Page 4

Amelia

“I was a little surprised by your call.” Christian slides a glass of white wine to me over the kitchen island.

“Why? I’ve called you before.” I move up to my toes and climb onto the kitchen barstool.

“Yeah, but you weren’t engaged to Dmitri Dragunov then.” He tries for levity, but falls way short.

“I’m not now, either,” I correct him, glancing at the time illuminated on the oven clock just behind Christian.

Five minutes to seven. Dmitri is probably pulling up to my building right now. In a few minutes, he will discover I didn’t sit around and wait for him like some dutiful lapdog.

Christian leans back against the countertop, cradling his glass in his right hand. “You understand what that would mean. Not marrying him.”

“That’s why I’m here.” I wrap my fingers around the stem of the wineglass. “The Moreau Foundation depends on annual contributions from Lucas’ firm. If I can find a way to fund the foundation without that contribution, maybe I can convince Dmitri to call off this craziness. He can have everything else; I just want the foundation to be safe.”

Christian eyes me for a long moment in silence, then puts his glass down on the counter.

“You think he’ll do that? He’ll just let you walk?”

“Why wouldn’t he? If he doesn’t marry me, he still gets shares in the company.” From a business standpoint, it’s a no-brainer. All that nonsense about it being time to settle down was just that, nonsense.

“What do you need from me?” Christian asks.

“Lucas handled the foundation’s investments. I need to see them, and we need to come up with a plan to keep it managed. I know you hate the financial stuff.” Christian is more of the marketing type. He has brilliant ideas, but bringing them to life has never been his strongest attribute.

Christian sighs.

“I can call a friend of mine; he works at a brokerage firm. We can have him look over what Lucas has done so far and see if he will agree to manage it.”

“You don’t look confident that he’d say yes.” I finish the last bit of wine.

He lifts a shoulder. “Going up against Dmitri Dragunov? It’s not really something many are going to be willing to do.”

“I know he’s a little dirty, but—” I’m cut off by Christian’s burst of laughter.

“A little dirty? Lia, he’s not just a little dirty, the man is the dirt.”

Confused, I stay silent. “He’s the dirt?”

He shakes his head. “I mean, he’s Russian mafia. Aside from his own dealings, his family is the Romanovs.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t connected the two when I met Nikolai this afternoon. The Romanovs are partly the reason centers like mine exist.

New drugs hit the streets almost daily, and a large portion of them are sold by the Romanov family. Mostly party drugs that they would argue aren’t addictive, except to someone who’s running away from reality. It’s the escape they become dependent on. And using the shit the Romanovs pump into the streets works just as well as harder drugs like cocaine and heroin.

“Why would Lucas want me to marry him then?” I need to understand. “You’re his best friend, Christian; he had to have told you something. Why would he want me to marry into the Russian mafia?”

Christian slides over when I bring my empty glass to refill it. A heavy scent of spiced liquor follows him.

“You know, there might be another way out of this.” Christian turns, pressing his hip into the counter’s edge and watching me pour a healthy glass of wine.

“Like what? Pay him off? The man’s a billionaire by all accounts.”

Christian glides a fingertip along my cheek, pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

A little jolt of something, not heat or excitement, something uncomfortable, runs through me. When I look back up at him, his eyes are softer.

“Like you could marry me.”

“Marry you?” I try not to laugh because he seems to be serious.

“Yeah.” He scoots closer to me, taking my glass away and putting it on the counter. “The attorney said if you weren’t married then you’d have to marry Dmitri to get the inheritance. You marry me, that takes care of the obligation.”

“Christian, I’m not marrying anyone.”

“Lia. You’ve crushed on me for years.” An arrogant smile pulls on his lips. If I had been drinking, all of the wine would have been spit on him.

“Did Lucas tell you that? That was years ago, Christian. I was in middle school.” I smile at the memory of an infatuation from long ago. A lifetime ago.

“Okay, but still.” He lifts a shoulder. “If you marry me, you’ve fulfilled the obligation, and we can contest the will.”

My eyes narrow a fraction. “And then we’d get everything.”

“Right.” He nods with another grin, and I wonder if this is what he looks like when he’s at the clubs. Lucas was always complaining about how much time Christian spent at dance clubs picking up what he called the ‘flavor of the week.’

“Contesting the will can take a long time, and I don’t need to be married to do it.” I sigh. “No judge in his right mind would force me to marry someone, right? I mean, that’s the stuff of third world countries.”

My phone dances on the kitchen island countertop next to my purse. I check the time again, five after.

He’s realized I’m not home.

Christian’s hand wraps around mine, squeezing gently.

“We’d make a good couple, Lia,” he says softly. I look down at where our hands are entwined. Did every male in the city lose his mind when Lucas died?

“You want his company.” I try to pull free, but Christian tightens his hold.

“I want what’s best for you.” He leans closer and I smell it. Bourbon. Another glance behind him and I see the bottle open on the counter with the empty Glencairn glass next to it.

The seal strip lays beside the newly opened bottle. He’s nearly a quarter way through it already.

“No, you want what’s best for you.” I yank my hand away and heave a sigh. As I turn, he snags my arm and pulls me back.

“Christian. Stop it.” I shove against his chest.

“He didn’t leave me a damn thing. Not a single penny or share in his stupid company. You know, I was the one who had the idea of him starting that firm.” His lips twist downward.

“Nothing he did with his estate makes any sense.” I push harder, but he’s not letting me go.

“Marry me, we’ll contest the will, and you can have the foundation. I’ll keep funding it the way he was, then we both get what we want.”

“And for your trouble, you’ll take his company? How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“It could be good between us.” He pulls me closer, holding me by both arms. I twist my head to the side as he leans into me.

How had I not noticed how heavy his eyelids are this evening? Because I’d been so caught up in my own problems, I wasn’t paying any attention to him.

“No, Christian. It won’t be.” Damn, even in his state, he’s strong. I can’t get loose from his grip.

“How could he not leave me anything?” Christian’s eyes darken, his grip gets tighter.

“I don’t know.” Struggling isn’t getting me anywhere. “Christian, you’re hurting me. Stop. Let me go.”

His eyes go wide, like he’s just waking up and he looks down at where his hands are squeezing my upper arms.

“Shit.” He lets me go so quickly, I stumble back a step. “I’m so sorry, Lia.” He rakes a hand through his soft brown hair, leaving several strands standing on end.

The doorbell chimes.

“It’s okay.” I rub my hands over the tender spots. “You’ve been drinking…”

“It’s just.” He pauses. “How could he do this to me? To you?”

The doorbell rings again.

“Should you get that?”

“What? Oh. One second.” He brushes past me and turns down the hall to the front door.

“Amelia.” A dark voice sends a jolt through me a moment later.

No. He couldn’t have found me here. It’s only ten minutes after seven; he couldn’t have gotten here from my apartment in only ten minutes.

“Lia?” Christian’s voice is laced with concern, but I’m not sure if it’s for me or him.

After a quick deep breath, I make my way to the foyer.

Dmitri Dragunov stands in the front hall, towering over Christian with a stormy glare.

“Dmitri.” I stop in my tracks. “What are you doing here?”

He drags his eyes to mine. “I told you I was picking you up for dinner.”

“Yeah. But… this isn’t my apartment.” I point out the obvious.

“Yes. That’s something we will discuss later.” His glare turns back on Christian. “When we’re home.”

Home?

Infuriation burns in my stomach. The utter arrogance of this man is almost impressive.

“How did you find me?”

“Your arms,” he states at the same time as I ask my question. There are red handprints on my arms from Christian’s grip. They’re fading, but they are obviously hand prints.

“Oh.” I rub my hands over the marks, like I can erase them. “My skin is really sensitive.”

Christian’s cheeks drain of all color. Even the red in his eyes fades.

Dmitri’s hand wraps around Christian’s throat as he throws him against the wall, lifting him until his toes barely touch the floor. Christian grabs at Dmitri’s hand, and already he’s gasping for air.

“Dmitri. Stop it.” I try to get between them, but Dmitri closes the gap to keep me away. “I’m fine. Nothing happened. Stop!”

I grab at his arm and yank, but I’d have better luck pulling a semi across the interstate.

“Please. Stop it, you’re hurting him.” I yell, glancing at the panic in Christian’s eyes. If Dmitri wanted him dead, it would only take a small increase in his grip. A flick of his wrist, and Christian would be lifeless at my feet.

“Please.” I soften my tone. Dmitri swings his eyes to mine, his jaw sets. Reluctantly, he lets go and Christian stumbles forward, grabbing at his throat and sucking in as much air as he can.

“You touched her.” Dmitri’s hands flex at his sides and I’m not sure how long I can keep him from getting his hands on Christian again. “You put your hands on my wife?”

“Well.” I huff a laugh. “I’m not your wife.”

He ignores me.

“I’ve removed men’s hands for lesser insults.”

Okay, that statement gives me pause.

“I didn’t mean to grab her. We were talking and… it wasn’t on purpose.” Christian stumbles over his words, most of them slurred from the endorphins mixing with the bourbon.

“Dmitri. I’m fine. It wasn’t anything. Let’s just go.” I twist my head to see Christian. “Can you get my coat and purse from the kitchen?”

“Sure.” He squeezes past me and hurries out of the foyer, still rubbing his throat.

Unfortunately, this leaves Dmitri and me alone. Making me the only target for his heated gaze. And when it lands on me, ice runs down my back.

“Dmitri.”

“Never take a side against me, Amelia,” he says softly, then steps up to me. “Are you alright?” He gently cups his hands over my arms, over Christian’s marks.

“I’m fine, Dmitri. Really, it wasn’t anything. Christian was Lucas’ best friend, my friend for a long time. He’s having trouble with Lucas’ death.”

Dmitri stares at me for a long moment. “It’s the only reason he’s still breathing. But if he ever puts so much as a fingertip on you again, I will have more than his hands removed.”

I have no doubt he means exactly what he says.

Christian brings my coat and purse. “I put your phone in your purse.” He hands it to me.

“Thank you.” I smile. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

He swallows and nods, giving Dmitri only a passing glance.

“Yeah. Thanks.” He holds the door while Dmitri pulls the jacket from my grasp.

“It’s chilly outside.” He holds the coat open for me. I want to argue, to tell him I’m perfectly capable of putting on my own jacket, but Christian looks like he’d like us out of his apartment as quickly as possible.

After I give in and slide my arms into the sleeves, he spins me around and works the buttons closed.

“I can do that,” I grind out softly.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.” He finishes the last button at the top. “Let’s go.”

Without another word to Christian, Dmitri laces our hands together and tugs me from the apartment and into the hall. As soon as we’re clear of the door, it shuts, and I can hear the distinct sounds of the bolt being slid in place.

“My car is here,” I say when we get into the elevator. “If you’ll tell me where we’re going, I can meet you there.”

He hits the button for the lobby then stands beside me, his hands clasped in front of him.

“You’ll drive with me. I’ll have your car brought later.”

“Fine.” I watch the lights flicker as we slide down the fifteen floors to the lobby. Arguing with him doesn’t feel like the right move right now. There’s a lot of aggressive energy rolling off of him.

“You disobeyed me, Amelia,” he says, cutting through the silence.

I could tell him he’s wrong. That I’m a grown woman and I don’t have to do anything he tells me to do, but he picks up my hand and laces his fingers through mine again as the doors sweep open.

He pulls me through the lobby like some errant child being dragged out of a store for having a fit. There’s an older couple walking into the building. The woman gets one look at Dmitri and gives me a pitying glance.

“You’re not taking me to dinner anymore, are you?” I ask as he brings me to his car. No, not a car. A Bentley Bentayga EWB. It stands out against the other cars on the street with its sleek lines and smooth black finish. The diamond-patterned front grille practically shines with the headlights on. Everything about this screams rich and powerful. Perfect for a man like Dmitri.

He yanks the passenger door open and gestures for me to get inside.

“I’m not going with you until you tell me where we’re going.”

His dark eyebrow arches higher, like he can’t believe me.

I can’t believe me either. A Russian mobster has just made claim to me, threatened to cut off a man’s hands for touching me, and now I’m about to climb into his car.

A car that costs more than what I make in a year.

He stares at me, like he can outwait me. But I get the feeling that the longer I take to get in the car, the worse the evening is going to go.

“Are you taking me to dinner?” I ask, stubbornly holding my ground.

“No.”

A single word again.

“Are you taking me to my apartment?”

“No.”

My stomach flutters.

“Where are you taking me then?”

He leans into me, brushing his lips across the shell of my ear. “I’m taking you home, moyo dikoye plamya .”

“What does that mean? What you keep calling me?” My nervousness makes me interrupt him. He’s called me that a few times, but he’s always saying outrageous things that distract me from asking.

“ Moyo dikoye plamya ? It means my wildfire. Now get in the car, so we can get home. Then you can have your first lesson of being my wife.” He nips my earlobe, sending a shockwave of arousal through me.

I swallow past the moan fighting to get out. “What—what lesson is that?” The words squeak out.

He stands tall, leveling his darkness on me. “Obedience.”