The Bastard's Betrayal: An O'Malley-Romanov Novel (Scandalous Scions Book 1)

by Katee Robert

“If you’ve harmed her—”

  “She’s perfectly safe, if furious.” He chose not to mention anything connected to what happened in the shower. It wasn’t the kind of conversation a man had with his future father-in-law. “She’ll call you once we come to an agreement.”

  “An agreement.”

  “Si.”

  Dante could appreciate how he loaded his silences with the threat of violence. This man wasn’t a half-cocked gun like Lorenzo. He might be furious and worried about his daughter, but none of that emotion seeped into his voice. Finally, Dmitri said, “Surely you aren’t insinuating you have intentions regarding Rose.”

  “She’s mine.”

  “She’s not.” A thread of heat sounded beneath the ice. “She’s the heir to the Romanov family here in New York. She’s not a pawn to be taken at will.”

  Dante let some of his fury bleed into his tone. “And yet you were marrying her off to the Capparellis. Just like a pawn.”

  “That’s different.”

  “It’s really not.” He barely beat back the anger that rose at the thought of her in that white dress, ready to say “I do” to Romeo. “Or is she only allowed to be a pawn when you’re the one making the moves?”

  “She was only in that situation because you put her there.”

  “And yet you didn’t defend her. The great Dmitri Romanov, bending over to offer up his eldest daughter to appease an Italian over a little insult.” Dante tsked. “Disappointing.”

  “What is it that you want, Verducci? I assumed you called with more intention that to gloat.”

  Gloat. The thought was laughable. He hadn’t won yet. Dante was sure of his victory, but only a fool ignored the possibility of unknown factors arising to complicate the situation. “I called to state my intentions. I’m going to marry Rose.”

  “Nyet.” Dmitri snarled in Russian for several seconds before he dragged in a breath and regained his supposed calm. “My daughter will make herself a widow if you try.”

  “We’ll see.” He had no doubt Rose was capable of it. He wore her scars, after all. But if she truly hated him as much as she pretended, she wouldn’t have come all over his hand in the shower. She wouldn’t have stared at his bare chest with heat in her hazel eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking. She felt the same way Dante did. She was just being stubborn about it. “Be sure to tell Romeo he’s destined to be disappointed.”

  “I see.” Something strange in Dmitri’s tone, something off. “You’re not long for this world, Verducci. If we’re passing along messages, be sure to tell my daughter that we’re coming for her.”

  “By the time you find her, she’ll be my wife.”

  “Good thing Rose looks excellent in black.”

  “You’re going to be fun as a father-in-law.” Dante hung up.

  That went about as well as could be expected. He didn’t expect the man to thank him for throwing a wrench into his plans, but he’d come around. He obviously loved his daughter, and if something—someone—made her happy, he’d get over his personal feelings on the matter. Most likely. Either way, he’d deal with it. Dante methodically dismantled the phone. They hadn’t spoken long enough for a trace, but better to play this with an abundance of caution.

  With his tasks out of the way, he checked the monitors one last time and ducked out of the closet. Dante paused to ensure it closed properly behind him and the latch was hidden once again, and then he went in search of Rose.

  He’d half expected to find her in the closet waiting for him, ready to demand answers, but the space was empty. So was the bedroom and hallway leading to the main room. He moved silently, curious to what she’d gotten up to in his absence. Perhaps she’d found the food he had stocked in the fridge? It had been too long since she’d eaten, so that would be a logical next step.

  He really should have known better.

  Dante heard her before he saw her. Angry Russian muttered under her breath. He made a mental note to learn the language properly at some point. Maybe Rose would learn Italian, too. The thought pleased him.

  She was crouched by the front door, a screwdriver in her hand and a determined look on her face. Smart girl. She’d realized she couldn’t hack the keypad and decided to take it off instead. It wouldn’t work. It’d been bolted into place when it was installed, so it’d require something heftier than a simple screwdriver to dismantle.

  He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Why not just toss a chair through the window instead?”

  “Don’t you think I tried?” She didn’t look up. He liked that she didn’t look up, that she acknowledged him but didn’t let his presence deter her from her goals. This woman really was something.

  He glanced at the picture window and, sure enough, there was one of the dining room chairs laying on its side. “I’m surprised you could pick up the chair.”

  “And I’m surprised that I didn’t anticipate you using reinforced glass.”

  He shrugged. “Si, it’s something of a necessity in our lifestyle.”

  She sighed and sat back on her heels. She looked good like this, though Rose seemed to look good in any given situation. Her hair had dried into a faint wave that he liked a lot. It made him want to sink his hands into the dark length and tug.

  Not yet.

  The shower was a step in the right direction, but he could be a patient hunter. He might have failed that test in the past, but he’d never had prey as vital as Rose Romanov in his sights.

  Rose rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead. “What’s your play, Dante?”

  He’d already told her, but obviously she didn’t believe him any more than her father did. That was fine. He’d prove it with time. “Even if you managed to get out of the cabin, you’d wander lost for days. We’re in the middle of nowhere.” Not strictly the truth, but close enough for his purposes.

  “Don’t lie to me. This place is nice, but it’s obviously been stocked recently, and not even you are impractical enough to have the only way in be flying or hiking. There’s a car and a road.” She narrowed her eyes. “No door to a garage, but I bet there’s one tucked around here somewhere. You wouldn’t have left yourself without an escape route.”

  She was right. There was a garage a few hundred yards from the cabin. The driveway created a loop on the side of the house opposite the living room with its windows overlooking the view. As much as he wanted space between the house and the vehicles, the thought of trekking that distance on foot when delivering stuff to the cabin was out of the question. He liked that she’d divined that so quickly, but it didn’t mean he’d feed her more information than strictly necessary. “It’s irrelevant.”

  “It’s really not.” She pushed slowly to her feet, the screwdriver still held in one hand. “You want to marry me, baby? Let’s go to the chapel.”

  Victory surged, but logic shouted it down. Hadn’t he just admired Rose’s resourcefulness? She knew if he took her out of this place, her chances of escaping increased dramatically. Dante was good, but she’d proven she was as well. “All in good time.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Si.” He gave her one last look and turned for the kitchen. “You should eat something. You’re practically weaving on your feet. It’s irritating.” If she was determined not to take proper care of herself, he’d do it for her.

  “God forbid I irritate you.” But she followed him into the kitchen and sat at the island as he pulled a few things out of the fridge. It was late as fuck, so sandwiches would have to do. She narrowed her eyes as she watched him line out the items. “Don’t try to slip anything extra in there to ensure good behavior.”

  “You wouldn’t know good behavior if it slapped you in the face.”

  “It’s welcome to try,” she snapped.

  Dante set out the bread first for several sandwiches and then proceeded to layer mayo, turkey, lettuce, tomato, and mustard on. Her favorite. “I don’t like using drugs. It makes people slow even if it doesn’t knock them out, and as soon as they s
ober up, you’re starting from scratch. Better to use intimidation or violence.”

  “Fear is just as temporary as drugs.”

  He raised his brows. “Not if you do it right.”

  Rose shook her head slowly. “I suppose you’d know, wouldn’t you? You’re Lorenzo Verducci’s attack dog.”

  “Rosa.” He enjoyed the way she glared harder every time he said her name like that. “Are you going to play the innocent? I know how your family works. People don’t follow you because they get warm cushy feelings when they think of you.”

  She didn’t look away. “We do what we have to do. Our people are taken care of.”

  “Si, and if they step out of line, you or another of your family makes an example of them. That is fear used effectively.” He put one sandwich on a plate and paused. “Rectangles or triangles?” He knew the answer from so many similar conversations in his kitchen, albeit about different topics. He simply wanted to see if she’d admit this, too, was truth.

  “What am I, three?” When he just stared, she sighed and looked away. “Triangles, obviously. That hasn’t changed.”

  He cut the sandwich in half diagonally and pushed the plate across the island to her. “Unless I’m wrong and the great Romanov family relies on drugs to ensure good behavior.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Rose picked up half the sandwich and took a bite. She chewed for several long moments while she appeared to consider his statement. “Papa prefers a lighter touch. He can do more in a single sentence than most people can do with a tank and battalion of soldiers.”

  He knew. Anyone who had even the slightest connection with crime on the East Coast had heard of Dmitri Romanov. He’d spent most of his life ruling a huge chunk of NYC with an iron fist. When people crossed him these days, he didn’t make examples. They just…disappeared. “Big shoes to fill.”

  “You could say that.” She frowned down at her plate. “Both my parents are larger than life and…” Rose tensed. “You know what? No. We’re not doing this. I’m eating, and then I’m going to bed on the couch, and maybe if you’re lucky, I won’t find a way to slit your throat in your sleep.”

  “No, we won’t be doing that. You’ll be in my bed next to me.” He gave her a slow smile. “And if you attempt to attack me, I’ll take it as an invitation to touch you.”

  “Touch me and…”

  “Si, I know.” He waved it away. “You’ll come all over my hand again.”

  Rose stared. She opened her mouth like she wanted to retort but eventually just picked up her sandwich. He resumed eating as well, and he couldn’t deny the satisfaction that rose in response to feeding this woman.

  Oh, they’d shared meals before, and he’d thrown together pathetic little dinners from time to time in that shitty apartment, usually sandwiches like this meal or something equally within Jackson Smith’s budget. It didn’t count. Dante had cut off large swathes of himself during those months in order to cram himself into the framework that was Jackson Smith. To be easy and charming and make her feel safe enough that she never bothered to look into him past a surface background check. He’d let some of the truth filter in because he hadn’t been able to resist, but there was so much he left out. That wasn’t Dante, the real Dante.

  She would know him.

  Starting now.

  Chapter 10

  Rose planned to argue about the sleeping arrangements. She did. But after twenty-four hours of stress, her body just kind of…gave out. She let Dante guide her back into the bedroom, brushed her teeth, and then collapsed onto the ridiculously comfortable mattress wearing only a tank top and underwear. The last thing she registered was Dante pulling the covers up higher around her shoulders.

  She woke up to sunlight streaming through the windows and the faint sound of eighties’ rock. Rose sat up and shoved her hair back from her face. She’d meant to use the night to make another escape attempt or at least try to turn the tables, but…

  Exhaustion would get the best of anyone in this scenario. That’s all it was. Frankly, she should be proud she lasted as long as she had without collapsing. Better to focus on that rather than the missed opportunities. She hauled herself out of bed and into the bathroom. She used the toilet and spent entirely too long brushing her teeth. Stalling. That’s what she was doing. Fucking stalling.

  She used mouthwash and then stared at her reflection in the mirror. Gone was the perfectly put-together woman she’d curated for most of her life. Her hair was wild, she didn’t have a speck of makeup on her face, and there were faint circles beneath her eyes.

  Getting out of here was her top priority. It had to be her top priority. She didn’t know what time it was or what time zone they were even in, but shit had most definitely hit the fan back in New York. Lorelei could only stall for so long. She needed to be there, helping to put out fires. That was fact.

  It was also fact that she had no way to get out of this house. The glass was reinforced, and the door had a security panel that she couldn’t pry off, and didn’t know the passcode to. It was eight fucking digits, too, which meant there were tens of thousands of code possibilities; it would take her years to find the right one.

  And that was just the first step.

  Once she got out of this cabin, she had to figure out a way back to civilization. She had no true gauge for telling how close they were, and even with a road to follow, there was no guarantee she’d even reach the nearest city or town safely. No, the odds were not in Rose’s favor. No matter from which angle she looked at the situation, the fact remained that she was well and truly at Dante’s mercy.

  If he was to be believed, he wanted to marry her.

  Rose snorted. Yeah, like she was going to fall for that. She’d believed his feelings for her once before, and she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Whatever Dante’s goals, he might want her, but marrying her couldn’t possibly be the end game.

  If it was…

  That meant he was telling the truth about their farce of a relationship being at least as real to him as it was to her.

  She pressed her hand to her chest. No. She couldn’t believe it. It didn’t make any fucking sense. Better to play out the scenarios and get the hell out of here. She and Dante had no future. Even if her foolish heart won, and she came down with a spontaneous case of Stockholm syndrome—which she was pretty sure didn’t even exist—her family would put an end to that the moment she arrived back in the city with her new husband. She’d be a widow before the day was out.

  Honestly, that was probably the easiest solution. Bend instead of fighting. Let him win her over however he intended to and fast-track this process to getting back to civilization. It would be a different kind of battle of wills, but surely she could prevail… Couldn’t she?

  Unless she was just twisting herself into knots in an excuse to take what she wanted from this man. She wasn’t a bad daughter, a horrible heir, if she had to seduce Dante to get free.

  She shook her head. “Honesty, Rose.” Honestly, she had no way out. From her little tour of the cabin yesterday after getting dressed, there were no exits or windows that she could climb out of. The odds were stacked against her, and with time of the essence, she’d have to use every tool available. That was the truth.

  But not the full truth.

  The uncomfortable fact remained that while she might have thought herself in love with Jackson Smith, she’d never desired him with the ferocity she desired Dante. Things had been comfortable with Jackson. Nice. Sweet. Safe. A counter to the rest of her life, a selfish little vacation for only her every time she went to his apartment.

  There was no separating Dante from her world. He was in it up to his eyeballs. She didn’t have to pretend right now, and even if he was the enemy, that truth attracted her. He wasn’t expecting her to be above reproach or be thinking of anyone but herself. Not her family, not her people. She couldn’t help being drawn to that. She didn’t have to pretend with him. Not anymore. He didn’t want her because she was Rose
Romanov, heir to the Romanov empire in New York.

  He only wanted her.

  She followed the sound of music to the other side of the kitchen and a door she hadn’t seen last night because it was cleverly tucked into a little nook in the wall. It had been left cracked open, and she used a single finger to press it open farther. Inside was a home gym, but like everything else in this “rustic” cabin, it was the height of luxury. There was a treadmill and rowing machine tucked in the far corner and a selection of free weights set up, complete with rack and bench.

  Dante was on his back on the bench, shirtless and sweaty, pressing up a truly impressive amount of weight stacked on either side of the bar. He was relatively vulnerable like this, or at least she’d assume that if she didn’t know better. No matter what he said about their theoretical future, Dante wasn’t going to let her hurt him just to make her happy. He wanted her, but he wanted her in a specific way and at a specific time. No matter how he pretended to react when she threatened him, she knew men like him.

  He might not lay a finger on her, but he would use every other tool in his arsenal against her. If somehow her family found this cabin, he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt them if they tried to take her from him.

  She couldn’t keep playing things so harshly. Doing so put the people she loved in danger, either from the Capparelli family or from Dante himself. Rose couldn’t live with either option. Better to play along and make him think he was winning her over in some twisted version of Beauty and the Beast. The sooner he dropped his guard, the sooner she could do what needed to be done in order to free herself. And if she got what she wanted out of it in the process, too?

  Well, she was only human.

  No reason to think too hard about it. She was better suited to action, after all. Rose took a slow breath, squared her shoulders, and walked into the gym. Dante didn’t notice her until she was nearly beside him, and his only reaction was to raise his brows. The steady ascent and descent of the weight never changed.

  Not even when she straddled him.