by Maura Rose
They were running out of time.
Pavel looked down at Natalia, finding her looking back up at him. The look on her face was clear: what did he think they should do?
Pavel honestly had no idea.
Natalia looked through the crack in the door, and then Pavel felt her finger tapping on his upper arm.
One, two, three, four, five, six.
She was counting out the men for him. Six of them—that was twice as many as Pavel could handle on his own.
Natalia moved her other hand just enough to tap the center of her chest, apparently indicating herself. Then she tapped three times on his arm.
Me. Three.
Was she saying she could take three of them?
Pavel felt a little skeptical about Natalia in a dress being able to take care of three fully armed men, but if there was any time to strike it was now, while they were still checking the weapons and conversing quietly in Japanese.
And the truth was, even if they did die, the commotion would alert the others that something was wrong, and their fight would give Ivan enough time to get Kate out, secure her, and investigate. Pavel trusted Ivan, not because he had to but because he wanted to, because Ivan had proven it, and he knew that if he and Natalia failed, Ivan would find some way to pick up the pieces of this.
Natalia repeated her movements, tapping herself, then tapping three times on Pavel’s arm. He nodded, just barely moving his head enough so that she could see it and know that he had understood and heard her.
It was now or never. And besides, this was what his life was about. Danger, the possibility of death, but more than that—fighting for your family, for what was important. He was going to do what he could to save the lives of the people assembled and if nothing else, he got to do it alongside the woman he…
Well.
He would worry about that later.
Pavel grabbed Natalia’s hand and squeezed it, fighting down the urge to do something ridiculous like kiss her. They didn’t have time for that now and he could only hope that they would have time for it later.
If there was a later.
Pavel shoved all other thoughts out of his head and focused in on his task: beating the shit out of these motherfuckers.
He turned and—because why not have a bit of dramatic flair—kicked the closet door open.
Chapter Eighteen
Natalia was ready. The fire had started up in her blood almost at once and she was raring to go. Finally she was a part of the action, she could do something, she could show her worth.
Pavel kicked the door open and she ducked and rolled, anticipating that the instinct of the other men would be to fire at general head-height, about five feet off the ground.
There was something she had been taught very quickly in her self-defense classes: men fought for honor. Women fought to kill.
“You ask a man why he fights,” Boris had told her, “and what is his answer? He fights for his pride, for the legacy of his name, for his family’s honor, to win a bet—there are many reasons but they all boil down to one concept: respect. Honor. His pride. It is about what people will say about him when the dust has cleared.
“You ask a woman why she fights, it is very different. A woman fights because she has no other choice. A woman fights because it is win or die. Because she was attacked in an alley, at the bar, on a date, walking home.
“When you are fighting, I do not want you to think about fighting to win, or fighting so that you might brag to others when you are finished. Your hand, it is an extension of your arm, and your arm, it is an extension of your mind. What you think, you do. If you think that you only wish to injure a man, you will not hit him hard enough. You might fight with his death in your heart, his bloody face in your gaze. You must picture him dying, and you must picture yourself killing him.
“Do not fight for honor. That is for men. They have that privilege. This is not a kind world for women, and so you cannot be kind in return. You must fight to kill. Every time you throw a punch. Am I understood?”
Natalia had understood. Oh, had she ever understood. She had taken those words and squirreled them away in her heart.
Now she was unleashing them.
The men were, luckily, caught by surprise. Out of all the things they’d planned for, a random guy in a tux and one of the bridesmaids in her dress was probably not what they’d been expecting. Natalia had her heels in her hand—her wonderfully tall and pointy heels—and wielded them like knives. They weren’t nearly sharp enough but dammit, she was going to make do.
Her dress impeded her a bit but she wasn’t going to let it stop her in the end, and thank god Irena had allowed her a leg slit—it meant she could move her legs freely. She kept herself low, going for the men’s knees, kicking viciously to get them onto the ground and then jabbing them in the face and throat with the shoe heels.
Pavel nearly got knocked in the head when he stared at her taking out one of the men, his jaw dropping open.
Natalia winked at him, then whacked the guy in the temple with her shoe. “What did you expect?” she asked him. “I am Russian.”
Pavel shook his head as if to say of course, and then another man was coming at her and Natalia ducked and focused back in on the fight.
She could hear noises from outside, and what sounded like hesitating feet—probably someone overhearing what was going on and wondering if they should check to see what was happening or go to get help. It could be another conspirator.
Natalia willed herself not to think about that. She had to stay in the moment. Attack and not get distracted. She dodged a blow, grabbing the man’s arm and twisting it around, snapping it the wrong way. She could hear the bone breaking and let go as the man dropped to the ground in pain.
One down, at least.
Pavel was handling his men well. Natalia wished that she could just stop and watch. She didn’t think anyone would have expected Pavel to be so ruthless. Sure, he had to know hand-to-hand combat. All bratva men did. But he was moving like this was what he’d been born to do. It was so at odds with his unassuming nature.
It was also hot as hell, she had to admit.
Pavel got low, dropping his weight and grounding himself as one of the men came after him, grabbing the guy and using his momentum against him, flipping him over and then slamming him into the ground. He got a knee into the middle of the guy’s back and pulled his arm behind his back, twisting until Natalia heard the arm pop out of its socket.
Pavel looked up, then, and saw Natalia—and then his eyes refocused on something behind her. “Natasha,” he said, and she instinctively ducked and turned, her heart racing as she felt the wind from the blow that had just barely missed her.
She jabbed the attacker in the throat, then brought her knee up—no matter how good at combat she got she was never going to be above a good old knee to the groin—and then brought her knee up again as he went down, smashing it into his face.
Natalia realized how hard she was breathing and tried to calm herself, taking in gulps of air. That had been way too close.
She turned around to see that Pavel had grabbed the ties that the manufacturer had used to keep the different gun parts from coming undone or anything while traveling in the boxes, and was now using them to tie up the men.
“I’m not sure who’s unconscious and who’s dead,” Pavel admitted.
“I don’t really care to find out,” Natalia replied.
Pavel stood up and walked over to her, his eyes dark and more gray than green. She stared back at him, a little confused, unsure as to why he was looking at her like that. She opened her mouth to ask what was up, if something was wrong, but then Pavel was grabbing her by the shoulders and yanking her in to him, kissing her.
Natalia melted, pressing herself up against him. He was kissing her deeply, a little frantically, like he’d been bottling it up for years. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he slid his hands down to her waist, keeping her anchored to him, and Natalia was
glad she had his weight to lean against because her legs felt like they’d just stopped existing. He was kissing her with everything in him and she couldn’t help but kiss back. She didn’t want to ever stop kissing him.
Except to maybe move on to other things.
“I think that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Pavel growled into her mouth. “You were stunning.”
Natalia felt her face heating up again and for once she didn’t mind it. So what if he saw her blushing? He was calling her stunning, he had to know that would have an effect on her. And she didn’t mind being a little vulnerable around him, letting him see that he affected her. It was Pavel. He wouldn’t let her down.
She slid her hand through his hair and tugged his face back to hers so that she could kiss him again. His tongue moved slick and hot against hers, into her mouth, drifting along the roof of her mouth. She shuddered and moaned around it, feeling heat pool inside of her. She clawed at his shoulders a little, unable to help it. Pavel’s hands roamed all over her back and sides, dipping her a little, kissing her until she thought she might forget literally anything but this.
Then she heard hurried footsteps.
Pavel yanked himself back from her and turned, dropping into a fighting stance, ready for whatever came through. And, clearly, ready to protect her from it. He’d put himself between her and the door.
Natalia dropped her shoes—they were completely ruined anyway—and grabbed her dress to try and tie it up out of the way.
But then the door opened and it wasn’t any more Saito men. It was Ivan Sokolov, followed by some of her father’s men.
Ivan was breathing heavily. “What the hell, Pavel?” he demanded, taking in the scene.
Irena shoved her way through, still in her wedding dress. “What the fuck is going on here—Natalia?”
Natalia waved awkwardly. She knew it was awkward. They knew it was awkward. It was all awkward. “Hey, Irena, I promise I can explain all of this.”
Irena looked at the six men lying on the ground, and then at Pavel, who definitely looked thoroughly kissed with his hair all in disarray and his mouth a little pink and swollen. Natalia had a feeling she didn’t look any better.
“You better explain this,” Irena replied, folding her arms. “Father’s going to be in here in a moment with Saito and the man who is supposed to be my husband by now—”
“Everything will be explained,” Ivan said, interrupting Irena.
Few people dared to interrupt Irena Mikhailova. She turned, glaring at Ivan, and Natalia was glad she wasn’t the one on the receiving end of that glare. “You had better hope so.”
Honestly, Father should just make her the heir and be done with it.
Pavel looked over at her, and Natalia surprised herself by being able to see the worry etched into the lines around his eyes and mouth. Pavel’s expressions were so mild and calm that she didn’t think most people would see the minute changes. She hadn’t, not when they’d first met and she’d seen this placid easygoing man in front of her. But now she could see the concern in his eyes as he gazed at her.
And she realized—their secret was out.
To explain how they had conducted their investigation, and of course the huge oversight as to who was responsible for all this, they would have to tell that she and Pavel had met again.
She could possibly get away with not mentioning the sex or anything, but it would still be damning for her sister—and her father—to know that she’d broken the rules and had met with Pavel.
The wedding might be off. She might not be allowed to see Pavel again.
Natalia looked back at Pavel as he stared at her. It almost looked like—well she could be wrong but it looked like he wanted to talk to her. To say things to her. Natalia felt words cramming up in her own mouth as well, so many that she didn’t know which she should say first or even how to say them.
“Natalia.” Father had arrived. “Get over here.”
She wanted to grab Pavel’s hand and never let go, or even to fling herself at him and kiss him one last time. But she knew that would only get the Sokolov family into even more trouble, so she walked across the room to stand by her father.
Saito—the Saito, the head of the family—was standing there looking confused and furious at the same time. He was barking orders in Japanese while Father was barking his in Russian, and Natalia could well imagine that there was going to be quite a lot of arguing and sorting out in the near future.
Ivan walked over to talk to Pavel, his voice pitched low so that she couldn’t hear what was being said, although she could tell it was in Russian. Probably so that the Saitos couldn’t understand.
Pavel answered Ivan but the whole time he was looking at her. Natalia wished she had the courage to walk over to him and curl into him the way that she wanted. She wished she had the guts to demand that Father let her be with Pavel despite this whole thing going sideways.
But she’d spent her whole life following her father’s orders and as much as she hated herself for it, she also couldn’t bring herself to defy him.
She would just have to pray that it would all work out.
Chapter Nineteen
Pavel’s heart was pounding as he sat outside, watching Ivan, Mikhailov, and Saito all yelling at one another from behind closed doors. Their voices were muffled but it was pretty easy to figure out that none of them were all that happy with the situation, or with each other.
Kate was arguing with Irena over in the corner. The wedding guests were all outside enjoying the food meant for the reception, and Pavel didn’t know where Natalia was.
He wanted to see her. To make sure she was okay.
He didn’t think she’d even realized how her face had looked when she’d walked over to her father earlier. Like she was being led to the guillotine.
Dammit, he wanted to see her. He knew that her father would probably want the whole thing called off since the Sokolovs had in many ways betrayed his trust, but Pavel almost didn’t care. He wanted to be with Natalia. He was almost certain he’d quit everything else if that was what it took.
It had been what felt like days but was probably only about twenty minutes when Mikhailov opened the door, glaring right at Pavel. “Irena,” he barked.
Irena detached herself from Kate and walked over to her father. He drew her into the room, then paused, and looked over at Kate. “Mrs. Sokolova,” he added.
Kate followed him into the room. Mikhailov sent Pavel a final glare before closing the door again.
Pavel got up and started to pace. He couldn’t hold still anymore. At least the other guests got to mingle and gossip and eat food while they waited. He was stuck here with no distractions.
Natalia wasn’t going to get in trouble for this, was she? She’d been whisked off with her other three sisters while the arguing had started among the others. Pavel didn’t know what her father might have planned for later, and he wasn’t picturing him locking Natalia away in a room with no food or anything, but he could easily imagine it wouldn’t be pleasant for her the next few weeks.
He was lucky himself that Ivan wasn’t going to read him the riot act for seeing Natalia once more without Ivan or anyone else knowing about it or giving permission. He might still get read the riot act, actually, once they were in private. This had been a complete mess.
But it had been Natalia who’d figured out what was going on, even if it was at the last minute. She was the one they had to thank. And she’d kicked just as much ass as he had in that fight back there.
It had been amazing to watch—he’d gotten distracted a few times, actually, stopping the fight to watch her do her thing. Natalia was brutal, and Pavel kind of wanted to brag about her to everyone. The ‘kind of’ coming only because he knew that Natalia would kill him for it. And because he also wanted to keep it to himself. He’d gotten to see her taking names and he didn’t think that most people got that. It was something special, something he wanted to keep close to him.
He also wanted to drag her to the gym and spar with her—after he’d dragged her to the bedroom and finished destroying the mattress with her.
She’d used her heels to stab them. Her heels. While wearing a dress. It was insane and he wished he’d had a camera.
More than that, though, he just wished he’d had the courage to grab her as she’d walked by him toward her father. To hold her close and tell Mikhailov and Ivan and everyone else that he wasn’t going to let this end with he and Natalia being separated.
At the very last, he wished that he’d told her he loved her.
But how could he tell her that when he hadn’t even realized it until she was walking away? He’d been staring at her like an idiot for who knew how long while everyone else had been demanding to know what was going on. He’d had every chance to say something. Instead he’d just… stared.
Congratulations, he told himself. You officially failed to take advantage of the moment.
But in that moment, all he’d been able to think was, oh fuck, I’m in love with her.
He’d trusted Natalia completely when she’d asked him to meet her in the back, and he’d trusted her to have his back during the fight. She’d been sexy and competent fighting those men and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her ever since he’d met her—even though she’d pissed him off.
Of course he was in love with her.
He just hadn’t realized it until it was too late and he was gaping at her as she walked away.
It was like some bullshit movie where sad violins were playing in the background.
The door opened again and Pavel immediately froze in his pacing, turning and straightening up. He was still Ivan’s lieutenant and second-in-command. He had to do his part.
Irena was standing in the doorway. Her expression was unreadable, but she had an eyebrow raised at him and Pavel wasn’t sure that was a good thing. “Please, come inside.”
Pavel followed her dutifully.
Inside, Ivan was standing while someone had gotten Kate a chair so that she could sit. Saito, along with his eldest son, was standing by a desk. Both of them looked not so much angry as tired. Pavel couldn’t blame them. Finding out your son or brother wanted to massacre you, half your family, and five other families in order to start a war and gain power was… well, Pavel couldn’t even begin to wonder what that was like. It was unprecedented.