt, and I thought I recognized his jawline.

“I know.” Papa wheeled his chair back behind the desk.

And when the man turned around, grinning, my heart sank to my stomach.

He raised his left hand, the one with the dark serpent coiled around the dagger, and waved. “Hi, again.”