Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Without words, I stomped out of my apartment and led the way back to the car, my jaw set determinedly.
It didn’t matter that I still wanted him. It didn’t matter how he made me feel. He’s a monster.
Radimir drove me to the edge of the city, to a street with high hedges that blocked any view of the houses. A black iron gate slid silently aside as our car approached and we drove down a long, sweeping driveway. A three-story mansion built from beautiful, smooth gray stone crept into view. “Gennadiy’s house,” Radimir explained.
I stared. As I understood it from the media, Radimir was the boss. If this was Gennadiy’s house, what was Radimir’s place going to be like?
Radimir’s brothers were waiting for us inside, both of them in black suits. Radimir left me with them while he went to change into his funeral suit. Silence descended and it was beyond awkward. Valentin looked worried. Gennadiy looked full-on hostile.
Then there was a patter of paws from behind me. I turned just in time to see what looked like a wolf pack racing towards me. As they surrounded me, I realized they were Malamutes, big ones, with bright blue eyes and huge, fluffy tails. All four of them pushed close, sniffing curiously, pushing their furry heads at me for ear scratches and licking at my hands. I crouched, delighted, and started handing out strokes and ruffles, having to use both hands to deal with all of them.
Mikhail, looking dashing in his funeral suit, came over, grinning. He let the dogs have their cuddles but gave quick little commands in Russian whenever one of them was in danger of actually knocking me over. “They’re normally suspicious of strangers,” he told me. “But they like you.”
I smiled back at him. I’ve always loved dogs. But then I straightened up and smiled at Gennadiy and he just stared back at me coldly. My heart slumped. He and Valentin were going to be my brothers-in-law. I just want them to like me!
But this was the Bratva. I should have realized: wanting to be liked was seen as a weakness.
20
RADIMIR
I walked back downstairs still tying my tie...and stopped on the landing as I saw her again. She looked stunning, her black outfit setting off her milky skin and that shining, copper hair. Pinned up, it exposed whole new areas of soft, sensitive skin behind her ears and down the sides of her neck that I immediately wanted to kiss. And it made me want to run my hands through her hair, knocking out the pins and freeing it so it tumbled down onto her shoulders, then strip that dress off her until she was completely...undone.
I wanted her. Cared for her, in some way I was trying hard not to think about too much. But I was destroying her life, trapping her in a relationship with a man she hated. I had to find some way to make this work, for her sake.
And there was something else, the thing that maybe unsettled me the most. Whenever I thought about the fake marriage, there was this tiny, secret part of me, way down deep...that almost wanted it to be real. That wanted to have someone I could share my life with, tell anything to, have a future with…
I tore my gaze away and stomped down the rest of the stairs. As I reached the bottom, Valentin intercepted me. “Are you sure this is going to work?” he asked, glancing at Bronwyn over his shoulder.
“This was your idea!” I reminded him.
He sighed, worried. “I didn’t know she’d be so...innocent. Fragile.”
I glowered. First Gennadiy, now him. I knew they only wanted to protect me, but they were wrong about her. I’d seen how she protected her friend when Doyle and Yoz came into her store. She was tougher than they knew. But they were right: she wasn’t like us.
The limos arrived to pick us up. While Mikhail argued with the limo driver that yes, the dogs were coming, Bronwyn took my hand and pulled me behind a pillar. I struggled to focus on what she was saying: all I could think about was how good holding her hand felt.
“This funeral,” she asked. “You haven’t told me who died. Were they...family?”
I shook my head, mad at myself. I’d forgotten that she didn’t know. “His name was Borislav Nazarov.” And then, watching her carefully. “You met him.”
She blinked, confused. Then realization hit and she clapped her hands over her mouth. “No! Oh God, why would you—Why are we going to the funeral if you—”
“We have to pay our respects to his brother, Spartak.”
Her eyes went huge. “I can’t stand there and talk to his brother when you—”
I nodded quickly. “Yes. Yes, you can. You have to.”
“Why? Why are we going?”
“Because it would look suspicious if we didn’t.” I took hold of her shoulders. “You can do this.”