by Rose, Emery
“Were you tailing me? Just like the good old days?” I asked, keeping my tone light and joking.
“Did you let him fuck you?”
My stomach churned. This was sick. Why was he asking me that?
Maybe he didn’t know who Deacon was. Maybe these were the only photos he had. He had no way of knowing if I was lying about this. My self-preservation instincts kicked in. “Seriously? You know I’m not that kind of girl.” I laughed like the very notion was ridiculous.
Anthony knew I had sex with Sasha, but he also knew that I didn’t sleep around and had kept guys at arm’s-length.
“I guess we’ll see what kind of girl you are tonight. I have a special surprise for you.”
His smile told me I wouldn’t like this surprise. “What’s the surprise?” I forced a smile like I was excited by the prospect.
“You have ten minutes to get ready. If you choose to disobey me, I’ll dress you myself.”
Disobey me?
* * *
I stared out the window as we crossed the bridge and decided that I hated Anthony’s cologne. Absolutely detested it. I was choking on it. When I’d opened the window earlier, he had closed it. I wasn’t even allowed to open the fucking window. We were Manhattan-bound in the backseat of a black Mercedes G-Class driven by a thug in a dark suit who supposedly didn’t speak English. After Anthony had decreed that I get ready, I had locked myself in the bathroom and I had done as he asked. Some battles were worth losing to win the war. I just needed to figure out which war we were fighting.
Information was power. I needed more of it. I angled my body toward Anthony, determined to figure out what this psychopath was planning.
Before I had a chance to process what was happening, he took my left hand in his and slid a ring on my finger. It fit perfectly. I stared at the rock on my ring finger. A princess cut diamond that had to be at least three carats. I hated diamonds. I didn’t understand why women wanted them for their engagement rings. They were so cold. And he’d just jammed it on my finger with no sweet words or explanation.
Had he popped the question? Had I agreed to this? No. And no.
“What is this?” I asked, too shocked to even pry it off my finger and throw it in his face.
“You’re going to be my wife. It’s traditional to give your fiancée an engagement ring.”
My laughter bordered on manic. Oh, my God. If Anthony thought for one minute that I was going to marry him, he was delusional. This was all so crazy I felt like I’d been dropped into an alternate universe.
Anthony scowled at me. That made me laugh harder. This was too ludicrous to even take seriously. For some reason, that calmed me down. I would just play along and ride this crazy train until I figured out where it was headed. Then I would…I didn’t know what I’d do. I would just have to play it by ear and then I’d figure something out.
“Do you love me, Anthony?”
“Since when is love a pre-requisite for marriage?” He sounded amused, like my question was too naïve to be taken seriously.
“You’re not marrying me for love?”
“Why do you insist on talking about love?” He sounded exasperated, put out by my questions as if I was harping on something that was unreasonable to ask your future husband. Over my dead body, although let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. “This has nothing to do with love.”
Keep talking, Anthony. Spill your secrets and I’ll crucify you. “What does it have to do with?”
“Do you know what it’s like to clean up another man’s messes and get nothing in return but a bottle of whiskey?”
Sorry, dude, but you chose that job of your own free will and now you’re whining about it?
“So, I’m the prize for all your hard work that went unnoticed?”
He laughed humorlessly. “If your ego wants to believe you’re a prize, then by all means, consider yourself the prize.”
Asshole.
“You were the jewel in your father’s crown. His beloved daughter.”
And now that he’s been stripped of his kingdom, you plan on finishing the job. This was almost sicker and more twisted than the things my father had done. Would I ever stop being a pawn in someone’s game?
Was my moral compass so twisted that I used to believe that Anthony was one of the ‘good guys’? He’d never been a good guy.
Anthony had always schooled his features, so his emotions didn’t show. But underneath the calm veneer was a cold, calculating man. A man who had been biding his time, patiently waiting to carve out a piece of his own kingdom.
“And how exactly do I fit into your plans? You know how I roll, Anthony. I turned over information on my own father. Why would you want me in your life? I can’t be trusted.”
“Back then, you felt like you had nothing to lose. Nobody you wanted to protect, except yourself. But that’s changed, hasn’t it?”
Ice froze my spine. I had people in my life I loved. People who loved me. I would do anything to protect them, and Anthony had figured that out. He saw the photos on my wall. My family—
the brothers I adored and their wives, my closest friends. And Deacon. Deacon. Anthony, or someone he’d put up to the job, had seen me with him. The photos had captured the genuine smile on my face. Even a fool could see that I was in love with Deacon.
“I wouldn’t like to think that Kosta Nikolevsky is an obstacle standing in our way. What a shame if he ended up with a bullet in his head.”
Oh. My. God.
I turned my head away from him and squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to take the next breath.
“Now that you know where we stand, I trust you won’t do anything foolish, Babygirl.”
I vowed to myself that I would do whatever it took to protect Deacon, even if it meant going along with Anthony’s plan until I dug up enough information to send his ass to prison. I straightened my spine and lifted my chin. This was war, and I was going into battle. I was, after all, my father’s daughter and if he’d taught me anything, it was that you had to use every weapon in your arsenal.
Moments later, the Mercedes pulled up outside the Four Seasons and another thug in a suit ushered a man I hadn’t seen in three years into the backseat next to me. Of course, I should have figured this out sooner.
“It’s so good to see you again, my dear,” Ivan said.
“It’s so good to see you, too.” I lied with a smile on my face.
I had no idea that this was just a dress rehearsal for tonight’s performance.
Foolishly, I thought that nothing else could shock me tonight. I was so wrong. So very, very wrong.
22
Deacon
We were standing at the bar in an obscenely expensive Russian restaurant on Central Park South waiting for Petrov. Slavic folk music played from the baby grand and red-fringed ceiling lights hung from an ornate red-and-gold engraved ceiling. Paintings of the motherland decorated the walls and hookers decorated the arms of rich, old men. Two of those hookers had been hired by Dmitri for tonight’s celebration—a brunette and a blonde. He called them both ‘bitch,’ so he didn’t have to commit their names to memory. He’d just sent them off to ‘powder their noses’ when she walked in.
She looked so fucking beautiful I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her.
Her sleeveless midnight blue dress shimmered in the soft lighting. Molded to every curve of her body, it stopped just above the knee. Sexy. Classy. Elegant. My gaze traveled down her legs to black stilettos that wrapped around her ankle and back to her face. Our eyes met across the room and hers widened in shock. Just as quickly, she recovered and locked it down, the mask slipping into place. She was good. Her face betrayed zero emotion. Her hair was pulled back, a few tendrils framing her face refusing to be corralled. I was so busy taking in every detail of her that it took me a few seconds to notice the man next to her. Mid-thirties, dark hair, a face that was hard but could be considered handsome, a dark suit that looked expensive.
This was not Pe
trov.
She tucked her arm in his and smiled at him. If I didn’t know better, I would think the smile was genuine. But I knew her different smiles and I saw that it was fake, the brilliant smile she used as armor. My eyes lowered to the hand holding a clutch purse. She’d readjusted her hold so I could see the fingers of her left hand.
Fuck me.
I drained the vodka in my glass and set it on the bar. All the vodka in the world wasn’t going to help me tonight.
* * *
Our cozy dinner took place in a private dining room that Dmitri had reserved. The crystals of a chandelier dripped from a ceiling painted with cherubs and nymphs, and the long, oval dining table was draped in white silky fabric with gold fringe. The chairs were red velvet trimmed in gold. The wall sconces were gold. It was fucking awful. Amidst all this fake grandeur designed to look like a cheap knock-off of a palace dining room in St. Petersburg, Keira was holding court. Her performance was so convincing it was Oscar-worthy. Nobody at the table would recognize that she was playing a role, except for me. And perhaps Anthony who watched her like a hawk.
Dmitri was enamored with her. Even Leon had graced her with a rare smile. The other two women at the table were merely part of the stage set. They had no lines to speak, no entrances to make. Keira Shaughnessy was the star attraction tonight. And she was pulling out all the stops.
“Kosta, you’re looking well.” She eyed me over the rim of her martini glass. She had ordered it with Beluga Gold Line and a twist. Which suited the occasion. This night was twisted. “I barely recognized you tonight.”
Okay, so we knew each other. Good to know. I was going to fucking kill Casarico and the field team for not alerting me to this. I was flying blind and had to take my cues from Keira, all the while wondering what Anthony was holding over her head. “That’s the power of an expensive suit and a haircut. It can even transform a bum like me.” I gave her a slow, easy grin. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
She laughed. “I have my moments. Anthony surprised me with the dress and shoes. He’s always been so thoughtful.”
What I heard: He’s always been a controlling asshole. Tread carefully.
“I didn’t realize you had a boyfriend.”
“A fiancé,” Anthony corrected me.
“My mistake.”
Keira smiled and held out her ring for closer inspection. It was expensive and garish and not her style. “Another surprise.”
“Nice,” I said, meaning the opposite.
“Small world,” Dmitri said, his voice tight. “I didn’t realize you knew Ronan Shaughnessy’s daughter.” He pinned me with a look of accusation.
I leaned back in my seat and took a sip of my beer. “I didn’t realize she was Ronan Shaughnessy’s daughter until tonight. She gave me a fake name, didn’t you Gracie?”
She shrugged and toyed with the stem of her martini glass. “You can never be too careful. I am, after all, my father’s daughter. I keep my circle small and trust very few people. Besides, I figured you were a player.” Her gaze drifted to the blonde on my right. I’d forgotten she was there. “Turns out I was right to be careful.”
Dmitri laughed and gave me a slap on the back, his good humor restored. “I have a feeling Kosta gets his fair share of pussy.”
“No shortage on that front. Can’t complain,” I said with a grin.
Keira’s eyes flared for an instant and she nearly choked on her bite of blini topped with caviar. She covered up by draining the rest of her martini and lifted her glass as the server passed, asking for another one. She met Anthony’s scowl with a big smile. If this whole evening—watching her and knowing she’d been dragged into the middle of something I’d tried to protect her from—didn’t have my stomach twisted into knots, the show would be entertaining as hell.
She stared at the blinis and caviar that I’d left untouched on my plate. “You’re not a fan of caviar?”
“Not particularly.”
“Mmm. I love it.” She shoved an entire blini with caviar and all the toppings into her mouth and licked her fingers when she was done eating it. My gaze moved to Anthony who had been quiet most of the evening, but I had felt him watching me. I read the warning in his eyes. Stay away from Keira. Don’t even fucking look at her.
What was he holding over her head? He was keeping a close watch on her, so I had to be careful not to make this worse for her. But I needed to know she wasn’t in danger. Whatever happened tonight, there was no way in hell she was going back to her apartment with him. Or to his hotel. Or anywhere with him.
I finished my beer and signaled to the server. She was a buttoned-up woman, her hair pulled back in a tight bun that looked painful, light makeup, and glasses. She wasn’t dressed to call attention to herself, spoke in low, modulated tones if at all, to the point that nobody in the room noticed she was there. “Can I get another beer?”
“Certainly, sir.”
I pushed back my chair and threw my napkin on the table, following her out of the private dining room and closing the door behind me under the guise of going to the Men’s Room.
I jerked my chin toward the hallway, and she followed me to the end of it and around the corner. I pushed open a door that said Cloakroom and flipped the light switch, checking that the room was empty before ushering her inside and closing the door behind us.
“Last I heard we were all on the same team.” And they called me a maverick. The feds were supposed to be passing on their intel to us. They knew damn well the NYPD had a man inside, and that man was me. It was my neck on the line. My girlfriend being dragged into this mess. “Why wasn’t I informed of this?”
“We need more information.”
I narrowed my eyes. “More information.”
“Keira Shaughnessy is a person of interest.”
A person of interest. The fuck? It was a handy little term to throw around and it meant jack shit. “Why? Because of who her father is? She’s not involved in any of this.”
“If this is personal, leave your emotions at the door.”
If this was personal. “It would be a lot easier to do that if I knew that she wasn’t in any danger. I don’t want her involved in this. I don’t want that man anywhere near her. So, I need to know what the plan is to ensure her safety.”
She fixed me with a look. “You do your job and let us do ours.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath, trying to keep my shit together. She was implying that Dmitri and his crew were my job, Petrov was theirs. If I had to choose between my job and Keira, I would choose Keira, but in twenty-four hours this would all be over.
Just one more day.
“Does your job include protecting Anthony Brennan’s fiancée?”
“Yes. She’ll have protection. She’ll be safe.” Her tone of voice was meant to be reassuring. As reassuring as a person with a clipped voice and a no-nonsense attitude could be. So I nodded and on that happy note, I returned to the dinner from hell.
“Keira was such a good friend to my son, Sasha,” Ivan told the table as I took my seat.
“He was my best friend,” she said with a sad smile. It was the first time that she had sounded genuine all night.
Ivan smiled and patted her hand, his eyes on the cross around her neck. “I’m so happy to see you honor his memory.”
“I never take this cross off. I think about him often.”
Anthony didn’t like that answer. His eyes darkened and his jaw clenched. He put his arm around Keira, a possessive gesture. I saw her flinch, almost imperceptibly. I also saw the way he squeezed her shoulder, more tightly than a romantic gesture would suggest, as if he was trying to keep her in line.
Her eyes met mine. She was miserable and she was scared. That fucker. What had he said to her to get her to agree to this farce? She averted her gaze before she gave away more, and the conversation continued around us.
The vodka flowed, the caviar was consumed. More dishes were served. Lamb. Beef. Potatoes. Russi
an food to warm the soul, or so Ivan Petrov claimed. He had shrewd blue eyes, graying brown hair, and a powerful build. It would be a mistake to underestimate him, but whenever he talked about his son, his features softened, and his eyes got misty. Sasha had been Petrov’s Achilles heel and I was willing to bet that someone had known that and used it against him.
* * *
“There are two kinds of women,” Ivan said. “The ones you marry, the mother of your children… and the ones who become your whores.”
“Bitches need to know their place,” Dmitri agreed. “Sometimes they overstep the line.”
“Indeed,” Ivan said. “Women need to accept which category they fall into and act accordingly. Too many women don’t understand that sex is a physical act. If a married man strays, it doesn’t mean anything. Who wants a steady diet of caviar? Sometimes you want to try a different item on the menu.”
Dmitri laughed, har har har, like Ivan had said something both clever and hilarious.
“And which category do I fall into?” Keira asked, amused. She was on her third martini. It had made her bolder and her eyes kept seeking out mine which was pissing off Anthony. I could see him getting more agitated as the night wore on.
“I’m marrying you,” Anthony said as if he was patiently explaining something to a child. I knew I’d disliked the man even before I met him. Tonight had confirmed that. “So, I should think it would be self-explanatory.”
“Hmm, I don’t know. I can be a bitch sometimes.”
Anthony laughed. “I know. I’ve seen it firsthand. But never with me, Babygirl.” He took the martini out of her hand and set it down across the table out of her reach. “You’ve always loved me, haven’t you? Ever since you were twelve.”
“I had a crush on you, and you knew it.” She laughed at the memory, but her laughter was forced, and her eyes were on the martini he’d taken away from her.