by Nicole Fox
Lev takes my hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. It was a pleasure to meet you. We’ll talk again after the dinner.”
As he guides me toward the red tables, I turn to see my parents. My father’s face is turning a ruddy pink while my mother is whispering to him, her hand on his chest.
I try to think that it could have been worse. But then again, the night isn’t over yet.
The dinner is flank steak with blue cheese, fried potatoes, and roasted veggies. The steak nearly melts in my mouth, incredibly tender and saturated with flavor. It’s almost good enough to make me forget that my life is falling apart around me.
Lev seems to barely notice how good the food is, seeming more focused on drinking than eating. He’s managed to keep up appearances as we talk to our four other tablemates—all generous donors like everyone else on the red side—but I can feel that his mind is elsewhere. His movements are slower and less deliberate than usual.
“Ally.”
I turn to see my father behind me and stand up, nearly tripping in my shoes.
“Dad,” I say. “Hi.”
“We need to talk for a moment,” he says. “Come outside with me.”
He starts walking away without waiting for my response. I turn to Lev. He takes a gulp of his drink, watching me over the edge of the glass.
“Should I go?” I ask him.
“He’s going to question you at some point,” he says. He smiles at Mr. Campbell and his secretary, who have switched their focus to our conversation. “Her father hates me,” he says to them, shrugging. “Unfortunately for me, he’s the chief of police, so if I’m arrested later, you’ll know why.”
Mr. Campbell laughs and his secretary follows suit.
I leave the ballroom. My father isn’t anywhere in the lobby, so I continue out the front doors. He’s lingering at the edge of the sidewalk—a man no longer certain where the boundary is.
“How could you go for someone like him?” my father demands as soon as I step up next to him. I open my mouth, prepared with a lie, but he spins around, his hand cutting through the air between us. “No, honestly, I don’t care about that. You need to end it now.”
He’s nearly shaking with anger. Lev and I had prepared ourselves, armed to the teeth with lies, but I wasn’t ready to see my father so upset.
I focus on the sidewalk edge. “You can’t decide these things for me anymore.”
“This isn’t a request, Ally. I’m telling you this because I care about you. He’s not a good person. You’re going to end it.”
He knows.
I form the words in my head—the “I love him” speech, the “I’m not a little girl” speech, the waterworks, if necessary. But that’s not what comes out.
“I don’t care what type of person he is,” my mouth enunciates. “He’s important to me. I’m sorry if that hurts you.”
He stares at me. I keep my gaze down as the seconds pass by.
“What is going on with you?” he says. “You keep this a secret from us, you bring him here without telling us, and now you’re blatantly disrespecting me?”
I turn around. “I can’t talk to you until you’ve calmed down—”
My father blocks me from going back to the hotel. “He’s deeply involved in the Bratva.”
My breath gets caught in my chest, which is lucky because my anxiety must resemble shock as my father nods at me.
“We don’t have any proof, but we’re certain he’s powerful within the Russian Bratva. I don’t know what his plan is by dating you, but I don’t need to know anything. You just need to get into a car right now and leave. I’ve already called a car service.”
“I’m not—I can’t leave,” I say. It looks like Lev’s proposal scenario might not play out like we thought and I don’t know what will happen to our deal if his plan doesn’t work—likely Jeffrey Douglas’ death will come out and the fallout will be dire.
“Why not?” my father demands.
I wish I could say that my only motivation is covering up Douglas’ death, but another side of me sees us married and it’s not the worst circumstance. It paints me in a bad light. Ethical Ally, shacking up with a criminal. What a shitty person I must be, willing to let every heart break to pursue my lust.
“Because I don’t believe you,” I lie. I see the shock on his face. It gives me enough of an advantage to open the hotel door and slip back in. I rush back into the ballroom, the dress feeling restrictive now.
I go to a corner, trying to catch my breath. The backs of my ankles hurt from my shoes rubbing against them, but the pain grounds me. I close my eyes tight, resting my forehead against the wall.
Get up. Let’s see if your high horse protects you, Jeffrey’s voice whispers in my ear. I have no moral standing anymore. I traded it all for a hot touch and a filthy night with a beast.
I let my clutch fall to my feet. I picture it being my bag instead and witnessing the pepper spray fall out. I recall grabbing it, thoughtlessly spraying Jeffrey in the face.
I see his head jolt back. I hear his screams, like metal scraping metal. He rubs his eyes, but it only makes it worse. He’s coughing. He’s choking. He’s falling onto his knees. His hands are clenched. His face is red. His hands are limp. All color fades from his skin.
His dead hand is on me. It’s grabbing me, trying to pull me down to hell with him. I try to shake it off, but it grabs me harder. It pulls me toward him.
But his chest is Lev’s chest, which I could recognize anywhere.
I open my eyes. Lev’s face comes into focus. He’s holding me so tight that my ribs can barely move, but instead of feeling suffocating, it calms me down. He kisses below my ear, his mouth lingering there like a secret.
When he lets me go, the past becomes something that is trying to test me and I no longer feel the need to be put on trial by it. He takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor.
There’s so much I need to tell him, but right now, the silence between us is an acquittal I desperately need.
13
Lev
Every time I look at Allison, I’m gripped by fear. It’s fear that I’ve never known before. I’m afraid that she’s an illusion and my hands will pass right through her. I’m afraid that she will see she has as much clout as me as in this deal and walk away from it. I’m afraid that she’s going to get hurt or even killed. I’m afraid that one day she’ll use that power over me to stab a knife into my back.
With my arm around her waist while we dance, she brings out an uncivil side of my mind. The way a few strands of her hair have fallen from her bun and are brushing against her cheek. The way her body feels under my hands with every one of her steps. The way her feet always miss the third beat. The soft smile on her face. It mostly makes me want to tear off her clothes and fuck her on one of these tables, but another part of me would be equally fine with just taking her away from the crowd and drinking in my den.
I want her to be mine in every way.
“I’m sorry about my father,” she mentions. “He’s usually levelheaded.”
“He didn’t kill me, which was one of my concerns,” I say. I pull her closer, so we can keep our voices low.
“He knows about your connections.” She brushes a strand of hair away from her face. “Your, uh, your other business.”
“I get it,” I say. “I knew he would. That was why you couldn’t tell him beforehand. This whole black tie affair is less for him than it is for all of his colleagues and the people who keep the police force well-funded.”
Her fingers touch my elbow. Of all the touches I’ve received from women before, this one is the hottest. This one stirs me the most. It brings my cock to rigid attention.
“I thought you’d be more worried about your plan,” she says.
“He doesn’t want to be seen as an overprotective father that will arrest someone because they’re dating his daughter.” I put my mouth closer to her ear. “That’s the whole plan.”
She nods, her chin brushing aga
inst my shoulder. I brush my lips against her temple.
“You should stop worrying about it,” I say. “Just focus on getting everyone else to believe we’re in love.”
She pulls slightly away and gives me a quick look, her eyes reminding me of the ocean at night—dark, turbulent, inscrutable. I can see she’s hurt by what I said. If she’s starting to fall for me, it could be good for my plan but dangerous for me. It’s a thin line to walk.
“Of course,” she whispers. “I get it. It’s a good plan.”
I pull her closer, not quite ready to let her succumb to her shame and sadness. My cock brushes against her thigh. I slide my leg between her legs, nudging them open a little farther. She raises an eyebrow at me, but we continue moving close to each other.
“Tell me,” I say.
“Tell you what?”
“How you think two people in love would act.”
“Well,” she muses. “The man would cradle her face, tell her that she was the most amazing woman he ever met, and carry her to the car when she’s too drunk to walk. He also wouldn’t blackmail her or try to seduce her in the middle of a gala.”
“I’m not that kind of man and you’re not that kind of drunk,” I say.
“We could change both of those things.”
“I’d rather not.”
She moves her hands up to my arms. I prefer her hands to be lower, but she’s looking up at me again, which makes it a decent compromise.
“Then how do you think two people in love would act?” she asks.
I move closer to her ear again, my cheek brushing against hers. “They’d be fucking constantly.”
I feel her shiver. “That seems time-consuming.”
I kiss her cheek before pulling away again. “Love doesn’t need to make sense.”
It’s hard to hold back my desire for her now. I’ve imagined her in every position in this room—pressed up against the wall, bent over the table, on top of the bar, her head between my legs. The only reason I haven’t done it is because I’m aware that her father could walk back into the ballroom and it would guarantee a shot in my head.
But as Allison looks at me, her pussy rocking up against my thigh and desire singing in the darkness of her pupils, I’d almost be willing to take a bullet if it means I could fuck her now.
I lean down, kissing her. Her mouth crumples against mine for a second before she kisses me back just as intensely. I grip her hips as her thumbs press harder into my skin. I could never be close enough to her until I’m inside her. She’s everything to me right now.
There’s a vibration between us. At first, I conclude it’s a strange reaction from our bodies, but as it continues, I pull away. I pat the sides of my jacket, finding my phone. Allison looks at me, her expression dazed for several seconds before she bows her head, turning away from me.
Fuck.
It’s Ilya. I consider ignoring it, giving Allison all of my attention, but I know it’s a mistake to trade Bratva time for a woman’s affection. It won’t lead to anything but my own prison sentence.
I walk off the dance floor, feeling everyone’s eyes on me as I put the phone up to my ear. Allison and I must have had an audience.
“Ilya,” I answer. “What’s going on?”
“It’s not good,” Ilya says. “Our newest recruit, Rodion. He’s dead.”
“The Colosimos,” I say.
“They haven’t taken credit, but it wasn’t a good scene,” he says. “He was mutilated. Missing body parts. His wife called us after she called the police, so we couldn’t clean up.”
“Keep your eyes open. We’ll retaliate once we know more,” I say. He doesn’t say anything. “Ilya?”
“Yes,” he says. “Good.”
I hang up. I know what he’s thinking—I’m going soft. Allison is whittling me down to someone who will take a hit without hitting back. But the last time the Colosimos retaliated, Allison almost got killed. If it were just me, I’d lead with a scorched earth tactic, but I can’t risk the chief’s daughter, especially now that everyone important knows we’re dating.
I turn. Allison is at the bar, ordering a drink. I need to tell her about the Colosimos. I need her to be more prepared than Rodion’s wife if something happens to me.
And God, I need to fuck her.
We leave the ballroom not long after. I need an escape and tell Ally we need to talk. I can feel her father watching us with a death glare, but he doesn’t intervene. I wouldn’t be surprised if he follows us down to the ocean where we’re now standing, but I don’t hear his footsteps on the rough mix of sand and stone.
Ally picks up a small piece of driftwood. She tosses it out into the ocean where it disappears under a wave. I wait for it to resurface, but it never returns.
“What did you want to talk about?” she asks. She’s barefoot, her shoes in her hand. The city lights are a faint glow in the distance, transforming her into a silhouette, but when she moves closer toward me, the illumination from the hotel creates a shrine of light around her. It looks damn near like a halo.
“One of my men died tonight,” I say, pressing two fingers against the edge of a circle of large stone bricks. Inside, a teepee of sticks waits to be burned. “Killed by the Colosimos.”
“That’s terrible.” She veers closer, pulling herself up onto the stone bricks, and sits, setting her shoes down beside her. Her knees nearly brush up against me. “Were you close?”
I shake my head. “I don’t get close to anyone in the Bratva. I’m not telling you this to get your pity or sympathy. I need you to know because his wife fucked up. She called the police before she called us. The police can’t prove anything on a phone call, but it paints us in a bad light. Gets them looking in the right places. It also means that we had no time to cover up anything we needed to cover up before the police got there.”
Her knee taps against my waist. “If you want me to intervene in the police’s investigation, I can’t do that.”
“Getting you involved would only give the police a scent to locate me through,” I say. “No. I’m telling you because if I get killed, you need to know how to handle it and I know you’re not the type to blindly accept directions, so I’m giving you context. The Bratva is at war with the Colosimos. The man on the motorcycle was a member of their Mafia. If I’m killed, you need to burn down my office. Everything important is in there. If the police ask—”
“You want me to commit arson?” she interrupts.
“If they find out my connections to the Bratva, they’re going to assume you were complicit. The information about Jeffrey Douglas’ murder is hidden in the office as well, so arson will be the least of your problems.” I put my hand on her knee, which has started jiggling uncontrollably. It stops. “And you can convince them that whoever killed me was the one who set the fire.”
Her hands grip the edge of the firepit. When I try to take her hand, she tucks it under her thigh.
“Why can’t someone else do this?” she asks.
“Because it would look suspicious if someone else showed up at my house after I was killed. Their motives would be immediately questioned. The easy way to avoid that is to have someone who would have a good reason to be in my house—like my wife.”
Her mouth forms around the word ‘wife.’ She tucks her other hand under her thigh. “Why can’t you just tell me where the important things are, so I can get rid of them? Burning down your whole office seems excessive.”
I trace my finger around her knee, seeking an answer that she won’t despise me for, but I always end up with the same explanation.
“If you knew where information was that could be manipulated to implicate the Bratva, you would use it against me,” I say. “It’s well-hidden but it’s not fireproof. The best option I see is for you to burn everything down.”
She nods, more receptive to the truth than I thought. Almost suspiciously accepting of it.
“But this is all really unlikely, right?” she asks. “You killed that man a
fter he tried to kill us twice. You’re not going to die.”
“I’d imagine the Colosimos first sent someone who needed to prove himself—an amateur. He was too eager to shoot and that’s why he missed a shot that should have been easy.” My hand subconsciously reaches for my bullet wound. “It only takes a man with a little bit of patience. I have a public life as the owner of Mariya’s Revenge. If someone wants to kill me, they just need to wait for the right opportunity. And not miss their first shot.”
She sweeps back some of her hair, a shiver slipping through her. “I mean, as long as I inherit all of your money, it’s good.” She offers a nervous, half-hearted laugh.
“You’re not taking this seriously.”
She looks up at me suddenly. Her eyes are cold and her jaw is rigid, but there’s an emotion that’s less steady underneath her anger. “You don’t get to threaten me into marrying you, fuck me, and then talk about getting killed. Don’t drag me into your life and then tell me that you’re going to die and leave me stranded.”
I stare at her. In her own way, she’s right. I’m the tide, pulling her into the darkest parts of the ocean and telling her she may need to swim on her own soon. It’s cruel, but it’s also necessary. Part of the territory.
“Ilya will help you,” I tell her. “You just need to—”
Her laugh cuts me off. She starts pulling bobby pins out of her hair. Her hair comes out slowly, then all at once. She shakes her head, letting the pieces fall where they may.
“You are impossible,” she says. “I can follow instructions. You think that I’m worried about living in your mansion and burning your office down?”
“That’s what you were talking about.”