The Devil's Beauty (Crime Lord Interconnected Standalone Book 2)

by Airicka Phoenix

  He didn’t mention she still had a mother. She really didn’t. She didn’t want one.

  Charlotte had arrived the day before the funeral, a week after John Paul’s death had been announced, sobbing and blubbering hysterically.

  Ava hadn’t believed it for a moment.

  The very sight of the woman had fueled her with a fury that no child should ever feel towards their parent. Seeing her, tan and beautiful, fashionably chic in a Ralph Lauren two piece, hair perfectly curled … it had been Dimitri holding Ava back from tearing her face off.

  She’d sent Charlotte away, away from the estate, off the property, warning her that if she came back, Ava would personally bury her in the flowerbeds. It probably helped that Dimitri had been behind her, a giant, dark force of warning.

  But it wasn’t in Charlotte’s nature to retreat without getting as much out of the situation as possible. Ava wasn’t surprised when she finally left John Paul’s grave to find the woman leaning against her rental, cigarette in hand, shades poised perfectly on her face.

  She flicked the butt into the street and quickly straightened when she spotted Ava.

  “Ava, darling,” she began, hobbling her way forward without sinking her Jimmy Choo’s into the soil. “Darling, we need to talk.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  Dimitri set a gentle hand on her shoulder, stopping her from stalking off. “Hear her. Get it over with.”

  Ava didn’t want to get it over with. She’d just buried her father. She’d been kidnapped, shipped across the fucking ocean, sold, shot at, threatened, hospitalized, emotionally, mentally, and physically battered to the point of madness.

  She wanted to go home.

  She wanted to climb into bed and sleep for a week.

  “Please, just hear me out,” Charlotte pleaded.

  Ava stopped, not for her, but because John Paul would have wanted her to.

  “What?”

  “I know things have always been so complicated between us,” Charlotte chirped. “I haven’t been the best mother, I know, but you have to admit you were a horrible daughter. Wait. Wait!” She reached for Ava when she began turning away. She quickly dropped her hand when Ava shot her a warning glower. “But I’m still your mother, right? You wouldn’t be where you are right now if it weren’t for me.”

  “I’m here because of John Paul.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Yes, but I married him and it wasn’t an easy marriage, Ava. He was emotionally detached. He never cared about me the way a woman should be cared for by her husband. It was a very difficult thing staying with him, but I did. For you.”

  Her head pounded from hours … days of crying. The throbbing increased the longer she stood there.

  “What do you want?” She rubbed the tips of her fingers against her brow, hoping to ease some of the pressure. “Just … tell me what it will take to get you out of my life for good.”

  Charlotte’s smile wavered. “You don’t mean—”

  “Stop it!” Her hand dropped away. “Stop acting like me being out of your life isn’t the thing you’ve been longing for since I was born. I’m offering you your freedom. Tell me what you want.”

  All pretenses of the doting, helpless mother dissolved. Charlotte straightened, drawing back her shoulders elegantly. Her features went from docile to shrewd and calculating.

  “I want the estate.”

  “No, that house has been in my family for generations. It belongs to me.”

  Charlotte blinked. “Your family? I’m your family.”

  Ava never so much as batted an eyelash. “John Paul was my family. His family is my family. That house belongs to me.”

  Red lips pinched. “Then I want my own place, in Paris. A beach house on the beach and a flat in the city.”

  Ava shook her head, mostly out of disgust. “Fine.”

  She started moving towards their parked car only to have Charlotte leap into her path, teetering slightly when her heels sank into the grass.

  “And a bank account, something to keep me tied over comfortably for a little while.”

  John Paul had already left Charlotte an account with more than enough funds to last six people four lifetimes. Ava knew, because she’d seen the will, as had Charlotte, the morning of the reading. John Paul had arranged it to take place before his funeral, stating he didn’t want his loved ones to worry about how to bury him properly. But it had all been there.

  A bank account for Charlotte, his wife, in the amount that had even the lawyer adjusting his glasses. The rest, every property, business holding, every car, painting, spoon in the kitchen had been left to Ava. With the exception of a brand new Ducati motorbike left to Dimitri with a note that read, take better care of this one.

  Dimitri, who hadn’t been expecting anything, had just sat there, staring at the note with a rigid tightness in his jaw. Ava had asked him about it, but he’d only shaken his head.

  “Dad already left you a bank account,” Ava said.

  Charlotte bristled. “I am accustomed to a certain type of living, Ava. What would people think if I suddenly couldn’t.”

  Ava shook her head. “You’ve already gotten all of Dad’s money you’re going to get. I’ll look into a flat and a house, but after that, we’re through.”

  “You ungrateful bitch!”

  With her teeth bared, Charlotte seemed old and tired. The kind of woman who tried a little too hard to be young.

  “Goodbye, Mother.”

  She walked away with Charlotte’s shrieking profanities trailing after her.

  Dimitri slipped his hand into hers. She gripped it tight.

  Robby sat waiting on the front steps of the estate when Saeed pulled up into the driveway. His face was still a maze of bruises and cuts, but he smiled when they climbed out of the car.

  He ambled over to her, limping slightly. He waved and the late rays of light caught the clip poking out through the wrapping on his left hand. The metal glinted.

  “Hey.” He squinted down at her. “I wasn’t sure when you’d get back.”

  He was still dressed in his funeral clothes, which made her think he’d come straight over after the service.

  She hadn’t really seen or talked to him since the bombing, since their fight, since he’d been captured. They’d talked briefly during the reading of the will where John Paul had left him enough money to pay off his school loans and buy at least eight houses. They’d made plans to meet up later and talk things out, but she hadn’t expected it to be now when she was too mentally exhausted to have a decent conversation with anyone.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He nodded. His hands began sliding to his pockets, but only one fit, the one not mummified. He stopped trying and let his hands drop down to his sides.

  “I…” He pulled in a breath. “I honestly wasn’t planning on coming here, but I left the cemetery and kind of wound up on your doorstep.” He rubbed his good hand through his hair. “I know you probably want to rest. I was going to give you time, but I keep thinking about the things I said and every day that passes and we don’t talk, I feel like this huge hole is growing inside me and I…” He licked his lips. “I don’t want to lose you, Avs. You’re the only family I have and I’m fucking scared that you’ll never forgive me, and I don’t blame you. I said some seriously fucked up things. I didn’t mean them, but I said them and I’m so sorry.”

  She knew he was, but even if he wasn’t, she didn’t blame him. He had every right to be angry. He had every right to hate her. His entire life had been thrown into the blender because of her. He’d become an addict, he’d watched his bodyguard get shot, was kidnapped, tortured, and nearly blown up, all because of her. Could she really blame him if he never talked to her again?

  “I’ll forgive you, if you forgive me,” she whispered.

  He swallowed audibly and gave a jerky nod. “Done.”

  Ava chuckled. “Ice cream?”

  “And beer. Lots of beer.”

  “Deal.” Sh
e hooked her arm through his and led him towards the front door. “Then you can tell me about talking to the judge and what your conditions are to reinstate your residency.”

  Dimitri was still in the foyer, shrugging out of his coat. The two men exchanged nods as she shut the door.

  “How are you?” Dimitri asked.

  “Sober,” Robby muttered. “Painfully sober.”

  “We’re going to have ice cream and beer on the patio,” she told Dimitri.

  His nose wrinkled. “That sounds disgusting.”

  Robby sighed. “It is. You’ll throw up, but it’s oddly delicious at the same time.”

  Dimitri snorted a chuckle and turned away to hook his coat up on the ornate coatrack.

  “Hey, so I never thanked you,” Robby began, shifting awkwardly. “For that stuff you did for me … with the judge and getting my residency back.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I, uh … I was a total shit to both of you before. I know I don’t deserve any—”

  “You’re family,” Dimitri interjected. “Family’s say stupid things.”

  Robby nodded slowly. “Sometimes, they try to blow you up. I get it. Still. I was a fucking idiot.”

  Ava tugged on the arm she still held. “Come on. Tell us about the judge.”

  He shook his head. “I have to see some therapist or something a couple times a week for a little while. Once he gives me the green light, judge is going to talk to my attending doctor and the hospital director, and see about bringing me back on. It’s not official or anything, but…”

  He grinned a little and Ava squeezed his hand.

  “That’s still really good.” She relinquished her hold on him and started towards the kitchen, calling back over her shoulder, “I’ll grab the ice cream if you two can get us something to drink.”

  In theory, it wasn’t a very hard task to grab a pint of Ben & Jerry from the freezer, a few bowls from the cupboard and make her way to the back patio. In reality, the moment she pulled open the fridge door, she forgot why she was there. She forgot the importance of conserving energy as she stood with the cold air biting through her simple, black dress. All she could see was the container of salmon sandwiches tucked away behind the tower of casserole dishes and cold salads. It was the same batch John Paul had ordered specifically for her the day she returned home. It was old and needed to be tossed away, but the sight of it was a steel fist in the gut. And it all came apart.

  “Ava?”

  Dimitri found her on the floor, in front of the open fridge door, clutching the container to her stomach and sobbing.

  He lowered himself down behind her without a word and gathered her up into his lap. With his foot, he shut the door and just held her … and the sandwiches.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shushed her gently, hand stroking her hair. “No, myshka.”

  “He was your father, too.”

  “But he was your dad,” he reminded her, not unkindly. “You knew him like I never did, and that’s okay.”

  She sniffled, wiped her nose on the back of her hand. It was disgusting, but neither of them mentioned it.

  “What happened that night, at the warehouse?”

  “Ava…”

  She raised her head off his shoulder. “Please? I need to know.”

  Deep, penetrating sadness darkened his eyes, the kind that mirrored the gaping emptiness left inside her.

  He swallowed. “He saved my life.” He stopped abruptly. His lips pressed together, tightening his jaw. He lowered his gaze, but not before she saw the sheen in his eyes. “He threw himself at Ivan so I could…”

  His voice broke.

  The container of sandwiches was set aside and she engulfed him in her arms. She mashed her face into his shoulders and held him, pretending not to notice the subtle tremor in his shoulders. She stroked his hair the way he’d done to her and kissed the side of his head, his temple, tasted the saltiness on his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

  She kissed his lips, slow, gentle, needing to pull him back from the despair stiffening his shoulders.

  “It’s okay,” she promised him quietly.

  Somehow, that ended with her straddling him right there against the bottom part of the counter, the container of sandwiches forgotten as she sank him deep into her body.

  “I love you,” he whispered after, when she slumped in his arms, panting.

  She raised her head off his shoulder and captured his lips again, needing to taste the words, taste him.

  “We’ll be okay,” she whispered against his mouth. “Promise me.”

  He tightened his hold on her. “I promise.”

  It was only when she was tugging her panties back on when she remembered Robby.

  She grabbed the ice cream, told Dimitri to get the bowls, and sprinted in the direction of the back patio. She found her friend reclined on the lawn chair, eyes closed, chest rising and falling slowly.

  She exhaled.

  “About time,” he mumbled, eyelids still closed. “I almost finished the wine.”

  She glanced at the bottle sitting on the glass table and raised an eyebrow. “You did finish it.”

  Robby shrugged. “Your fault. Too busy getting laid in the kitchen. Pervert.”

  Ava’s jaw dropped. “You saw us?”

  “You promised me ice cream,” Robby slurred drowsily. “I came to find the ice cream I was promised. But I didn’t stay. I saw nothing.”

  Ava shook her head. “Come on. Let’s find you a room upstairs.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you,” he blurted just as Dimitri walked out, bowls and spoons in hand. “You can beg all you want, but I have … wine.”

  Dimitri met Ava’s gaze and raised a brow.

  “He finished the wine,” she explained. “Help me take him upstairs?”

  He set his items on the table with the ice cream and the empty bottle, and walked over to the man mumbling to himself about the importance of drinking wisely.

  “Come on.”

  Dimitri slung one of Robby’s arms over his shoulder and heaved him out of the lawn chair.

  “I never slept with her,” Robby babbled. “Like a sister, she is. You don’t sleep with your sister. You’ll have ugly babies with eight heads.”

  Ava resisted the urge to face palm.

  “Glad to hear it,” was Dimitri’s response as he walked Robby back into the house.

  “I thought about it,” Robby went on. “When we first met. She’s hot.”

  “Yes,” Dimitri agreed with an edge that made Ava grimace.

  “Can you say that about your sister?”

  “No.”

  Robby’s head bobbed on his shoulder as he turned it to squint at Dimitri warily. “Aren’t you her—”

  Dimitri jostled him roughly. “Shut up.”

  “I won’t tell,” Robby promised. “I’m a doctor. I have to keep secrets, but your baby will have eight heads.”

  Ava did face palm then.

  They got Robby all the way to one of the guestrooms and tucked him into bed. At least, she did after Dimitri dumped him gracelessly on the mattress. She pulled off his shoes and tugged the sheets up around him.

  With him out of the way, she left the room with her hands undoing the pins in her hair. She met Dimitri’s disgruntled gaze and laughed.

  “He’s drunk,” she said.

  The sour expression didn’t lift.

  “Our baby will not have eight heads.”

  She started to laugh again, but stopped. She stared at him with her hands still in her hair, trying to process what he was saying. But her brain function wasn’t as quick as it normally was.

  “Are you saying…?”

  His answer was to close the distance between them at a near stomp, lift her up into his arms, her legs around his hips, and march into her room.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “It’s been empty long enough, hasn’t it?” Theresa tapped the gold top of her pen against the table, a relentless rapping that was giving Dim
itri a headache. “A month is plenty of time to mourn.”

  “Can we just focus on one topic at a time?” Erik massaged his temples with the tips of his fingers. “John Paul was one of us and some of us actually respected him.”

  Red lips pursed. “It has nothing to do with respect. Need I remind this group what happened the last time a leader fell?”

  “The position needs to be filled regardless,” Marcus agreed. “But I think we can agree that it will be difficult filling that chair. It needs to be thought out properly.”

  “Fine.” Theresa straightened in her seat. “We will bench the topic … again.”

  “I think we need to finish discussing the shipment of guns I have coming in next week,” Erik said smoothly. “I need assurance from the east that it will not get waylaid by authorities like last time.”

  “Which had nothing to do with my crew,” Marcus protested. “We all agreed the Devil reported it because he’s a cocksucker.”

  Theresa’s chair squeaked with her shifting weight as she leaned back. “That … man, has more bloody lives than a cat.” She clicked her nails on the table, the snap matching the fire in her eyes. “Stole over eight hundred grand from one of my businesses last week.” Her nostrils pinched with her sharp inhale. “I would like to get my claws in to him. Just once.”

  It was one million seven hundred thousand, actually. She must not have been given word of the other eight grand he’d taken just a few days ago when she’d allowed an entire apartment complex full of low income families to fall apart. The money was going towards building them a home in a better neighborhood, for less than what they were paying her for a rundown piece of garbage with no running water and crack dealers on every street corner.

  Dimitri partially wondered if he shouldn’t tell her. The people the money was going towards were in her territory. The money that was supposed to be going into stable housing was actually doing just that.

  He decided not to. Theresa wouldn’t take that kindly.

  “I have offered a million dollars for information about that asshole and not a word,” Erik muttered, lips a thin, white line. “Do you have any idea how much that shipment cost me?”