Dynasty: A Mafia Collection

by Jen Davis

  I dusted on some powder, shadow, blush, a swipe of mascara, and a spot of pink lipstick to try not to look so sickly. I put on the smallest jeans I had to compensate for my weight loss and found a long-sleeved, white, Burberry t-shirt and a stylish plaid sweater to go over it. I couldn’t ditch the cast, but I put on three pairs of socks to keep my toes warm on my bad foot and slipped a toasty Ugg boot on the other. When I got back to the kitchen, the conversation died. My sixth sense for something fucked up was about to happen kicked in. “Ready to go, Ryan?”

  “There’s been a change of plans.” Vladimir walked to the mudroom and came back holding a full-length fur coat whose original owner was some sort of spotted cat. I let him slip it on me.

  Ryan’s brown eyes twinkled when I lifted my hair out of the coat and let it fall over my shoulders. “This is going to be the best Christmas Eve ever.”

  Or our last Christmas Eve ever.

  Chapter 37

  Wager

  If Ryan hadn’t come to the house when he did, I may not have been breathing by kickoff. Instead, the boss called up a connection and reserved a private box at the stadium for the four of us. To top it off, Boris arranged for a limo to take us there in style. En route to the game, Boris popped a bottle of champagne. What we were celebrating I did not know, but I was certain it had something to do with Ryan.

  The boss must have had one hell of a hangover like I did, but he hid it well. He dressed in a dark blue pinstriped suit with a long, luxurious sable fur coat over top. He was acting cool, but the crazy was shooting out of his eyes like a laser light show. Boris had on his usual all black ensemble with a fat gold chain around his neck and a black leather fur-trimmed winter coat. The deep freeze had officially set in.

  Boris always looked like he wanted to kill someone, usually me, but the boss was way beyond his usual frustration level. And when the game was over and we said our goodbyes, I would be back at the mansion with the big bad gun-toting Russians, out in the middle of the woods, surrounded by barbed wire and a pack of wolves. I didn’t stand a chance.

  “That’s a nice coat,” Ryan said. He knew I’d never choose to wear a real fur.

  “It’s a loaner,” I said.

  “Does that belong to your girlfriend, sir?” Ryan asked the boss.

  A devilish grin crept up on his face. “Yes, my beautiful girlfriend.”

  “I’m sure she looks just as hot in it as my girlfriend does,” Ryan said.

  Oh, God.

  “Your girlfriend?” The boss was officially on the verge of losing his mind.

  Ryan slid his foot across the aisle and tapped my boot. “She made me chase her, but I finally wore her down. Isn’t that right, Cookie?”

  Vladimir glared at me like an executioner hovering above his victim, waiting for the right moment to swing the axe. Boris said something in Russian to try to calm him down.

  My Game Plan: Keep it light, and maybe they would let me off easy for good behavior? I laughed. “You’re such a joker, Ryan.”

  ***

  When we got to our private box at the stadium, I couldn’t decide where to sit. All three of them wanted a piece of me. I stood by the window to watch the pregame festivities.

  “What’s our bet today, Cookie?” Ryan asked. He put his arm around me. “You know, I did you a favor with our last bet by letting you wear my Bearcat jersey. My number on your back upped your street creds a few notches.”

  Don’t bring up the jersey. “Ha, ha.” I elbowed him in the side and walked away to pick up a water bottle. “What are the odds on the game, Boris?”

  “Ravens by three, Cookie.”

  “I hate the Ravens. Can’t pull the trigger on that one. What do you think, Mr. Ivanov?”

  He eyed me like a jungle cat that just heard a branch snap. “I don’t gamble.”

  “Excuse me?” I put my hand on my hip and wrinkled my nose. He was as competitive as I was—maybe even worse.

  “If you gamble, you set yourself up to lose.”

  I crossed my arms. “Then you can’t win, either.”

  “I’m already a winner. Why would I want to be a loser?”

  “Good point,” Ryan said. “I’ll take advice from the rich guy. No bets.”

  The men laughed. Ryan raised his Coke and cheered their drinks.

  “Want a beer?” Boris was sure acting chummy toward my boyfriend.

  “No thank you, sir. I don’t drink.”

  “Wait, wait.” I held up my hands. “If you don’t play, you can’t win.”

  “You also can’t lose,” Boris said. “That’s why I don’t gamble, either.”

  I shook my head, unable to wrap my brain around that one. The real me, as opposed to the trembling nutcase I’d become over the weekend, would have grilled the Russians on their bullshit. “You make bets with me all the time. What about that?”

  “I said I don’t gamble, not that I don’t make bets. Gambling is risky business. When I make a bet with you, it’s a sure thing.”

  Ryan chuckled at my notoriously bad betting record.

  I raised my empty water bottle. “Touché.”

  “I’ll make a bet with you, babe, if it will make you feel better.” He picked up my hand, pulled me over to his side, and plopped me down on his lap.

  “I’m sure you will. I’m bleeding out over here.” I stood and went to our private bar for another water.

  Vladimir followed me. He wrapped his arm around me. “Did you rest well last night?”

  I froze.

  “I slept very deeply.” He pushed my hair over my shoulder and ran his finger down my neck. “I’ll make a wager with you. What do you want to win?”

  I peeked over my shoulder to make sure Ryan didn’t see us. Boris was pointing at the Ravens defense, and Ryan assessed the Bengals o-line.

  My body trembled. “Nothing. I do it for fun. It’s no big deal.”

  The bartender placed my ice water and a bottle of vodka with a round of shot glasses on the bar.

  “I want to have fun, too.”

  Out of fear, I played along. “Okay. I’ll try to think of something.” No more mistakes, especially now that Ryan had become the pakhan’s public enemy number one. We walked back to our seats as the Bengals managed an eleven-yard run, which earned them a fresh set of downs. The crowd cheered.

  I tried to veer toward Ryan, but the boss caught my hand and set me down next to him. “I thought of a nice bet for you to win, Miss Cook.”

  I wiped off my mouth with the back of my hand. “Did you hear that? He has a nice bet for me to win,” I said, trying to ward off the tension.

  The guys laughed.

  “I don’t need your pity, boss—I mean, Mr. Ivanov. I can take it.” I leaned back in my swivel chair and took a sip of my water, trying my best to act causal. I didn’t want Ryan to pick up on my apprehension; there was room for both of our bodies in the trunk of the Cadillac.

  The Bengals ran in a touchdown and tied the game ten to ten in the last seconds of the first half. The stadium roared. Ryan leaned across the table, interlaced his fingers with mine, and smooched me on the lips. I shook my hands free and tucked them under my legs. I hoped he didn’t get a whiff of the boss’s aftershave on my skin.

  Vladimir scooted my chair closer to him and farther away from Ryan. “You’ll want to take this bet.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Ryan said.

  “If Baltimore tries an onside kick, I win. If they don’t, you win. Is it a bet?”

  “Take it, babe. Trust me. There’s no way—no way the Ravens will do it.”

  Vladimir extended his hand and waited for me to accept the deal.

  “Hold on. What’s the wager?” I held my hand back out of his reach.

  “A new tennis racquet for you, and if I win you prepare dinner?”

  “Hope you like peanut butter,” Ryan said.

  “First of all, I would never retire the Silver Bullet, and I already cook dinner for you.”

  Ryan wrinkled his brow. I had to
be careful, no one knew about our arrangement. “You know, this weekend of course.”

  Ryan seemed satisfied with the explanation.

  “She drives a hard bargain, boss. Better raise the stakes.” Boris egged him on.

  “Let me see. If I win, you must give me a private tennis lesson. How does that sound?”

  “I can live with that.”

  “What do you want, Carter?” Vladimir asked.

  “Really, I don’t want—”

  “Boris, help the poor girl.”

  Boris stroked his beard. “I got it, boss. Use of the private jet to take her and a friend anywhere in the world.”

  Ryan’s brown eyes opened as wide as footballs. “Are you serious?”

  “Mr. Ivanov, it’s too much.” I held up my hands. “I can’t accept that.”

  Before I could protest further, Vladimir picked up my hand and shook.

  Of course the Ravens didn’t try to run a sneaky play. I had won the bet. My gut told me I may have won this round, but somehow the boss had stolen a little piece of me.

  Chapter 38

  Nine Lives

  When we got home, I said goodbye to Ryan and hightailed it to my room to get out of sight for a while. Before I had a chance to shut the door, Boris latched on to my shoulders. He pushed my body into the room and shut the door behind him. The Grandpa Boris façade he displayed at the game had subsided. The knuckle-busting mobster had returned. “You think I’ve forgotten about this morning?” He moved his hand down to his belt.

  Oh, God. “Where’s Vladimir?”

  “He has some business to attend to. He’ll be gone for a while.” He unfastened the buckle and slid the black leather belt off his pants. “You and I need to get a few things straight about who’s in charge around here.”

  My body trembled, overcome with the fear of what was about to go down. He motioned for me to sit on the bed. I hesitated, but when his jaw clenched and he looped the belt in his hand, I did what I was told. I prayed his intention was just to scare me.

  “Good girl. You had a nice time as our guest? A relaxing holiday weekend?”

  “Yes.”

  He circled in front of me. I curled my knees up to my chest. “Your boyfriend is a nice guy. Would be shame if he got into trouble.”

  My body stiffened. “Why do you say that?”

  “Our friends out back planted evidence in his truck that will put him away until he’s an old man. Speak of anything that happened here and police get an anonymous tip, understand?”

  I couldn’t breathe.

  “Answer me.” He shoved me down on the bed. With his buckle in hand, he pinned my forearms down and yelled in my face. “Otvet' mne.”

  “Da, da,” I squealed, not sure of the question but certain of the answer.

  He yanked me back to my feet and cornered me against the wall. “You belong to boss now. This evening you will show your appreciation for his generosity.”

  Sweat trickled down my back. I could barely hold myself up.

  A dirty smile crept across his face. “Anything I can do to help you get ready? Massage? Soft music? Red wine to get you in the mood?”

  Feeling sick, I covered my mouth and shook my head.

  His face flashed with anger. He lifted the belt. “No?”

  Don’t challenge him, Sophia said.

  “No, I don’t need anything,” I whimpered.

  He steered me toward the closet. “Let’s get you changed for dinner, dear.” He examined my expensive new wardrobe and selected a low-cut, honey-colored silk dress. “This one brings out the gold in your eyes.” He unbuttoned my cardigan, slid it off, and dropped it to the floor.

  I panted as he unbuttoned my jeans with his belt in hand. I prayed for a miracle. No more chances. If I resisted, he would whip me into submission. He lifted my t-shirt out of my pants and slid it over my head. My hair fell into my face. Gently, he pushed it out of my eyes and flipped it back over my shoulder, leaving me exposed in my bra and jeans.

  When his fingers fumbled to unhook my front closure bra, I panicked. I folded my arms across my chest and hunched my shoulders forward. “Please don’t. I’m sorry—”

  “Shush. I’m trying to help you. Boss is angry with you. Don’t make things harder on yourself.” His tone was sincere like a father giving his daughter worldly advice. “Would you rather take it off yourself?”

  I nodded, pulled all my hair forward to cover myself, and then slid off my bra. I reached for the dress, but he held it back.

  “Not yet.”

  He pushed down on my shoulders and sat me on the edge of the bed, placed his arm under my knees, and flipped my legs on top of the covers. He slid off my boot, unfastened the Velcro on my cast, and tossed it aside. “Vladimir hasn’t had a smile on his face in eight years. That changed the night he met you. All the money, the power that comes with his position, nothing has brought him happiness—except you.”

  I closed my eyes to mask my terror when he sat next to me and rubbed his thick fingers across my stomach with his belt hand. “You are going to want to please boss tonight of your own free will. He deserves that much from you.” He traced the lace around the top of my underwear. “Your bullshit ends now.”

  “He doesn’t want me like this.” My voice trembled. “I know he’s mad at me, but he would never order you to hurt me. This is all your sick—”

  “Keep talking.” He raised the belt over his head.

  Fight!

  I thumped him in the chest with my fists and tried to roll off the opposite side of the bed, but he wouldn’t relinquish his grip. All I had accomplished was to make him angrier. Out of patience, he growled and shoved me off the edge of the bed. I landed with a thud flat on my back. The force of my fall knocked the wind out of me, and the throbbing pain shooting up from my ankle paralyzed me.

  While I caught my breath, Boris stalked around the bed and towered over me. “I’m wise to your game, girly. Bat your pretty eyes, flaunt your little body, cry your sad tears—boss gives you anything you want. Boss leaves his home, his family, his business, and drags me with him to America to rescue you. What does he get in return? Lies, deceit, and disrespect.”

  I sucked in a deep breath, rolled over on my stomach, but before I could stand, Boris held me down with his heavy boot like he was rubbing out a bug. “Want to leave? Go ahead.”

  My bare skin chaffed against the carpet as I tried to squirm away. “The pakhan will kill you when he finds out what you’re up to.”

  He removed his foot from my back, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked me back to my feet. “What do you mean when he finds out?” His expression oozed with rage.

  “I’m sorry. I won’t say anything.”

  He caressed my cheek with the back of his prison-tatted hand. “Think of me as your coach, dear. I’m just getting you warmed up.”

  “No!” With the last reserve of courage I had left, I dug my fingernails into his hands and tried to pry him off of me.

  He flung me back onto the bed. Using one hand he pinned me down, and with the other he wrapped the belt around my wrists. “Fight me again, it goes around your neck.”

  “Get off me.” I struggled to free my hands.

  He twisted the skin on my torso in the same spot where I’d pinched Ryan to get his attention. “Is this how you get what you want, little tease?”

  I begged him to stop, but he didn’t let up.

  “I tried the easy way, but you never learn, do you?” He unzipped my jeans, and as he slid them down, his cell rang. He retrieved his phone from his pocket.

  I gasped for air.

  He covered my mouth.

  “Da…da…she’ll be ready.” He slipped the phone back in his pocket and seemed to be contemplating the most punishing way he could kill me. “You have nine lives, pussy cat. Your papa will be here to collect you in a half hour. Your family cut their trip short to spend Christmas with you.” He lowered his hand, allowing me to breathe, and removed the belt from my wrists.
r />   I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath. He yanked me to my feet, pinned me against the wall, and stuck his thick finger in my face. “Rule number one: you will act like nothing out of the ordinary happened here. Two: your work schedule will resume without interruption. Three: you will keep your bruises covered. I can make anyone disappear. You don’t want anything to happen to your beautiful little sister, right?”

  I shook my head.

  “I see and hear everything, Cookie. Breathe a word about our secrets, you put your family in the ground.”

  ***

  Dad’s happy face tanked as Vladimir walked me to the car. At Boris’s insistence, I ditched the air cast and stuffed my swollen foot into my snow boot. With a limp in my step, dark circles under my eyes, and the fear of God on my face, the Russians returned me to my family. To an outsider, it would have looked like a P.O.W. exchange.

  “What happened to you?” Dad stole me away from his boss.

  “She didn’t tell you?” Vladimir asked.

  “Tell me what?”

  I looked my dad in the eye and delivered my rehearsed response. “I got the flu. I’ve been so sick the last couple days.”

  “Oh, sweetie. I wish you’d told me. I would’ve come home sooner.”

  “I didn’t want to ruin your trip. Mr. Ivanov has been so sweet. He brought a doctor to the house and made sure I got plenty of liquids and saltines. I think the worst of it is over.” I forced a smile. “Thank you for everything, Mr. Ivanov.”

  “Anything for you, Miss Cook.”

  “You’re shaking. Let’s get you out of the cold. Sorry to put you through this, Vladimir. I appreciate it.”

  My stomach churned.

  Vladimir shot his icy blue gaze down on me. “My pleasure, Ricky. Your daughter is an angel.”