Dynasty: A Mafia Collection

by Jen Davis

  “Nonsense. You are my guest. Sit. Eat.”

  Boris wore a hat and coat, and had Leonardo’s gym bag clutched in his hand. He stood by the door spinning the Cadillac key ring around his index finger. “Well rested?”

  Careful not to let on I knew they’d drugged me, I played dumb. “Best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages.” I smiled. “Oh, have either of you seen my phone? I must’ve misplaced it.”

  Boris held it up. “It’s been going off all morning.”

  I slid over to him, snatched my cell from his hand, and shuffled back to get some distance between us. I had five missed calls—all from Dad and Ryan—and about a hundred texts. Kiki, Rakhi, Coach Erin…Leonardo.

  Leonardo: Coming over at noon to pick up bag. NO COPS.

  My stomach turned. I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants.

  “Boss, if you don’t mind, I have an appointment to get to at precisely noon. Do you need anything before I attend to business?” Boris asked.

  “No, of course not. We’ll be fine. Do svidaniya.”

  “Do svidaniya.” Boris tipped the rim of his hat.

  “Wait,” I blurted. “Can you take me to the club? Coach Erin asked if I could stop by today so the trainer can check my ankle. She’s leaving early for the holiday weekend.”

  “It’s up to boss.”

  I have to get out of this house. “We can go downtown when I get back. There’s a Christmas display at Fountain Square and ice skating and a nativity scene with real reindeer and a band—”

  “We will do all of that and more.” He laughed. “Don’t be gone too long.”

  I got a water bottle out of the bar fridge and grabbed a pastry. “Do svidaniya. That’s how you say goodbye, right?”

  “Perfect. You see, Boris? She’s one of us.”

  Boris shook his head as if the idea of me being like them was enough to make his brain bleed.

  I slid on my shoe and followed Boris out the door. When we got into the car, he turned on the music. I turned it off. “What’s the plan? You’re just going to give him his bag, right?”

  Boris drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Not possible.”

  The patsani that had held me down the night before were waiting for us in a white van with blacked-out windows, the kind murderers drive in movies and true-crime shows.

  “Are they going to follow us?”

  “Shush. No questions.”

  Boris turned the music back on. I whizzed the pastry out the window.

  I got the evil eye. “Why can’t you eat like normal person?”

  “I don’t feel good.” I squeezed my arms around my legs.

  Boris studied my body language. “You drank too much.”

  “What did you do to me after you drugged me?” I buried my face in my hands, frightened by my own words.

  He grabbed my forearm. “Don’t come up with crazy ideas—not what you think.”

  I shrugged him off and turned my back to him.

  “Look at me.”

  Fearful of backlash, I peeked over my shoulder and met his unsympathetic eyes.

  “Filthy animals do things to girls against their will, not boss.”

  I wiped off my tears and snot on my coat. “There’s no other reason. Once that dirty old man told you I was a virgin the two of you decided to help yourselves—”

  “No one touched you.”

  “You mean again?”

  By the death glare on Boris’s face, I was skidding dangerously close to the Point of No Return.

  “I needed to make certain you stayed put in your room.”

  I gasped. “Why?”

  “I don’t like giving you freedom to roam the house while we’re sleeping.” He glanced sideways at me. “I’m not a trusting person, you know?”

  “It was your idea to drug me?”

  “No, dear. My idea was to handcuff your wrists to the bed frame.”

  I covered my mouth with my hands.

  “Lucky for you, boss didn’t like that idea either. He’s too soft on you.”

  The idea of the two of them discussing the best way to immobilize me made me ill, but I believed the motivation behind it. Considering their illegal activity, I was a liability. “Which one of you took my clothes off?”

  “No more questions.”

  My thoughts turned back to where we were headed. Leonardo was in grave danger. He deserved what Ryan had dished out to him last night, and in my eyes, we were even. As casually as I could, I slid my right hand into my pocket and pulled my phone out just far enough to manage a text to warn him not to go to my house.

  Boris busted me, twisted my wrist, and squeezed my hand until I let it go. The Cadillac veered down a secluded road and parked in front of an old dilapidated barn. The murderer van slid in behind us. I unlocked my seat belt and hopped out of the car. I had only made it a few feet before Playboy had me in a chokehold.

  “Don’t go to the house I will—” Boris read from my phone.

  “I will what, Carter? Give him another opportunity to disrespect you? Want to go have some fun with these bad boys?” He nodded to the barn.

  The goons circled around me.

  “Please stop. You’re scaring me to death.”

  “That dirty Spaniard will be sorry for what he did.”

  “I’m sure he’s sorry already. His face was bloody the last time I saw him.”

  Boris licked his lips. “He contacted you because he wants something, but failed to apologize for hurting you and for the damage he caused to your house.”

  “Let’s make a deal,” I said. “If he apologizes, you call off the wolves. If he tries anything, you have my blessing, okay?” I held out my hand for a binding agreement.

  Boris scoffed. Playboy steered me back to the Caddy. Before I could get there, I dropped to my knees and vomited in the snow. Mentally exhausted by my bullshit, Boris handed Playboy Leonardo’s bag and gave the patsani their orders. The white van rolled away and kept course toward my place. Leonardo was going to learn a lesson about the consequences of fucking with the pakhan’s most prized possession—me.

  Chapter 33

  Under His Spell

  When Boris and I got back to the house, Vladimir greeted me at the door. “Ready to celebrate?” His eyes were lit up and dazzling. I believed Boris when he said he didn’t drug me for the reason I’d thought. Vladimir would never hurt me—that way.

  “I’ll wait while you change into something clean.”

  Such tact. In the car I noticed I had vomit splashes on my clothes and reeked like a frat boy on a Sunday afternoon. “Yes. I’ll hurry.”

  Once I showered and dressed in fresh designer clothes, Vladimir took me to lunch at a trendy high-rise restaurant that overlooked the holiday festivities on Fountain Square. We had a cozy u-shaped booth tucked in the corner. The best seat in the restaurant.

  I choked down a couple bites of bread and a few spoonsful of vegetable barley soup, but I was so anxious from all that had gone down in the last twenty-four hours, I doubted I could keep anything in my stomach. Not to mention, I had the Big Papi of all hangovers caused by whatever Boris had slipped into my drink last night.

  A text came in on my special phone. It was a photo of Leonardo lying on the ground with a busted up and bloody face, holding his ankle in agony; it was clearly broken. Acid built up in my throat and chills rocked my body.

  Boris: Any more messes need cleaning up?

  Carter: No.

  Boris: Not a word, understand?

  Carter: Yes.

  Boris: Good girl. Delete this now.

  I trashed the picture and tucked the phone back in my purse.

  Vladimir pushed his soup bowl aside and folded his hands on the table. “Talk to me, Carter. I need to know what you’re thinking.”

  I must have looked as crappy as I felt. I tucked my hands into my shirtsleeves and stared out the window. I held back tears, trying to come up with something to say that wouldn’t get me into trouble. Ever since Leonardo had given
me a lift home, one fucked up thing after another had been set into motion. I didn’t know how to make it all stop.

  Coach, Natasha, Leonardo—no more mistakes.

  Our twenty-something-year-old waitress with bouncy pigtails and artsy tats came back to the table. “Are you finished with your first course?”

  Vladimir motioned for her to take his bowl. “Please.”

  “Cool tats.” The waitress flashed a flirty smile. “Goes great with the accent.”

  “Spasibo,” he replied.

  She tilted her head and giggled.

  “I’m finished, too,” I said.

  After the waitress skittered away, I asked, “Jeez. Do all girls throw themselves at you like that?”

  “Jealous?” He winked.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “No.”

  “Ready to talk?”

  “There is something I want to ask, but I’m afraid—”

  “Don’t be.” He scooted closer to me in the booth.

  I wrung my hands in my lap and tried to think of how best to phrase my question.

  “Tell me.” He put his hand on my back.

  His touch startled me. I lowered my gaze, slumped my shoulders.

  He wrapped his arm around me. “Please don’t fear me. I would never hurt you.”

  “Did you come to Cincinnati because of me?”

  He squeezed my shoulder. “You have quite an ego, Miss Cook.”

  Why had I bothered? He wasn’t going to tell me the truth anyway. “Yeah, whatever. Can we go now?” I stood up to leave, but he held on to my arm.

  “Wait.” He pulled out his wallet, flipped it open, and cupped something in his hand.

  I sat back down and he revealed a striking picture of Sophia with the New York skyline behind her.

  “I spent five years of my life in a Siberian prison camp. The idea that this vibrant young woman was waiting for me to return kept me alive.”

  “You thought she was waiting for you?”

  He tipped his head.

  “When did you find out she died? Before or after you got out?”

  “After. Boris thought it best not to tell me. He knew she meant the world to me.”

  “You must’ve been devastated.”

  “With the love of my life gone, I had no will to live until—” He flipped over a second photo of me, holding a tennis trophy. I was in high school, and I’d just won my first tournament.

  “Whoa, whoa. You’ve been stalking me all these years?”

  The restaurant went silent. All eyes were on us.

  “Not stalking, looking after you.”

  I blinked as if I’d been conked over the head with a blunt object.

  “Sophia loved you so much, Carter. With her gone, I felt it was my duty to watch over you. Knowing a part of her lives on through you has helped me get past the grief.” He picked up my hands. “My family convinced me to stay away from you, for your own good. My line of work can be unpredictable.”

  “Why’d you change your mind?”

  “I’ve kept tabs on you over the years. When I found out your papa had been out of work for so long and your family was struggling, I couldn’t sit back and do nothing, could I?”

  “You came all the way from Russia to help my family?”

  “You know me well enough to know there are no limits. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” He folded my hands into his, lifted them to his lips, and kissed the inside of my wrist. “You are my world.”

  The idea that this man, this powerful man, cared so deeply for me that he left his country, disrupted his world, and came to Ohio to rescue my family and me left me speechless. “Then why do you keep pushing me away?”

  “Moy slomannyy angel,” he whispered. “I’m not pushing you away. I’m trying to resist you, Carter. You’re better off without me in your life, but you’ve captured my heart. I can’t breathe when we’re apart.”

  We stared into each other’s eyes.

  “A young woman as beautiful as you can choose any man she desires. Stop wasting your time on losers who don’t deserve you. Choose me.” He leaned down to kiss me.

  Under his spell, I closed my eyes, parted my lips—

  The waitress bounced back to the table with our entrees. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  I opened my eyes.

  “No apology necessary,” Vladimir said. “I have a lifetime to show my angel how much she means to me.” He kissed my cheek and whispered something sexy in Russian.

  The waitress’s cheeks flushed. “You are the luckiest girl in the universe. I wish my boyfriend treated me like that.”

  Boyfriend? Oh, God. What have I gotten myself into now?

  Chapter 34

  Natural Disaster

  When we rolled up the driveway, Igor cocked his head and blinked at me from his perch in the tree. Like me, the peacock thought it best to keep his mouth shut and quit strutting around like he owned the place.

  While we were away, the house had been transformed into a winter wonderland. The aroma of warm spiced cider filled the air, zakuski lined the bar, and Christmas decorations dangled from the row of mini chandeliers in the kitchen. In the dining room, the table had been set and a feast stayed warm in chafing dishes. A real Christmas tree was set up by the fireplace and decorated with sparkling glass ornaments and illuminated with soft white lights.

  The poodles whimpered to be let out of their crates.

  “No crying, babies.” I released them and took them outside. When I came back in and locked them up again to dry off their paws, Vladimir patted the vacant spot next to him on the couch, drawing me to him. I kicked off my air cast, plopped down on the couch, and wrapped myself up in a blanket.

  “I never want there to be any secrets between us.” Vladimir scooted my body down until he had my back spooned against his chest, and my head rested in the curve of his neck. He curled and tucked me into the contours of his body like I was the weak turtle meat, and he was the hard protective shell.

  He brushed his hand across my cheek. “I’m looking forward to spending a lovely evening with you.” He leaned us back in a more relaxing spoon position and kissed my cheek. “Want to do something special tonight?”

  A call came in on his cell. He checked the screen. “It’s your papa.”

  I sat up and retreated to the other side of the couch.

  “Ricky, my friend. How are you? How’s the family?…She is here. Right here. Let me have you speak to her.” Vladimir handed me his cell.

  “Hi, Dad. I’m sorry. I can’t find my phone. We’re having a wonderful time…Everything is great…No, no problems…Give everyone my love.” I hung up and handed the phone back to Vladimir. He had a serious look on his face.

  “He didn’t ask about how your ankle is feeling?”

  I exhaled. “Well, I didn’t mention it.”

  “Where is your phone?”

  “Uh, Boris has it.”

  “Why?”

  “You know him. He’s paranoid.”

  “Hmm,” he said.

  “What’s hmm?” I asked.

  He got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen. I followed, hopping on my good leg. He poured himself a shot of vodka and downed it. Mentally, I prepared to protect myself against one of his alarming mood swings.

  “Why don’t you tell your papa about your injury? Have you something to hide?”

  “I’m not hiding anything. If I told him I was hurt, he would cancel the trip and come home. I don’t want him to worry.”

  Vladimir downed his vodka and set the glass on the counter. He moved toward me with penetrating eyes like a cobra. “Do you keep things from me so I don’t worry?”

  Shit. I knew he would figure out something was wrong. If I could make some noise, maybe Boris would come up from downstairs to check things out. “No, of course not.”

  I knocked over the almost empty vodka bottle. It bounced a half dozen times before rolling to a stop. “I’m so clumsy.” I slipped ou
t of his grasp and followed the bottle over to its resting place by the stove. I picked it up and set it back on the counter. “I would never betray your trust. You know me better than that, right?”

  “Of course, my dear. I’m sorry to question your loyalty.” He pulled my body into his and squeezed his arms around my back. “Tell me exactly how you hurt your ankle.”

  Shock, panic, and fear rippled through my body. “How did I hurt myself? Didn’t Boris tell you?” Shit. Did Boris tell him the truth or was he going along with my tennis story?

  “I want to hear it from you.”

  “I twisted it on the court.”

  He waited for the little weasel in me to elaborate. I opened my mouth to speak, but before the words came out, Boris swung open the kitchen door. “I heard noise.”

  “Sorry to bother you, Boris. I knocked over a—”

  Vladimir raised a hand to silence me. A sixth sense alerted me to take cover, like when a natural disaster is about to strike and animals escape to higher ground. I, too, needed an exit strategy before the testosterone tsunami hit and swept me away.

  “Come in, friend. We were just talking about you. Sit. Have a drink.”

  Boris had the same feeling I had. I could see it in his eyes. “What are we talking about, boss?” He turned over a couple of glasses on the bar and filled each with ice-cold vodka. He slid one to Vladimir and swirled one in his hand.

  He answered him in Russian.

  Boris nodded. They clinked glasses and downed their shots.

  I put some weight on my ankle to test it out. It was tender without the cast. Boris wasn’t the most trustworthy person in the world, but I hoped the idea of sopping my blood off the kitchen floor would deter him from steering the boss south.

  Their conversation continued, and the mercury was rising. Vladimir held out his arm for me to come to him. Obediently, I hopped to his side. He wrapped his arm around my waist and aligned my body against his.

  “You’re right, boss. Carter is a special young lady.” Boris switched back to English. “I would never allow any harm to come to her.”