“I love it,” she breathed.
I leaned close and growled in her ear. “I want to fuck you when you’re wearing that necklace...and nothing else.”
She stiffened...and nodded. I put the car into drive. I knew where I was going to take her: a little street that would be quiet, this time of night, while still being only a stone’s throw from the Brooklyn bridge.
The Chrysler had easily enough room in the back for us to fuck in comfort, but I had something else in mind. I had a vision of Irina bent over the hood of the car, her cheek pressed against the warm metal, while I raised her skirt and drove into her from behind. I knew, from when I’d pushed her up against the tree outside Fenbrook, that public sex turned her on as much as it did me. This time, we could go all the way and it would be fucking mind-blowing.
I glanced down at her legs. Damn, but she had perfect legs. She was wearing stockings or nylons—I’d find out which soon enough—and heels. Knee boots. It just popped into my head. She’d look fucking amazing in knee boots. Maybe I’d buy her a pair.
“You seem different,” she said, breaking my train of thought. “Happy.”
I grinned. “Because I’m with you,” I said truthfully.
She flushed again. “Not just that, though,” she said. “Something else.”
I blinked. I’d never had anyone before who could read me that easily. Other than Rico, no one ever got to know me well enough to sense my moods. It was unsettling...and nice. Is this what a relationship’s like?
I shrugged, but couldn’t stop myself smirking. “We pulled off a big score tonight.”
Her voice was carefully neutral. “Oh?”
I ran it back through my mind: how shocked the Russians had been, how royally pissed they were when they realized we were taking the container. “Yeah. Big haul.”
She crossed her arms. That should have been a warning, but I was too dumb, too proud.
“It’s Mikhail,” I blurted. “He’s been bringing all this counterfeit shi—stuff into the city and selling it. So tonight, we stole a whole container load of it.” I grinned and then glanced at her to see her reaction.
She was sitting there open-mouthed. “You kozyol!” she said at last.
I took my eyes off the road for a second to gape at her. I didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. “I thought you hated Mikhail.”
“I do!”
“So what do you care if I steal from him?”
“Because that’s Mikhail’s pet project! He’s always talking about it. Have you any idea how pissed he’ll be?”
I shrugged, maybe a little defensively. “He and Vasiliy started this when they moved into my territory.”
She groaned, closing her eyes and slumping back in her seat. “They started it?! Have you listened to yourself? You sound like a child!”
Now I started to get angry, casting quick little glances at her as I drove. “Irina, you don’t understand how this game is played.”
Her eyes opened and she glared at me. “It’s not a game!” she snapped. “That’s what you don’t get.”
“It is a game. It’s been played in this city for a hundred years. They push; I push back. It’s the same with the Irish and the street gangs—”
“But not with us Russians! You don’t understand what Mikhail and Vasiliy are like! This isn’t going to just go back and forth, it’s going to escalate! It’s already escalating: a container full of handbags and shoes—what’s that worth, a million dollars? They’ll hit back, hard, and then you’ll hit back and….”
I had to concentrate on the road, but I kept looking across at her. I was halfway between worried and angry, now: she was really getting worked up.
“It’ll be a war,” she told me. “A full-on, bloody war. People will die.”
I shrugged. “I don’t want that,” I said. “No one wants that. But what choice do I have?”
“Back down! Give some ground!”
I was so shocked I had to pull over so that I could look at her properly. “What? No! Fuck that!” I forgot to watch my language in front of her. “Vasiliy can fucking back down!”
“He won’t! He’s just like you!”
I shook my head. “I’m nothing like Vasiliy!”
She shook her head in dismay. “Why can’t you just give a little? Sit down and talk peace?”
I thought of my mom and dad. Shards of glass, swirling in red water….
“No,” I said, and I could hear the bitterness in my voice.
She must have heard it too, because her face softened for a second. She leaned a little closer, her eyes begging me to tell her why, but I shook my head. Not that. I didn’t share that with anyone, not even her.
She shook her head softly, that silken hair tossing across her shoulders. “This is what I ran away from,” she told me slowly. “This is what I can’t stand.”
I missed the warning signs. My brain was still trying to catch up. Just a few minutes ago, we’d been about to fuck. “I’m not giving up my territory,” I snapped.
Too late, I saw the tears in her eyes. “Then you can give up me.” And suddenly she was opening her door and climbing out.
“Irina!” She didn’t stop. “Irina—shit!” I was just about to climb out after her when something slapped against my chest and slid down to land in my lap. The necklace. I sat there staring at it like an idiot for a few seconds. When I came to my senses and jumped out of the car, she was already across the street and getting into a cab.
“Irina!” I ran over to the cab, dodging traffic, and got there just in time to watch it pull away, Irina’s tearful face looking back at me through the rear window.
17
Irina
I made the right decision.
I kept repeating it. I went over and over it in my head and I knew that, logically, I’d done the only thing I could. Since the party, I’d glossed over what Angelo was: a gangster. In the car with him, I’d been forced to confront it head on. Of course I couldn’t be with him. He was everything I’d run away from and he was my family’s mortal enemy.
So why did breaking up with him feel so wrong? Why did I suddenly feel so cold: not cold and numb, but painfully cold. Maybe being alone had always hurt. Maybe I only noticed it now because I’d escaped it for a while.
I wanted to just lie in bed, huddled under the comforter. But it was Saturday and Saturday was the day Vasiliy always dropped round for breakfast. He’d stop off at a Russian bakery and bring a box of vatrushka—soft, glossy brown buns filled with cottage cheese and raisins—and brew tea the Russian way, with tea leaves and strawberry jam. We’d play chess, the way we’d used to back in Moscow. It was the one time I saw him without Mikhail and the one time we managed to connect like we used to, a reminder that he was the closest thing I had to a father.
But this morning, it was different. He was pissed and I knew why: Angelo. He tried not to let it show, but his whole body was rigid when he hugged me.
And I had to act like I had no idea what the problem was. I talked brightly about Fenbrook and helped him brew the tea and it was only when we sat down at the chess board that he suddenly thumped the table with his fist, sending the pieces jumping across the board.
I let my eyes go big and asked what the matter was. He told me about the docks and how that bastard Angelo had stolen their merchandise. “Mikhail should have had more security,” Vasiliy grumbled. “This was his project. He’s getting sloppy.”
I started to put the chess pieces back into their proper positions. “What will you do now?” I asked, careful to keep my voice neutral.
“I’ll kill the bastard,” Vasiliy said viciously. “No one does this to me!”
I forced my fingers to pick up a knight and gently put it on its square. You see? said the logical part of my brain. This is why you had to split up. This is why it could never have worked. But it was overwhelmed by the sudden, sick fear that rose up inside me.
I couldn’t stand the thought of something happening
to him. It didn’t matter that he was the enemy: we’d already formed too much of a connection. “Isn’t there another way?” I asked. “Can’t you make peace?”
Vasiliy almost spat. “Peace? The Italians don’t want peace. They’re too old-fashioned, too hot-blooded. They want a war!”
Had he always been like this? I was sure that I remembered him being less brutal, less ruthless when it came to expanding his empire. He’d grown colder and more bitter around the time I started to distance myself from the family, and I couldn’t understand why. “Maybe they could change?” I asked in a small voice.
He sighed and shook his head. “Men like us can’t change, Irina.”
I closed my eyes. If that was true, there was no hope at all. “I just don’t want to see people hurt.”
His voice softened. “I’ll be careful, kotyonok.” That was his pet name for me when I was a child—kitten. “And I’ll keep Mikhail and Yuri and the rest of us safe, too.” He smiled as he said it, to reassure me. “Baroni will be the one who pays.”
I had to swallow hard—I thought I was going to throw up. “Can’t you give a little ground? Work something out?”
He sighed, exasperated, and waved a hand at the apartment. “You’ve been wrapped up in your ballet for too long. This is how it works, how it’s always worked. We crush our enemies with strength. We can’t show weakness. You used to know that.”
I felt as if I was being torn in two. I might try to push them away, to deny I was a Malakov, but they were family...and yet here I was trying to protect our enemy. “Sorry,” I said at last, my voice tight.
He put a hand on my cheek. When I looked into his eyes, they were full of sadness. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know this isn’t the life you would have chosen. But there is no choice, here. You’re a Malakov, whether you want to be or not, whether you choose to play a role or not. That’s why you need someone like Mikhail to protect you.”
My stomach twisted. This was my future: to watch this fight escalate into war, see Angelo killed and then marry Mikhail and be drawn right back into the gangster life again.
I jumped up out of my chair and ran.
“Irina?” Vasiliy asked, sounding startled.
“I’m fine. Finish putting the pieces back, I’ll be there in a minute.” I raced upstairs to my bedroom, blinking back tears. I closed the door and then stood there in the middle of the room, taking deep, shuddering breaths. Don’t cry, don’t cry…. I had no way of explaining red eyes to Vasiliy. I had to build up the layers of ice Angelo had broken down. I had to be cold and strong and—
Something small and hard hit the glass doors that lead onto my balcony. I walked over and threw them open, then looked down.
“Hi,” said Angelo.
18
Irina
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. As soon as I looked into his eyes, all hopes of forgetting him, of moving on, of being a good, loyal Malakov girl, were gone.
“I’m coming up,” said Angelo.
That spurred me to action. “What? No!” But he’d already jumped and caught the iron bars that form the front of the balcony. His muscles bunched under his suit jacket and he hauled himself up. “Vasiliy is here!” I hissed.
He swung himself up over the rail and landed in front of me, lithe and powerful as a panther. God, he’s gorgeous. “Then you’d better keep quiet,” he told me, “and listen to what I have to say.”
Wide-eyed, I grabbed the lapels of his coat and hauled him inside before someone saw him, then closed the doors to the balcony. And then we were standing together in my bedroom. Alone. The hard, muscled bulk of him, the presence of him...he seemed to fill the room. The last time we’d been there, we’d very nearly had sex. Then the night before, we’d both fantasized about him fucking me, right there on the bed. I could feel myself being drawn to him, the animal heat of him melting through the layers of ice….
No! I broke up with him for a reason. This can’t work! But it felt so good just to see him alive.
He took a step towards me. I took a step back, trying to stay out of range of the attraction. “You have to go!” I told him in a harsh whisper. “Vasiliy is downstairs. He wants to kill you for what you did!”
“I’m not scared of Vasiliy.”
I knew it was true. He didn’t seem to be scared of anyone. “Why did you come here?”
“You know why!” His voice was a low growl that I had to pray didn’t carry through the door. “I need you. I want you.”
My whole body seemed to sing and throb, a tuning fork responding to that bass voice. “You barely know me!”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” He advanced another step, closing the distance between us. “I never met anyone like you before.” He put his hand under my chin, lifting it so that I was looking up into those brown and amber eyes. He looked almost angry—angry at me for doing this to him. “You’ve worked some fucking spell on me, Irina. I can’t let you go.”
I looked up at him helplessly. I felt the same thing he did, but we couldn’t. I opened my mouth to try to explain, but I couldn’t find the words—
And then suddenly his lips were coming down on mine, his hand lifting my chin so that he could plunder my mouth. I let out a startled mmf! And then I was panting up into his mouth as his hands stroked through my hair.
The heat of him poured down into me, driving away the cold. It was like being brought back to life—I hadn’t realized how much I needed his touch. My hands came up of their own accord, finding his neck and the hard muscles of his back. I gave myself up to it for long seconds, his tongue dancing with mine, ribbons of pleasure lashing down through my body to make my back arch and my toes dance—
I tore myself away and staggered backward. “No!” I told him in a harsh whisper. “We can’t do this! You’re not just a rival, you’re our enemy! You’re heading into a war against my uncle!”
He put his hands on my shoulders and just that simple touch felt so good I wanted to hurl myself against him again. “You don’t have to get involved in it.”
“I am involved! It’s my family!” I stared desperately up into his eyes, trying to find a way to get through to him. I could feel the tension throbbing through his body, his hands like iron on my shoulders. That intent, utterly focused, like no one else I’d ever met. Having me was the most important thing in the world to him, I realized, and that made my head spin.
And maybe it was just enough to save him.
“I told you last night,” I whispered. “We can’t do this unless you make peace. Stop the war before it starts.” I swallowed. “Give my uncle what he wants. Give him your territory. No one has to die!”
He shook his head. The pain on his face was as if I’d just shoved a knife deep into his guts. “Jesus, Irina...no. That’s the one thing I can’t give you.” He stepped back from me and a floorboard creaked.
“Irina?” Vasiliy’s voice from downstairs. I winced and glanced fearfully at the door. Chyort! “Why?” I whispered. “It’s just...streets and businesses. Territory on a map. I don’t understand!”
Angelo lowered his eyes and let out a long sigh. I recognized the look on his face because I’d felt that way many times myself. He was wishing he was someone else, a normal person with a normal life. But then he straightened and looked me in the eye again, his resolve back. “Let me help you understand,” he said. He reached up and ran his fingers through my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear. “Come to Little Italy and let me show you.”
“Irina?” Vasiliy again. And this time there was a creak: he was coming up the stairs!
“I’ll just be a minute!” I yelled. But I knew that wouldn’t hold him for long—he already sounded suspicious. “You have to go!” I whispered to Angelo.
To my horror, he shook his head. “Not until you say yes.”
I gaped at him...and then heard another creak from the stairs. Vasiliy was nearly there. “I can’t!” What could he possibly show me there that would change things?
/> “Irina?” God, Vasiliy was right outside my door! And when I glanced back at Angelo, his jaw was set—he was ready to fight. I think part of him almost wanted Vasiliy to find him.
“Okay!” I whispered. “Okay, I’ll come. Tomorrow. Now please, go!” And I pushed on his chest to get him moving, even though that was like pushing on a brick wall. Then I ran to my door…
...just as Vasiliy opened it. I caught the door when it was a foot open and gave him my best smile. “Hi! Sorry. I’m ready now.”
“What’s going on?” he asked. “I heard voices.”
“Voices? I was on the phone. Rachel called—”
But he wasn’t fooled. He stepped forward, pushing open the door and barging me out of the way. I staggered backward and looked in horror at—
Angelo was gone. The doors to the balcony were open, the drapes blowing in the breeze.
I forced my mouth to move. “I needed some air,” I said.
Vasiliy strode over to the balcony and stepped onto it, looking around the small, snow-covered yard. I hurried over and stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. There was no one in sight...but Angelo couldn’t have moved that fast. Where the hell was he?
Then I glanced down. The walls of my balcony are iron bars but the floor is a solid sheet of black-painted metal. Angelo, I realized, was standing right beneath Vasiliy’s feet.
Vasiliy turned to face me, still suspicious. His eyes searched my face for any hint of a lie. But it was one Malakov against another—he’d taught me how to hide my emotions too well.
After a long moment, his face softened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “An old man’s paranoia.” He reached out and lovingly stroked my cheek. “I just worry about you, Irina.
The guilt. I hated lying to him...but if he found out about Angelo, he’d kill him. I smiled and led him out of my bedroom, pushing him through the door first and then following behind.
Kissing The Enemy Page 10