by Anna Antonia
“Yes.”
“It works?”
“Yes.”
I sensed his excitement. “Show me.”
Marcus turned to me. I stood up without instruction, turning around and showing Iliya my back. I made sure to keep my distaste hidden. It didn’t matter if I felt like a mare on the auction block.
I did this for Damian and would suffer any indignity for him.
He sucked his teeth. “K and V. Never in my life would I think to see it.”
“Would you like a demonstration, Mr. Volkov?”
I turned just in time to see his head nod with excitement. He snapped his fingers and one of his men brought a laptop forward. Iliya opened it and waited a minute or so before ordering, “Now.”
Marcus stood up fluidly. He walked us away from the table until we were in a clear spot. He then looked at me and nodded.
I reached up and rested my hand on the mark. It warmed, nodules barely rising up to the surface. I pressed all five fingers down and then swirled my pointer and middle ones to the right.
Iliya let out a sound between a grunt and a gasp. “Now you.”
Marcus put his hand on my arm. I knew what got Iliya chattering in a stream of Russian, but I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it since I’d yet to see the proof.
“Does she have to keep holding onto her side like that to keep it working?”
“No. It’ll be active until she turns it off.” Marcus gave me a silent command. I replicated my finger movements only in reverse.
Iliya’s gaze jumped from us to his screen and back again. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. “When will we get it?”
“You will get yours three years after Damian is completely in the clear.”
“One year.”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Volkov.”
“You need us, my men. We need something for our time.”
“You’ve gotten all the Konstantinov routes in Europe, a ready-made army, and with your cooperation, you’ll have the FBI in your back pocket. Mr. Konstantinov has been more than generous.”
“Two years.”
“Three and another hundred for your patience.”
Iliya’s full mouth turned downwards in a sullen pout. “Three and another two hundred.”
“Agreed.”
Iliya didn’t verbalize. He looked at his laptop and then back towards me again. I didn’t have to guess at his thought processes. He didn’t want to wait three years for access.
An edge entered Marcus’s tone. “Are we agreed, Mr. Volkov?”
Iliya stared at us beneath shaggy brows. The frown deepened.
What would Marcus do if Iliya decided to overturn his agreement with Grigor? We were outnumbered and outgunned. The Volkovs could just kill Marcus and keep me hostage.
Fuck no. I didn’t come this far just for it to blow up in our faces. I scanned the room, noting the placement of Volkov men. I was without a traditional weapon, but this brand could knock out all electronics within a hundred-yard radius. It’d take out the security, possibly shut down the lights if they were on the same system.
We’d be able to get out as long as we didn’t get shot…
Iliya huffed and then said with a sour twang, “Agreed.” He signaled and the man who escorted me left the room. “The Volkovs’ protection is absolute. No harm will come to Damian Black-Price and all those who fall under his umbrella.”
Marcus inclined his head. “Then consider this deal binding.”
Iliya returned the nod just as a dark-haired man entered the room along with my escort. He looked to be only a few years older than me. Wearing an immaculately tailored gray suit, he swept his cool blue gaze over the room, settling on me for moment before shifting to Marcus.
I watched him stroll down the table to the head. He took the empty seat by Iliya’s right side as only a heir would.
Sascha Volkov.
The difference between father and son was startling. Iliya’s stock was that of generations of hardworking ancestors. Thick bodied, unrefined features, plainer face. Sascha looked like an aristocrat. His features were perfect, as were his proportions.
He was undoubtedly beautiful, but like a diamond. Perfect but cold.
“Ah, you see my Sascha and wonder. I see it in your eyes.” Iliya’s laughter rumbled through the room like a train. “Years ago there were rumors. Rumors of a secret Konstantinov son living in America like a prince. You know him well.” He tapped the side of his head with two thick fingers. “I think ‘If it’s good enough for a Konstantinov then it’s doubly good for a Volkov.’”
Iliya gestured to Sascha. “He is perfect in every way. Educated in the best private schools, Harvard for his undergraduate studies, Wharton for his MBA. Sascha can speak seven languages fluently. His mind is like a trap.” The obviously proud father slapped his hands together. “You can find no finer man to carry on my legacy than Sascha. Know you are very lucky to have him help you.”
Bereft of the right response, I simply nodded my head and murmured my thanks.
“Da. Then we begin tomorrow.”
Begin what?
“Miss Kelly and I will be at the ready.” Marcus threaded his arm through mine. “Mr. and Mr. Volkov, it has been a pleasure conducting business with you. I’ll be sure to share that with my superiors.”
We left the room, feeling two sets of eyes fixated on my back.
34
DAMIAN
“He’s not a goddamned ghost. The man exists. Look harder.”
I turned away from Wolffington’s man, impatient with his ineptitude. I’d halted my search for Elaine and Thomas, turning all of attention to Risa’s partner.
Marcus.
A man of average height, slim but athletic build, dark hair, no more than thirty years old. He had access to powerful clients. Ex-military. Most likely Special Forces of some kind. Accent American but could be British, Israeli, Russian, Australian…could be from anywhere.
There was no more new information than I had weeks before.
There were no records to match. No digital images. No trace.
Nothing.
I needed to find Marcus. If I could find Marcus then I’d find her.
My lying little bitch.
I emptied the water bottle in my hand before throwing it across the room. A week and all I had to show for it was a constant state of sleep deprivation. Stalking out of the conference room, I snarled, “I’m going home.”
The receptionist bleated out my name, but didn’t have the courage to chase after me. What else was new? Besides, if it wasn’t important enough to leave her plush leather chair then it wasn’t important at all.
My VPs would probably disagree, but who really gave a fuck?
They can finally earn their padded paychecks for the first time in years since I’m not shouldering the majority of the work.
Every man deserved a vacation. Mine just happened to be now.
Justified, I relinquished all of my responsibilities onto my staff, closeting myself away from the herd to work on my pet project. Because of this the whispers grew louder. Tongues wagged, wondering what was happening to the always-polished CEO.
“When’s the last time he shaved? Is that the same suit he wore yesterday? Did he even leave last night? What is happening to Damian Black-Price?”
They could continue to whisper. Like I gave a shit.
The only reason why I’d built up Bridgewater National in the first place was because my father required it of me. He wasn’t here anymore. He’d left me in a spray of bullets just like my mother had.
Elaine turned out to be viper. Thomas no more than her lackey. Always gone when he should’ve been home instead of closeting himself away with his precious intel and numbers. Fuck him too.
But Risa…fucking Risa.
My breathing grew shallow as the rage built up in my chest. I shoved past a nameless face, uncaring that their baleful stare followed me down the hall. They could get a job at Axis3 or G
ordon Industries if they didn’t like me or my company anymore.
In fact, I couldn’t stand this building either. Perhaps I should just let the whole lot of them go to greener pastures. Torch the entire company and my portfolio.
Memories came. Back when Risa had first become my PA and shadowed me for days. I’d caught her looking at me in wonderment. I didn’t understand it then, but I did now.
“You work so hard. Not for yourself but for everyone around you.”
She’d hit the nail on the head and I hated it. Worse, I loathed that her good opinion of me still mattered. After everything she’d done, I still had the wretched audacity to waste one second in thinking she’d be disappointed in hearing I’d dismantled Bridgewater.
I imagined Risa’s soft voice raising in reproach. “But what about all those people and their families, Damian? You can’t just shut things down. They count on you!”
If she didn’t give a damn about me why would she care at all about my company?
Or maybe that was just it.
Risa cared about everyone and everything except me.
I slammed the side of my fist against the wall, denting it and causing a junior secretary to let out a yell.
Mood growing blacker, I got to the bank of elevators and punched the button. It opened and the occupants streamed out, leaving me alone.
Good.
All this time I’d believed Risa had been compelled to leave me. In Romania and here in New York. Delusional. She’d gone out of her way to tell me I was to abandon her to a new life. That she didn’t want me anymore. Ever again.
I wouldn’t listen.
Look where it left me—demented.
The doors finally opened up to the garage level. Dim lighting made every shadow a target. I glared at them, daring this double-damned Marcus to ooze out of one.
He was the reason why Risa left me.
He turned her against me.
He told my secrets.
He used her against me.
He didn’t even have the decency to kill me when I lay there naked and helpless, frozen in that purgatory state for eight hours.
Yanking open my car door, I threw myself onto the leather seat. A push of the button and the Lamborghini Huracán Coupé engine roared to do my bidding. Throwing it into gear, I peeled out of my parking space and charged onto the road in quick order. Several cars slammed on their brakes and horns, adding to the typical midday chaos.
Bastards. Didn’t they know the settlement I’d have to pay post collision? Someone should at least enjoy the fruits of my wasted life since I couldn’t.
35
RISA
My war with Marcus came to end as soon as I learned what ‘begin tomorrow’ meant for me.
Marcus and I boarded the Volkovs’ private jet by four am. We flew across the country, staying in a city for a night before flying into another one. San Francisco, Vegas, Oklahoma City, Dallas, New Orleans, and finally Atlanta.
Every night saw me on Sascha Volkov’s arm. Thankfully, Marcus was never far away even as he blended into the background perfectly. I trained myself not to stare at him, but I was always aware of where he was.
Current circumstances turned enemies into allies and Marcus was the only one I had.
“Don’t drink any alcohol, Miss Kelly. Just water. There’s too much risk otherwise.”
We were on the same page. I needed all my senses more than I needed a rum and coke.
Sascha and I went out to dinner in elegant restaurants to eat miniscule proportions on artic white china, visited ear-pounding nightclubs where people fawned on him incessantly, before ending the night at a private and illegal gambling den belonging to a well-connected mayor, famous rapper, or jaded socialite. Once finished, we got into a fortified SUV, drove to an airstrip, and boarded the jet to do it all over again.
It exhausted me, but I just dug deeper. As usual, I didn’t understand the exact purpose of our excursions but it wasn’t hard to take a guess. My backless dresses gave the message—I was a Konstantinov asset under Volkov protection.
“To the underground world, it’s just a tattoo,” Marcus shared when I asked him the first night. “The Volkovs can be counted on to make sure it stays that way. No one will fuck with you or yours, Miss Kelly. That includes your Damian.”
I had what I wanted even if the methods weren’t to my liking.
Bridgette accompanied us to make me a perfectly-made up doll. I wore glittering gowns—apparently the shorter the better. I often held onto Sascha’s arm, going so far as to smile when he won a hand at the table, wore the jewels he presented me (on loan), but our relationship was purely professional.
Thank God.
Sascha Volkov handled himself like a lord, not like the eldest son of a ruthless gangster. His manners were impeccable, and breeding apparent, but I wasn’t fooled. I felt the chill emanating from Iliya’s heir.
Sascha could and would beat a man to death with his bare hands. The very same hands that treated me like an object to be shown off at best advantage could turn on me if the deal happened to change.
We rarely spoke considering it wasn’t entirely necessary. I appreciated the silence and I got the feeling he appreciated it as well.
We were in Atlanta, heading back to the Volkov suite, when Sascha surprised me.
“Why did you agree to do this?”
I startled. Looking away from the window, I peered at him. He stared straight ahead but the expectant lift of his slashing brow told me I’d heard him correctly.
“I agreed because he matters to me.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I love him.”
“How do you know?”
“How do I know what? That I love him?”
“Yes.” Sascha’s perfect posture matched his intonation. “You’ve spent your nights with dangerous people all for this man you barely know.”
“He’s worth it to me.”
“How did you determine that?”
“It’s not based on rationality. There’s no Excel formula I could run to determine compatibility.” My joke fell flat. Shrugging, I crossed my legs and settled back against the seat. “It’s a feeling. When I look at Damian I see forever.”
“Feelings fade, Risa. What you feel today is not there tomorrow.”
It was the first time he used my name in a private setting. It brought a sense of surrealism to our conversation.
“That’s true for most things. My love for him is different.”
“Love is fickle. Love is predicated on expectations being met. Each day clears the board and each night brings an accounting.”
Sascha didn’t mock me with certainty. I sensed the curiosity to understand me. My natural reticence in talking about Damian faded when I realized I wanted to desperately.
“That’s true for many couples. I’d argue that isn’t love though.”
“Those couples would disagree.”
“I’m sure they would. Doesn’t mean they’re right.”
“And yet your love is right.”
“Yes.”
“Your explanation is abstract.”
“Love is above the mundane. It should be abstract. Look, I love Damian for many reasons, some which are private, but the best reason is this—I’ve waited for that man my whole life. He is the one person who unlocked my heart, even when I didn’t realize it’d been closed all this time. I would do anything for him.”
“Even though he searches for you now, what happens when he leaves you for another? Or grows tired of you and your love and just wants to be alone? What then?”
Pain lanced me. Apparently, the Volkovs weren’t privy to my last encounter with Damian. He was probably well on his way to getting over me by getting under someone else.
“Whether we’re together or apart it doesn’t change a thing. I’ll always love him.”
“Ah, but what happens when this fiery passion fades and all you’re left with is a scar on your back and regret in your soul?�
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My gaze zeroed in on the tattoo across his right hand. It flexed once.
“I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Sascha met my gaze. His probed mine. It was that of a predator searching for weakness. I didn’t fear it because he wouldn’t find one.
My love for Damian couldn’t be torn down or broken.
“The time is coming where you may be proven right, Risa.”
The even words sent a chill down my back.
Any further words got lost when the SUV rolled to a smooth stop. A Volkov soldier opened the door and we exited in short order. I held onto Sascha’s arm as expected, but my attention got drawn to a group of college girls in the hotel lobby.
They eyed us both, giggles piercing and grins wide with feminine appreciation as they lingered on Sascha. I noticed several holding their phones up. Pictures meant social media exposure. We didn’t need that. Looking behind me, I expected the Volkov guards to block their view.
They moved in to do just that, but I was afraid it wasn’t fast enough. My worry faded, deepening into a melancholy. Damian probably wasn’t looking for me anymore. Not after what happened last week.
My fingers dug into Sascha’s arm, creasing the ebony fabric. He looked down in mild surprise. I apologized faintly and then nausea hit me. Sweat broke out along my forehead. The air in the elevator was too warm. Sascha’s cologne, pleasing until now, made my stomach roil.
“Where’s Marcus?”
Sascha took one look at me and then swiftly picked me up just as I started to fall back.
I wanted to say I was fine, but we both knew I’d be lying. The ceiling spun. I closed my eyes out of self-preservation. Our group of six exited the elevator and swiftly strode into the guarded suite. Sascha snapped in Russian, but I heard Marcus’s name.
He appeared in a matter of seconds.
“Here. Let me take her.”
Sascha handed me off to Marcus. I weakly tried to say I didn’t need to be carried, but no one paid attention. Marcus took me into my room and sat me down on a plush armchair.
“Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
I touched my stomach with both hands. “No, I don’t think so. I was feeling nauseated, but I think I just got too hot.”