Page 2 of Love to Defy You (The Dark Love #2)

Alek

The Red Square is bustling with tourists as I step out of the cab. It’s been years since I stepped foot in Moscow, and now I remember why—the pleasant summer weather is a mask for the cold, inhospitable city where corruption and deceit fester beneath the surface.

I glance over my shoulder at the Kremlin, surrounded by its towering red brick walls, and grow uneasy. Even as a child, I got the distinct feeling that I was being watched the moment I landed at Sheremetyevo Airport. That apprehension is with me even now.

And this time, I’m an enemy of Russia. The moment I spoke out against the motherland’s control of the Andarusian government, I became a class traitor to the oligarchs. I dared to cut the puppet strings of their influence, which is the worst kind of betrayal in their eyes.

I pull the brim of my baseball cap lower and head toward the Bosco Café.

Beneath a frilly white umbrella sits Mikhail Aslanov, who looks out of place among the pink hydrangeas enclosing the busy outdoor dining area.

He’s been mistaken for my bodyguard before with his tall, stocky frame and broad chest.

As I approach his table, he glances up, and his serious expression melts into a grin. “There you are, Kurochkin.” He rises to his feet and pulls me in for a hug, clapping me on the back.

He’s the only friend who can get away with this display of familiarity.

“Meeting out here in the open with a target on my back?” I step away and take my seat at the white café table across from him. “Do you wish to kill me?”

He lets out a deep laugh. “If I wanted you dead, you already would be.”

I take out my pack of cigarettes and offer him one. He shakes his head.

“Suit yourself.” With a shrug, I stick one of the cigarettes in my mouth and light the end.

He pats his flat stomach. “My trainer says it’s bad for my health, so I’m cutting back. Got to stay in shape.”

“I thought that’s what steroids were for?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He winks and settles back into his chair. “Anyway, when will you get sick of bumming around Europe and come to university with me?”

“Assuming Willow passes her entrance exam, and she will, we’ll join you in Zurich for the fall term.” I take a drag and hold the smoke in my lungs for a moment before releasing it.

“It’s too bad you didn’t bring her with you. It would be nice to see your girlfriend again with some clothes on.”

I shoot him a warning glare.

He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying. You two were a little preoccupied when I met her at your birthday party, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to her much.”

Ah, yes. I almost forgot that Willow and I had an audience that night when she told me she loved me for the first time. Exhibitionism isn’t really my style, but Willow craves the attention, and who am I to deny her deepest, darkest fantasies?

“Is that a smile?” Mikhail asks, feigning shock. “Prince Alek is smiling like an idiot over a girl?”

“Not just any girl. The girl.”

Mikhail raises his thick, dark eyebrows. “It’s that serious, huh?”

“Dead serious.”

A waitress approaches the table to take our lunch order, and she blushes when Mikhail gives her a dashing smile. The man flirts with any pretty thing that crosses his path.

When she walks away, Mikhail tracks the movement of her hips. “How long are you in town for?” he asks without taking his eyes off her ass.

“If I’m lucky, I’ll be gone before dinner. After this meeting with Fyodor, I’m getting out of this hellhole and flying back to Saint-Tropez. No offense.”

“None taken. I’m counting down the days until summer break is over.” Mikhail turns his attention back to our conversation. “Hey, can I tag along to your meeting?”

I tap my cigarette above the ashtray. “Are you using me to avoid your father?”

“Obviously.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask. The Aslanovs run one of the most powerful crime syndicates in Russia, so the less I know, the better.

“It’s fine,” I say. “I could use a wingman with Fyodor.”

“He’s still icing you out?”

I shrug. “He’s cordial, although my invitation to his spring gala must have gotten lost in the mail.” I scoff. “I haven’t heard from Ilya or Oleg, either, which is fine by me.”

The five of us used to be close. In fact, I considered them my inner circle, and they proved their loyalty to me and my father time and time again. Hell, they even kidnapped the asshole who posted Willow’s revenge video and brought him to me.

But when the Kurochkins fell from grace, my friendship didn’t benefit them any longer. Mikhail is the only one who hasn’t turned his back on me. Fyodor and I speak on occasion, but if I weren’t a top client of his father’s bank, I doubt he’d keep in touch.

The waitress reappears with two cups of coffee, though her hands are shaking so badly, the teacups chatter on the saucers. She sets them down on our table.

Mikhail reaches out and runs his finger along her arm. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re doing great.”

If she was blushing before, she’s as red as borscht now.

“T-thank you, sir.” She gives him a shy smile before scurrying off.

I cluck my tongue. “You’re too lavish with your praise.”

“The ladies love it, Kurochkin. Trust me.” He gives me a stupid grin. “Anyway, what’s this meeting about?”

I wave my hand. “Oh, my mother is on my ass about getting our finances in order. My father named me as his successor in his will, so I’m in charge of her allowance. She believes I’ll leave her destitute, so she’s eager to find a wealthy man to leech from and marry Ana off to.”

Mikhail shifts in his seat. “Ana isn’t engaged anymore?”

I watch the smoke curl from the end of my cigarette. “Apparently not.”

With the tip of his finger, he traces the swirling pattern etched into the edge of the café table. “How is she doing? Anastasia?”

“She and my mother are living in our apartment in Paris. Ana’s attending finishing school there.”

He nods absently. “I see.”

We spend the remainder of lunch catching up, and once we pay our bill, we head to the bank on foot to make my afternoon appointment.

The bank itself is located a block away from the Red Square in a grandiose historical building.

Inside, patrons are milling about, surrounded by rich, wooden furnishings and expensive paintings, but a courteous hush settles over the lobby.

The atmosphere is more that of a library than a bank.

A petite blonde in a pencil skirt strides up to us, her heels clicking on the marble floors. “Good afternoon, Mr. Kurochkin. Mr. Vasiliev is just wrapping up a meeting. Can I get you any coffee or tea while you wait?”

“I’m fine.”

Mikhail roves his gaze down to her legs. “I’ll take a coffee, if you don’t mind.”

Unsurprisingly, the woman blushes and gestures to a waiting area with plush sofas. “Please wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Mikhail raises his eyebrows. “She knows you by name?”

“It’s her job to know.”

He glances around the ornate lobby with an appreciative hum. “Maybe I should start banking here.”

I fold my arms and lean against a marble column. “Yes, can you imagine? The Bratva finally parking their money at a reputable institution instead of a shipping container stuffed with cash—“

The blonde returns with empty hands, and Mikhail elbows me in the ribs to shut up.

I glare at him. “Ow.”

“Mr. Vasiliev will see you in his office,” the blonde says. “I’ll bring your coffee tray there.”

Mikhail grins. “You’re very considerate. Thank you, sweetheart.” He steps forward to place his hand on the small of her back. “Lead the way.”

I roll my eyes and follow Mikhail and the blonde toward the elevator, tuning them out as they flirt back and forth. I check the time on my phone and count down the number of hours until I’m back with Willow in Saint-Tropez.

I’ve been putting off this trip for a year, preferring to handle everything by phone and email, but my physical presence is required to sign legal documents and ensure everything is in order.

Once I head off to school in the fall, I’ll be too busy to deal with it, so I may as well get it over with now.

My mother is set up with a substantial monthly allowance, but she calls me every two weeks to ask for more and gets upset when I tell her to fuck off.

She hates that I’m in complete control of her finances, but my father put me as the inheritor for a reason.

If it were up to my mother, she’d squander all of it on luxury shopping trips and plastic surgery.

And if I give in to her temper tantrums, she’ll keep asking for more, more, more.

When the elevator pings, the blonde leads us down the hall to the end, where the door to Fyodor’s corner office stands open. She knocks on the wood and peeks her head in. “Mr. Vasiliev, Mr. Kurochkin is here.”

“Send him in.”

She steps aside and gestures us through the door, which leads into a lavish office with ornate furnishings that date back to the Romanov dynasty. Behind an oak desk, Fyodor rises to his feet and buttons his suit jacket. He comes around to offer me a handshake but doesn’t quite meet my eye.

“Mikhail,” he says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

He gives him a broad grin. “Just looking out for my friend. Someone has to make sure you don’t swindle him out of all his money.”

Fyodor laughs. “Of course you are, Mickey. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” He gestures to a pair of armchairs in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

The blonde assistant returns with a cup of coffee, which she passes to Mikhail. She waits while he takes a sip.

“Ah, that’s good.” He makes a show of how much he enjoys it. “You make an excellent cup of coffee.”

“Thank you. Please let me know if I can get you anything else.” She places her hand on Mikhail’s arm and leans closer. “And I mean anything.” Straightening up, she gives him a seductive smile before sauntering off.