by Nic Saint
She should have known better than to get mixed up with the likes of Boris. She could have simply quit studying for a year, found a full-time job, and worked her ass off. Then returned to school and gotten her grade. She would have avoided so much trouble. Now she’d probably never return to college. Worse, she thought gloomily, in less than a week she would probably be dead, arson investigators scraping her DNA from the floor of this very room, where she would have met her end in a fiery inferno caused by some eager Gornakov. Or Demiakov. Or both.
A knock on the door startled her out of her gruesome reverie, and when she looked up and saw Alex appear, a sudden quickening of her pulse told her she’d been unconsciously awaiting this moment.
“Come in,” she said softly, wondering where he was staying in this rambling house.
“Did you get settled in all right?” he asked, a smile of concern etched on his handsome face.
“Yes, thanks.” She hugged her knees. “I keep wondering when the bomb will go off, or when the cars will come screeching around the corner, a dozen men in trench coats jumping out, wielding machine guns.”
He leaned against the doorjamb, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “You’ve seen too many movies. Mobsters don’t go around shooting people with submachine guns anymore.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “What do you guys use these days? Sawed-off shotguns?”
He smiled as he approached the bed then took a seat. “I’m not really a mobster, Laura. I just work at one of their clubs. Worked,” he corrected himself.
“You kinda look like a mobster, you know?”
He grinned. “What does a mobster look like, exactly?”
She held up her hand. “Well, you know, handsome, tall, intriguing…with a twitchy trigger finger.”
He laughed at that, and it was great to see him finally display that elusive smile. It lit up his face and made him appear younger. More carefree. She remembered the pictures she’d seen in the drawing room and the kitchen, and thought he must have been a real live wire as a kid.
For a moment, their eyes met and held, and the smile was wiped from his face. Her heart leaped when he reached out and took her hand in his. At his touch, electricity raced up her arm. She shivered as he slowly rubbed his thumb across the silky skin of her hand “I’ll take care of you, Laura,” he said softly. “No harm will come to you as long as you stay with me. That’s a promise.”
Her eyes were riveted on his, and she merely nodded, not trusting her voice.
His close proximity was doing strange things to her body, and a knot formed in the center of her stomach, not from fear this time, but from a wistful longing that she couldn’t quite explain. Suddenly, she yearned to be in his arms, to be held and comforted.
She swallowed. “Have—have you heard from Darlene?”
He grimaced. “She sent me a text. Said it’s over between us.”
“She heard about what happened, huh?”
“Guess she did.”
She gave him a wide smile, feeling ridiculously relieved at the news, and he returned the smile, still holding onto her hand. She shifted, and only became aware of the fact that her nightgown had fallen open when his eyes darkened, now fastened on the soft swell of her breasts: pushed up by her knees, the skin glowed pale and satiny against the purple lace neckline.
Her lips parted, and her breathing turned shallow as she inadvertently leaned in, her eyes falling to his lips, and the powerful column of his neck. She could smell his musky scent, the scent of a man, and as he closed the distance, his hand touched her cheek, and their lips met.
His tongue stole inside, and she welcomed it with a soft moan, molding her body against his, pressing the softness of her breasts against his hard chest. Yearning erupted inside when his arms circled her and drew her closer still. She’d never known a kiss could elicit such longing, quench such thirst. It was as if his lips were the answer to prayers she’d never uttered, to a desire only now keenly felt, his arms offering both comfort and a heat never before experienced.
As his lips crashed down on hers, the kiss deepened, and urgent need took hold of her. She wanted more, and he gave it when his hands ran along her sides, then cupped her breasts, his lips descending on the exquisite softness of her neck, the hollow of her throat, then lower still. She allowed herself to fall back against the pillow, fisting his hair, willing him to go on.
His mouth exploring, his fingers casually slipped the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders, then peeled it down over her heaving chest. Very gently, his lips trailed along the hardening peaks of her breasts, fanning the flame of her desire, and then he was sucking at her softness, drawing her into the hotness of his mouth. She arched her back, feeding herself to him, moaning softly, her eyes fluttering closed, and as his mouth trailed lower along her belly, she slowly spread her legs, welcoming him between her thighs, and then he was nipping at the panties.
His fingers kneading her breasts, he nibbled her pussy lips through the sheer silk of her slip, and her breath hitched in her throat as she felt each nip as a jolt of pleasure. Her ache grew stronger, and when he slipped her crotch aside and his fingers were on her soft, wet flesh, she cried out and then he was inside her, his fingers relishing in the wetness between her folds. As she urged him on with throaty sighs and moans, he pressed his fingers deeper into her boiling chalice, her body writhing beneath him, her hands kneading and squeezing her nipples. When his hot lips descended on her burning clit, that pulsating bundle of nerves, tremors of want and heat shivered through her.
“Oh, Alex,” she sighed. “Please don’t stop. Please…” Her voice trailed off when he moved inside her, his tongue rapidly flicking along her swollen nub, and eliciting such pleasure shooting through her lower belly she thought she would dissolve from pure ecstasy. And then she was slamming her head back, the tremors jolting her, the wave cresting and crashing and rolling through her like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
She opened her eyes and caught his fiery gaze, his tongue lapping at her center, his fingers pumping in a steady rhythm in and out of her slick sheath, and she breathed, “Fuck me, Alex. Fuck me now.”
It was as if the words jolted his system, for he abruptly stopped his devastating movements, and merely stared at her for a beat. Then it was as if his eyes misted over, and he seemed to give himself a little shake. Before her horrified gaze, he let the crotch of her panties slowly slip into place and stood, carefully drawing up the sheet and covering her bare form. There was pain in his eyes, she saw, and she failed to understand what had caused it.
She reached out a hand. “Alex? What’s wrong?”
He shook his head, as if rudely awakened from a dream. Staring into his eyes, she thought she saw traces of anger. It devastated her. Her breath came in short bursts, but then his face turned into the inscrutable mask she knew so well.
“Get some sleep,” he gruffly intoned, then turned and strode out.
She wanted to cry out, to beg him not to leave, but she didn’t. She had her pride, and if he didn’t want her, she wouldn’t try to change his mind. She flipped around, buried her face in her pillow, and wept.
Alex stood, holding onto the doorknob for a long while, Laura’s wet heat lingering on his lips, the look of anguish in her eyes burned on his retinae. God, what had come over him? Why hadn’t he been able to control himself? Simply to feel her, to touch her, to have her, had pushed him over the edge—made him forget the promise he’d made to himself to be her protector, not her lover.
It was all he could do not to turn the knob and have his fill of her, to make her his—once and for all. He was hard as a rock, his cock straining at the leash to ravish her like she’d never been ravished in her life. To follow his basest instincts and fuck her brains out.
But then he remembered who she was—or, more importantly, who he was—and he gritted his teeth and let go. Laura Armstrong was a girl going places. She was smart as a whip, a future teacher, a young woman who was going to make it
in life. He was muscle for the Gornakovs. Like the rest of his family, he was a soldier in the employ of the Mob. No way would he ever merit a woman like Laura. No way would he ever diminish her hope for a better future by allowing her to link her lot to his.
She deserved better than that—better than him. If it killed him, he would resist the primal urges of his flesh and steer clear of her. He was going to make sure she was safe and then would say his goodbyes and urge her never to lower herself by working at a place like The Blue Moon ever again.
He walked away, hands shoved deeply into his pockets, and thought hard thoughts about himself and the meanderings of fate. It had brought Laura Armstrong into his life, knowing full well she could never be his.
Cruel, he felt. Cold and cruel. To make him want her, knowing he could never have her. Perhaps it was karma. Sleep with the devil, catch his fleas. Before today, he’d never killed a man, but he’d hurt plenty. Now the ghosts of his past had come back to haunt him. He just hoped they’d be satisfied with him, and leave Laura in peace. They had to. Or he would not be able to live with himself.
CHAPTER 16
“Isn’t there anything you can do?” Anna eyed her husband keenly. Except for Robert, who’d decided to stay over, and Alex and Laura, the kids had all left, and now it was just the two of them.
“They have to sort this out on their own, honey.”
She hung her head, fear holding her in its grip for the first time in ages.
“Hey,” he said softly, and held her chin, forcing her to face him. As she eagerly studied his emerald eyes for a sign of comfort, he pressed a kiss to her lips, then whispered, “It’s gonna be fine, Anna. I promise.”
“But this mess with Alex and Laura…”
He shook his head and smiled. Even after all these years, the man could still entrance her with a single look, his smile intoxicating and sending a shiver of delight up her spine. Thirty-two years, and she still loved him as much as the day they’d met.
She returned his smile, knowing he’d never lied to her once in all those years, and had never once been wrong about anything either. He had an uncanny knack of keeping his family out of harm’s way, which was quite an achievement, considering theirs was a line of business fraught with danger.
She’d often wished the Petrov name wasn’t synonymous with the Russian Mob, but then Valery wouldn’t have been the man she dearly loved, and neither would their children.
One admission to her sensitivities had been that they never got involved in any of the more gruesome parts of the business. Over the years they’d been bodyguards, muscle for hire, protectors of the rich and famous, but her boys were no killers. Until today.
“Perhaps you have to meet with Roman. Explain to him what happened. He’s a good man. He will understand.”
She’d seen the Gornakov enforcer once or twice, and trusted him to do the right thing. He was smart, and had a sense of honor that prevented him from causing pain to the wrong people. He’d recently taken over the American chapter of the organization, when Yulian had stepped in.
There had been talk about going legit, pruning some of the seedier branches of the organization, but so far she’d seen little evidence of this. Still, if Yulian and Roman were serious about their intentions, they might frown upon the likes of Boris Sarnovsky, who was nothing more than a petty criminal who’d worked his way up the chain of command to sit like a fat toad on a heap of cash.
Valery shook his grizzled head. “He won’t listen to me.”
“He has to. You’re the head of the Petrov family. He respects you, I know he does.”
“You don’t understand, honey. This is business. Even if Roman believes me when I tell him it was an accident, he still can’t tolerate Alex taking out a member of the Gornakovs. No way can he allow that to pass with impunity. It would send the wrong message.”
Anna understood. The code. That horrible Mafia code. An eye for an eye. It was medieval. Simple, effective, and brutal. And never more than now, when one of her own was affected.
“And what about the girl?”
“They’ll both have to disappear.”
“Where are you taking them?”
“The lodge.”
“How long?”
“One month. Maybe two.”
“She’s studying to be a teacher. A math teacher.”
“I know. She’s brilliant.”
She felt the weight of their decision, and held onto her husband’s hand. It was hard to make these choices, but at least Alex and Laura would be safe.
“She won’t like it,” she told him.
“She’ll live.”
And that’s exactly what this was all about. Laura would live, and so would Alex.
She nodded, giving her consent.
“We leave at the crack of dawn.”
“Be careful.”
“Always, my love.”
They shared a kiss, and her lips lingered, wanting to hold onto him for a moment longer. There would be danger ahead, and the thought of losing this man was like a knife through the heart. She had to have faith, she knew. Faith in him, and faith in the spirit that had brought the Petrovs together and kept them united.
There was strength to her family, a bond that united them and kept them safe from harm. Now she hoped it would extend to Laura as well, the newest member of the clan.
As a single tear rolled down her cheek, she spoke a silent prayer, then was strong again. There was work to be done, and weakness had no place in this strong woman’s heart.
On the other side of town, Roman Loginovsky was listening intently to the report Gennady was giving him of the events that had taken place at The Blue Moon. As the right-hand man of Yulian Gornakov, it was now his duty to make sure the business empire the Gornakovs had built kept running as smoothly as ever.
Tall and powerfully built, Roman was a man of few words, and when he spoke, he did so sparingly, but always to the point. His men respected him, though ever since he’d gotten married to Dora Liverpool, the actress he’d met on a job not six months before, he’d mellowed considerably.
No longer was he the brutal enforcer who suppressed all opposition, and ruled his empire with an iron fist.
Dora had shown him there existed something in life far more important than power and control. Love had entered his life when he’d least expected it, and now such matters as a sleazy club owner getting killed interested him less than it used to.
Still, the matter needed looking into, not least because this Boris Sarnovsky was one of Yulian’s cousins, and the troops would rebel if one of their own was killed with impunity. And then there were the rumors Boris was skimming for the Demiakovs and that his untimely demise had something to do with that.
“Tell me the name again?”
“Aleksander Petrov, but we all call him Alex.”
“And the girl?”
“Laura Armstrong. She’s just a showgirl.”
He knew all this, of course, but it never hurt to double-check. He frowned as he stared at the names. He considered Valery Petrov a personal friend. But even so, he had to act, there was no way around it. Inwardly, he heaved a sigh. Even though Yulian had ordered him to take the Gornakov business legit, it wasn’t as easy as all that. They had to move slowly, or perish in the process. Plenty of vultures stood poised to pounce on them if they showed any sign of weakness.
The Gornakov business was brisk, but if they weren’t careful, they would fall prey to their competitors, and Yulian would be left empty-handed. And so would he.
He signaled to Gennady that the audience was over, and the burly man bowed his head, and asked, “Who’s going to take over the club?”
Roman checked his notes. “Darlene Harvey’s the manager. How is she?”
“She’s great, boss.”
“Do you think she’s up to it?”
“Sure thing. You can trust Darlene to turn a fat profit.”
Roman wavered but for a moment. He’d have to speak to Darlene per
sonally, but first he had to take care of this Petrov mess. “All right. Thank you, Gennady. That’ll be all.”
The man hesitated. “What do I tell Darlene?”
Roman suppressed a smile. It was obvious Gennady took a personal interest in the lady. He didn’t mind. In fact, it was good for business, though his brother Dimi would tell him he was simply getting sentimental in his old age. Well, perhaps he was. Since he met Dora, his outlook on life had definitely changed. “You can tell her the job is hers.”
Gennady’s face lit up with a smile. Then, with some effort, he managed to return it to its usual stern expression. “Thank you, boss. She’ll do a fine job, I promise.”
He watched the man leave, then swiveled his chair to stare out his office window at the flickering lights of New York City. Darkness had fallen, but business never ceased in the Big Apple. Ever since accepting Yulian’s offer to manage the American end of his business empire, he’d been trucking along nicely, but this matter with Valery Petrov’s boy worried him.
He sighed as he pondered his decision, one of the hardest he’d had to make since rising to his new position. Finally, he made up his mind, his lips tightening.
Alex Petrov and Laura Armstrong were in a heap of trouble, and only a miracle would save them now.
CHAPTER 17
Laura awoke with a start. Bathed in sweat, her breath coming in stertorous gasps, the realization crashed into her mind that a noise had startled her. A scratching sound at the edge of consciousness had alerted her to the presence of another person.
Instantly wide awake, she was certain someone else was in the room with her. She could hardly suppress a piercing scream at the thought of a Mafia henchman waiting in the dark, ready to press a pillow to her face and smother her.
She lay perfectly still, panting, sweat forming on her back and pooling between her breasts.