by Ava Walsh
“And where does he live?” she asked.
“Florida. Very far away from New York,” he replied and Sylvia slowly stood up from the chair.
“You should eat something,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral, but he was actually desperate to hold her. He wanted to do everything he could to keep her in the room, to continue talking to her. Sylvia smiled, a wide sarcastic smile.
“I don’t want to eat at the house of a man who doesn’t want me around. I know when I’m not wanted somewhere,” she said, smoothening the skirt of her dress. She looked down at her dress as she did it and Fedor took the time to take in his fill of her, of how beautiful she looked, to burn that image of her in his head.
“Sylvia I wouldn’t ever do something to put you in harm’s way. You’ll be safe in Florida,” he said, as quietly and reassuringly as possible. How was he supposed to explain to her that he was sending her away so that he could behave himself? She didn’t deserve him. She deserved better. A normal life with a normal decent man. She was too young to understand what a life with him, a relationship with him could mean.
“I’m just a plaything in all your hands. First in my father’s and then in my captor’s. Now I’m being passed on to another man who will only imprison me, just like you all have. All my life.” Rage and contempt were dripping from Sylvia’s voice as she hurled the words at him. They pinched Fedor.
“I’m sorry if you felt like a captive in my house,” he said and she remained quiet. Her breasts heaved with every deep breath she took in and let out. She was trying to keep her rage in check, she was trying to be well behaved. Her breasts were hidden by the fabric of her dress, but Fedor had no trouble imagining them again. He knew what they looked like, how they tasted. He could still feel her nipples inside his mouth, how sweet they tasted, how beautiful her skin smelt. How tight and warm she was, how quickly he had come inside her. She was like no woman he had ever met before, he was falling hard for her and she needed to leave now.
“I’ll do my bidding, Sir,” Sylvia said sarcastically. “When do you want me to leave?” Fedor clenched his jaw. She was making this more difficult than it had to be.
“In two hours. Pyotr is going with you, he will drop you off at Petrov’s home personally,” Fedor said and Sylvia turned to walk towards the door.
“I should go and pack then. Bye Fedor Volkov, it was nice meeting you,” she said when she turned to look at him at the door.
And then she was gone. He could hear her footsteps on the marble floor again, and with every step she took away from him, Fedor could hear his own heart breaking.
Sylvia Stern had stormed into his life. She fought him, resisted him, seduced him and charmed him and all of a sudden all he wanted to do was tell her everything. This girl, this young girl… he could never have imagined.
Fedor picked up a bowl of cold soup from the table and flung it to the wall behind him, growling in rage.
He heard Pyotr’s footsteps running to the door.
“Go the fuck away. Get out of here!” he screamed in Russian before Pyotr could open the door.
“Boss?” Pyotr said from the other side of the door, Fedor was panting. He was angry with everything, and most of all with himself.
“Just get her out of here. Out of my sight,” he screamed and smashed a glass on the floor next. He heard Pyotr’s retreating footsteps and finally began to calm down.
He needed whiskey, he needed more whiskey.
“Where is my fucking drink?” he thundered, not entirely sure if anybody had heard his command or not. He didn’t care, he just wanted to scream and yell and punch things.
Sylvia Stern was going away. He was sending her away. If luck would have it, he would never see her again. This is what was the right thing to do, for her sake. For the first time in his life, he was doing something that wasn’t selfish and he was doing it for her, because he knew that one more day with her and he would be so pathetically in love that he would never be able to turn this thing around.
Chapter Thirteen - Sylvia
At least Florida had the same weather as Puerto Rico and the view from her new room was similar, if not the same. Petrov Vasili’s home was large and stood to face a private beach as well. As soon as she arrived, Sylvia realized that she was alone in this house. This wasn’t Petrov’s family home, it was one of his many houses, which meant that Sylvia spent all of her days alone, by herself, followed around by a bodyguard who Petrov had assigned to her at Fedor’s orders.
It had been over six weeks since she had reached Florida, and now that she was back on the mainland, she wasn’t allowed to leave the house. There was no more strolling on the beach, she had no freedom here. Everybody’s fear was that she was being followed and she could be kidnapped or killed at any moment.
She hadn’t even heard from her father since he packed her bags and shuffled her into a private jet that took her to Puerto Rico. Petrov assured her that he was alive and safe, and trying to get things back under control. He just hadn’t got in touch with her because he didn’t want to tip off his enemies of his daughter’s whereabouts.
Sylvia had no need or even interest to change into proper clothes. She spent her days in her pajamas or a dressing gown, flipping through channels on the large screen TV in the lavish living room.
Her bodyguard Viktor always stood by, keeping his hands together, watching her every move.
She yearned for Fedor. She didn’t feel safe in this empty house, even with Viktor who never spoke to her. She missed Fedor’s company, his blue eyes, a chance to hold him again.
The experience was making her sick, and after six weeks of being alone in this deserted, nearly haunted mansion by a Florida beach, Sylvia woke up in her bed and broke into tears.
She had woken up with a splitting headache and she couldn’t bear it anymore. She jumped out of bed and ran to the toilet to throw up into the bathtub. She felt like all her insides were splashing out, her stomach was churning. She could feel her hair damp and matted to her forehead. This had happened several times over the past weeks, and Sylvia knew it could only mean one thing.
Still sitting hunched on the floor of the toilet, she reached for her bathrobe hanging from the back of the door. She wrapped it around her slim body and stood up, unsteadily on her feet.
She opened the door, stepped out into the room and then called for Viktor.
“Miss?” He appeared at the bedroom door, and she noticed the look of worry in his eyes.
“I got sick in the bathtub, again,” Sylvia said in a weak voice, pointing to the bathroom door.
“You should go lie down Miss. I’ll…I’ll take care of it,” Viktor said, rushing past her into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.
Sylvia gulped, her knees trembling as she watched the door shut. Then she dashed.
She ran out of the bedroom, hurried down the stairs, bunching up the robe in her hands. Then she ran to the front door and was out on the gravel path that led to the beach.
She smiled when she felt the fresh sea breeze on her face. The sun was strong and coastal as it shone on her and Sylvia walked with purpose. She was headed towards the waves. She wanted to sit on the sand, feel the waves lapping at her feet. It was where she could feel closest to Fedor. Taste a slice of freedom, even if only for a few minutes till Viktor found her again.
Sylvia ran as fast as she could till her bare feet touched the sand. She finally felt free again. She could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks.
She collapsed at the edge of the waves. The scent of the sea was strong in her nostrils, it pricked her skin and she knew she was going to be sick again.
She threw up into the water, the waves crashing gently all around her. She knew she was very close to the edge but she didn’t care anymore.
She could never escape this life. She could never have a normal life or a job. The one ray of hope that she had found in this life was Fedor but he didn’t want her either. She was just a silly spoilt girl to him.
Sylvia felt sick, sicker than she was feeling when she first woke up. She rested her face against the cold damp sand and lay down. The water crashed all around her and she knew she’d drown if she stayed there any longer.
And then there were hands on her body, on her shoulders, dragging her. Sylvia blinked, trying to open her eyes to the sun but she couldn’t. She felt weak, like water was stuck in her lungs and she couldn’t breathe.
She could see Fedor’s face in front of her, but she knew it was Viktor holding her, dragging her back to safety, away from the waves. But she wanted it to be Fedor, she wanted it to be him who saved her.
She wanted to cry, she wanted to breathe but the world was closing in on her. She had made a mistake, she wanted to take it all back. What had she done? She was going to lose her baby. She was going to lose Fedor’s baby. Sylvia couldn’t even cry, her brain was shutting down.
Chapter Fourteen - Fedor
Fedor had dragged her out of the water, and now Sylvia was lying on the couch in Petrov’s living room, still not conscious.
He had arrived at the house to find Viktor in the bathroom, cleaning the tub and by the time he had run down the gravel path he could see Sylvia walking directly into the waves.
Fedor ran his hands through his hair over and over again. Pyotr had followed him into the waters too, but he had flung Sylvia over his shoulders and carried her back. She wouldn’t do it on purpose, he knew she wouldn’t do something like that on purpose. She was depressed in this house, sick and alone. In that moment he hated Will for abandoning his daughter, and he hated himself for sending her away.
“I’m sorry, Boss. I didn’t think she would leave the house,” Viktor was groveling. He was very close to crying, afraid that he was going to be punished for his inability to keep Sylvia safe. Fedor paced the floor of the room. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t think straight.
Sylvia was wet, her robe was soaked, her hair was damp and she lay peacefully on the couch, at least still breathing.
“Boss, I’m sorry,” Viktor said again and this time Fedor lost it. In one swift blow, he punched Viktor, hitting him against the jaw. He felt like his knuckle cracked, but Sylvia woke up.
“Fedor!” she cried with her first breath. He turned to find her struggling to sit up on the couch.
“Did you just punch Viktor?” she asked as he rushed to her.
“Sylvia, what were you thinking?” he asked, grabbing her by the neck and pulling her close to his chest. He knelt beside her on the floor and looked into her large watery brown eyes.
“It isn’t his fault. I tricked him,” she said, looking up at his face. He didn’t care that Pyotr and Viktor were looking, that they could see him close to kissing Will Stern’s daughter.
“Why did you do that, Sylvia?” he asked and she rubbed her palms on her cheeks.
“I got sick, I fainted. I just wanted to sit on the beach. I wasn’t trying to do anything,” she said, and she looked like she shivered.
“Get her a fresh robe and some towels. Go now,” Fedor barked and both the other men ran out of the room.
“You gave us a scare,” Fedor said, letting go of her neck and standing up. The look in Sylvia’s eyes changed, they hardened again. The sour note that they had parted ways in Puerto Rico returned.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him and Fedor took in a deep breath, pushing his hands deep into his pockets.
“I thought I’d come by and check on you. I’m on my way back to Chicago now,” he said as Pyotr came in with fresh towels and a robe. He handed them over to Sylvia who started dabbing her face and her hair with them.
“Boss?” Pyotr said but Fedor asked him to leave them alone.
Sylvia straightened herself and positioned her back against the back of the couch, while Fedor remained standing, a few feet away from her.
“I’m going to change into this new robe now,” she said, looking at him directly. Fedor gulped, nodded and looked away.
He had come here to check up on her, because as much as he trusted Petrov and Viktor, he didn’t trust them with Sylvia. That was all it was. He didn’t need any more temptation.
“I’m fine, Fedor. I didn’t need checking up on,” she said and he couldn’t help but turn his face to look.
The discarded robe was lying bunched up at her seat, but she hadn’t put on the new one either. Instead, she was sitting there with one of the towels in her hand, she was dabbing her damp skin with it. She was naked. Her nipples were puckered in the cold, there were goosebumps on her dark smooth skin. Her brown eyes glowed when she caught him looking.
“What are you really here for?” she asked him, and Fedor breathed in again. It was too late to pretend like he hadn’t seen.
She was sitting with her bare legs slightly parted so that he could see her pussy. Where he had slid into her six weeks ago, where he had burst into her.
“I came to check up on you,” he repeated himself and Sylvia smiled.
“You thought I was going to kill myself,” she said and Fedor licked his lips.
“I saw you walking into the water,” he replied and Sylvia laughed.
“And you immediately decided that I was too depressed to live anymore,” she said and to his surprise, Sylvia stood up from the couch.
Now she was standing directly in front of him, naked with her legs apart. She was so close to him and yet so far away, too far away to touch. Her breasts were perfect, her head was held high. She was challenging him to control himself. He could feel his dick move in his pants. She saw it too, his growing erection.
“I wanted to make sure you were safe,” Fedor said and turned away from her.
“I thought you trusted your friend, you trusted Viktor,” he heard her say, and he clenched his jaw. What did she want from him? Wasn’t it enough that she was torturing him? Did she want him to admit it too?
“I hope you feel better soon, Sylvia. It was a mistake coming here,” Fedor said and was about to walk towards the door, but she stopped him. Not physically, but with what she said to him.
“I’m pregnant, Fedor. I’m pregnant with your child,” Sylvia said, and Fedor had no other choice but to whip around and look at her.
She remained standing naked, her head held high and she challenged him with her eyes. She didn’t need him. She just wanted him to know.
Chapter Fifteen - Sylvia
She hadn’t meant to tell him, it just came tumbling out. And now Fedor was looking at her like he didn’t believe a word she had just said.
“You’re pregnant?” he thundered and rushed towards her, and yet kept his distance. Sylvia turned around and picked up the fresh robe and slid it over her shoulders, but she left it hanging, open so that he could still see a part of her naked.
“That’s why I’m sick. I’m not depressed. Just pregnant,” Sylvia said as calmly as possible. Fedor’s eyes were a dark blue now, she was witnessing a new side to him.
“Why didn’t you…” he began to say but she smiled, she knew what he was going to say.
“Tell you? Why would you want to know? You wanted to have nothing to do with me,” Sylvia said and finally tied the chord around her waist. He was breathing hard, his wide shoulders were shaking as she could see that he was trying to control his rage.
“If it’s my child, I would want to know,” Fedor said, taking a few threatening steps towards her. She didn’t move away from him, she wasn’t afraid.
“It doesn’t matter anyway. You don’t have to be a part of my baby’s life,” she said and Fedor suddenly grabbed her by the arms.
“Why? Because you don’t want a dirty criminal scoundrel to be your child’s father?” he yelled, louder than she had ever heard his voice. Then his hands relaxed on her arms and he let her go. Sylvia breathed in and gave it a few seconds before she spoke.
“I know you’re not like all the others. You won’t admit it, but you’re not a dirty criminal,” she said, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice. She wanted
him to agree, she so badly wanted him to tell her the truth.
“You saw the tattoos,” he said gruffly.
“You’ve been to prison, so what? You’re nothing like my father. Nothing like the others,” Sylvia protested, throwing herself against his body. Fedor peeled her away from him and held her at arm’s length, looking her directly into her eyes.
“I’m in the mob, Sylvia, I’m just like them,” he said and she felt the tears bubbling up. She was in love with him, she was going to be the mother of his child. This was not what she wanted to hear, she knew it wasn’t the truth. She knew Fedor kept away from the rest. He was respected and feared in the mafia, but she had never heard stories of violence involving him. Why was he holding on to his past? Sylvia cried, struggled to be free of his grip but he wasn’t willing to let go.
“Sylvia, I’ve done things, I’ve seen things. I’m not proud of any of it,” he said, tightening his grip on her arms so that it started to pinch her skin.
“But that’s in the past,” she said, hopeful again. Fedor let go of her arms.
“Yes, in the past. But I still have a reputation. People still think the same of me,” he said, taking a few steps away from her.
“You did it to survive. You were born into this world, you didn’t know any better,” she said, tears still streaming down her cheeks as she watched him stepping away from her. He was going to leave again.
“A reformed criminal is still a criminal. All my money, all my power comes from the crimes I committed in the past,” he said, and he looked like he was suddenly afraid of himself. Sylvia followed him, walked towards him till his back was against the wall and he had nowhere else to go.
She was nearly half his size, and yet he was the one inching away from her.
“I told you before, Fedor, there is so much you can do with what you have. You can give back. Right the wrong. If you really want to,” she said, reaching out her hand to touch his face.
“I’m going to be a father…Sylvia, will you let me be a father?” he said and she bit down on her lip. She had never thought she would see him again, and here he was, asking her the one question she had wanted to hear all these days.