by Roxie Rivera
“Honestly? I’m thinking about the tattoo on the back of Vivian’s neck.” I touched the same spot on my skin. “It wasn’t there the first time I cut her hair, right before her wedding. When I noticed it a few haircuts later, I thought it was just a pretty piece, but now?” I gestured to the base of his throat where I’d seen that dagger tattoo. “Now I’m thinking maybe that crown on her neck means something to people in your world.”
“It means that she belongs to Nikolai.” He held out an orange section and offered it to me. “It means she’s under his protection.”
When I reached for it, Kostya stunned me by gently capturing my hand and pulling me closer. He fed me the orange, pressing the juicy bit of fruit against my lip and teasingly swiping it over my skin. Holding my gaze, he said, “It means that Nikolai will kill any man who touches her because she is his queen.”
There was a wild flutter in my stomach as the sweet citrus taste burst on my tongue. Kostya dragged his thumb along my lower lip, gathering up the sticky juice lingering on my skin. He slowly licked the residue from his thumb, and my toes curled as I felt that lick in the pulsing feminine core of me.
Still holding my hand, he interlaced our fingers and reached up with his other hand to wind some of my hair around his forefinger. “We’ve had an interesting night and very nice morning.”
“But?” I knew what was coming. He had finally given me a taste of what we could have together, but he seemed almost afraid to believe it could be permanent.
“But,” he said with a heavy sigh, “my life is very complicated right now. I can’t—I won’t—do that to you.”
“And what if I don’t care about your complicated, messy life?”
He gave my hair a playful tug. “I just told you that I’m mobbed up, and you’re arguing with me when I’m trying to protect you.”
“I’m a big girl, Kostya. I know how to protect myself.”
He regarded me for a few moments. “Four weeks.”
I frowned with confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“I want you to really think about what I’ve told you this morning. I want you to understand what it means to be with someone like me. All that shit you saw on the news this morning? That’s my life, Holly.”
It suddenly occurred to me that his visit to the salon last night hadn’t been coincidence at all. “Did you come for me last night? Did you know that the cartel was in town? Did you come to the salon to protect me?”
“Yes.” His hand moved from my hair to my cheek with a tender touch. “To all three questions. It’s no secret that we’re friends. Hurting you would hurt me.”
I might not wear a tattoo like Vivian’s, but it seemed I was under this man’s protection. There was something intoxicating about the idea of belonging to him, even though he hadn’t branded me as his—yet.
Cupping my face and holding my hand, he started to lean forward. He searched my gaze as if hoping to find permission. I made sure he found it. Closing my eyes, I held my breath and waited for that first perfect kiss…
The sudden snap of Warren Zevon belting out Werewolves of London startled me. My eyes flew open just in time to catch Kostya casting a murderous glare at his phone. Making a snarling noise, he snatched his phone from the counter and hastily answered it in rapid-fire Russian. I couldn’t understand any of the conversation, but I could tell from his tone that it wasn’t good.
When he finished the call, he tucked the phone into his back pocket and then placed his hand along the back of my neck. “I’m sorry.” His thumb brushed up and down my nape, eliciting a dizzying wave of excitement. “I have to go.”
“Mob business?” I hazarded a guess.
He didn’t lie to me. “Yes.”
“Then I won’t ask anything else.” For now, I could handle being in the dark. I didn’t have any claim over him or how he spent his time. But I wasn’t sure whether I could handle this huge secret life of his long-term.
Which was exactly why he was insisting I take some time to think this through before leaping into a relationship with him. He wanted me to take a step back and consider what a future with him might look like. The romantic, hopeful side of me wanted to believe that I could make him love me enough to walk away from this life, but the realistic side of me accepted that there might not be a way to walk away from his ties to the Russian mafia.
Blood in.
Blood out.
Even if he loved me with every fiber of his being, I could never ask him to risk his life in that way. I would rather have him alive and neck deep in the murky waters of the mafia than free of those criminal chains and six feet underground.
Even if that meant we could never be together.
Kostya saved me from that sobering thought by reaching back to grab his wallet from the pocket of his jeans. “When you have some time today, I want you to call or email my friend, Fox. She operates a comprehensive security service here in Houston that specializes in banks, tech companies and hospitals, but she also offers more streamlined security services for small businesses owned by women. She can help you get the problems at your salon sorted.”
Had I mentioned the security system problems to him last night? My memories were fuzzy, but it seemed like the kind of thing I would have done. I took the card from him and glanced at the information on it. I smirked at the cartoon fox trying to pick the lock on a chicken coop. “Hen House Security, huh?”
“Fox is quite a character.” He shoved his wallet back into his pocket. “I should warn you that she can be a bit abrasive, but she’s very good at her job.”
“Thanks for the lead.” I set aside the card. “But why can’t I hire you?”
“Because I don’t ever want you tangled up in the illegal shit I do.” His hand found its way back to my neck and he drew me in close. When he kissed my temple, I melted into him. It wasn’t the lip lock I wanted, but it was more than enough to be embraced. “Fox will keep you safe when you’re at work.” He pressed his lips to my forehead. “And I’ll make sure you’re safe when you’re home.”
I wanted to tell him he was being overprotective but I thought of all the horrible things we had seen on the news this morning. “Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to see if Fox can take a look at my home system.”
“I think that’s a very good idea.” He seemed reluctant to leave me as he gathered up our dishes and carried them to the sink. “That girl? Lana?” The one you asked me to translate for?”
“What about her?” I finished off my almond milk and handed over the glass.
“She seemed very young on the phone.”
“She’s maybe eighteen.” Sadness engulfed me as I thought of her bruises. “I think something really horrible happened to her. I didn’t feel right letting her go back to the women’s shelter without being able to help her so I offered her a job.”
“I’ll do some digging and see what I can find out about her. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out where she came from and if she has any family.”
“She seems like a really sweet girl. She deserves a fresh start. I kind of think I should try to find her a safe place to live so she can get out of the shelter.”
“I have some friends who own apartment complexes around town. I’ll what I can find that’s close to the salon.”
“She’ll need to be in walking distance or bus distance to a grocery store and things like that. I doubt she can get a driver’s license yet. Try to cap the rent at one thousand. I’m not sure my budget can fit more than that.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“But—m”
“I’ll handle it, Holly,” he repeated, his voice firm but kind.
“Fine, but don’t put yourself into a financial bind. We can even go half on the rent.”
He looked as if he wanted to argue, but instead, he just nodded. “All right. I’ll get some options together, and we’ll go half.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated. “I really have to go.”
�
��But?”
“I don’t want to,” he admitted.
“I don’t want you to go either.”
“But?” he asked, parroting me.
“I have to get to the salon for our Monday morning meeting.” Anxious, I drummed my fingers on the counter. “I know I have to wait a month before you’ll agree to date me, but will I see you around?”
“Yes.” He hesitated one last time. “Are you sure you’re safe to drive? You’re not still sleepy or dizzy like you were last night?”
“I’m fine, but thank you.”
Nodding, he backed away slowly. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.” Watching him leave was harder than I had expected. After that tiny glimpse of what was possible between us, the thought of calling a four week time-out was excruciating. But Kostya had trusted me with his secret for a reason. Like Savannah, he was urging me to make my decision with eyes wide open.
As I gathered up my things and left the house, I realized that I didn’t need four weeks. I had already made my decision.
I wanted Kostya.
All of him.
The good.
The bad.
The ugly.
I just wanted him to be mine.
Chapter Five
REELING FROM HIS surreal morning with Holly, Kostya ducked into his house for a quick shower and a change of clothes. Coming clean to her about his mafia connections had never been a part of his plan, but he hadn’t been able to stomach lying to her anymore. He couldn’t tell her the whole truth, not the facts about his early years in FSB or the covert work he had done for his country and certainly not about her connection to Maksim and Nikolai, but it felt good to tell her something truthful.
It was like an anchor point in their relationship. This was one bit of truth that she would always know he had entrusted to her. Someday, perhaps, he would tell her all the rest. He could only hope that when that day came, she would listen and try to understand why he had kept the other details, the ones most fatal, a secret.
Four weeks, he thought as he pulled two DNA collection kits from a drawer and slipped them into the back pocket of his jeans. It was too much time and not enough time. His stomach knotted up with the likely outcome of the break he had insisted upon. Given a day or two, Holly would surely weigh the risks of pursuing any kind of relationship with him and insist he never visit her again.
At least now Fox would have her eyes on Holly round the clock. With Lana working at the salon, he would have a constant feed of information on Holly, even if she shut him out of her life completely. It wasn’t a perfection solution, but it would keep her safe. That was all that mattered.
As he waited for the stream of scalding hot coffee to fill his cup, the doorbell rang. Setting the cup in the sink, he pulled his pistol from the back of his jeans and left the kitchen. He checked the peep hole before opening the door to frown at the FedEx driver on his doorstep. “Yes?”
“Mr. Antonovich?” The driver didn’t look up from the device he held.
“Yes.” Kostya’s hand tightened around the grip of his pistol.
The driver scanned the barcode and handed it over to him. “Have a nice day, sir.”
“Thank you.” Kostya took the thin, stiff envelope and shut the door, locking it behind the driver who had unknowingly had a brush with death. He watched through the closest window, peeking behind the wooden blinds, to make sure the driver went on his way.
When the van rumbled along, Kostya glanced at the address label and didn’t recognize the Kazakh address. Wary of receiving strange pieces of mail from his old neighborhood, he regarded it with suspicion. An envelope this size couldn’t hold enough explosives to kill him. Powdered poison on the other hand? Exactly the right size for a lethal dose of anthrax or worse. He recoiled from the envelope as thoughts of polonium-210 and the gruesome death of former KGB agent Litvinenko entered his mind.
Holding it carefully, he walked down the hall to his office. Opening a desk drawer, he retrieved a pair of gloves and a surgical mask. He slipped both on before taking a Geiger counter from the bottom drawer. It was unlikely that anyone would be brazen—or stupid—enough to send a highly radioactive piece of mail but the world had gone crazy. The old ways of doing things, the unwritten rules for covert agents and burned spies, had been cast aside. There was a long fucking line of people who wanted to hurt him and a seemingly harmless piece of mail was a perfect way to do it.
Sweeping the probe over the envelope, he watched the Geiger counter for the first hint of an alarm. When nothing happened, he tossed aside the machine, opened another drawer and pulled out a simple dissection kit. He dropped the envelope on top of a clean sheet of paper and kicked back his desk chair so he could sit. Picking up the scalpel, he used it to slit the top edge of the envelope. Carefully, he gave the envelope a shake.
A few bent photographs fell out first. A slip of paper, yellowed with age and ripped margins, fell out next. Setting aside the empty envelope, he picked up the first slip of paper and studied it. Old and stained, it was a record of some kind. Names. Dates of birth. Dates of intake.
It was a page torn from a prison logbook.
He tried to make sense of the smudged and untidy handwriting as he scanned the front and back of the page, looking for some clue as to which prison it had come from and when. His gaze slid down the column of convictions, the crimes that had brought each prisoner there. Murder. Child molestation. A serial killer. A cannibal.
There was only one prison in all of Russia that came to mind for housing prisoners like these. Penal Colony 6. The Black Dolphin.
It was a place where the worst of the very worst were sent to disappear. None of the prisoners who passed through the front gates ever left it.
But why would someone send me a page from the logbook?
In his time working for the Russian government, he had put his fair share of prisoners there. But this logbook page was from before his time as an agent. If anything, the dates corresponded more closely with the deaths of his parents. Was that the clue? Was there a name on this list that had ties to his mother and father? To some operation they had worked two or three decades ago?
Setting aside the logbook page, he picked up the first photograph and unfolded it, flattening the faded image with his fingertips. His throat seized, and his heart stuttered when he realized what he was seeing. There in black and white was the lifeless body of his mother. Shot. Dead. Splayed on the wet, cold street.
Dread washed over him as he picked up the second photo. It was a crime scene photo of his father’s brutal murder. Gutted. Blood pooling around his contorted and broken body. His face forever frozen in a grimace of pain and suffering.
What the fuck?
Memories long suppressed rushed to the front of his mind. The hurt and fear and grief of his childhood overwhelmed him. He tried to push it aside, to focus on the contents of this strange package, but it was impossible to ignore it. The anguish tried to strangle him, wrapping tight around his throat and squeezing the breath right out of him.
The murders of his parents had irrevocably broken him. It had taken away the future he’d once dreamed of and set him on a tormented and difficult path that he had never been able to leave. Here he was, all these years later, the product of all that bloodshed and death. Still fucked up. Still the scared kid feeling out of place, without a home, lost.
He dropped back in his chair and stared at the photos and the logbook page. What did all of this mean? Was it a warning? Was someone trying to help him? Was it someone from his past? Someone still on the inside? Or was it something else? A threat?
What he did know without any question was that this was a complication and a distraction he didn’t have time for right now. There were still loose ends from last night. There were still problems to be solved and messes to be cleaned. He couldn’t get drawn into this mysterious package and what it meant. He had to focus on the most pressing issues at hand.
Gathering up the strange
contents of the envelope, he pushed out of his chair, knelt and lifted up the chair mat under his desk to reveal the hidden drop safe. After unlocking and opening it, he stared at the envelope for a lingering moment, allowing himself to remember the smiling faces of his parents, of the safety and security and love he had known as a child. When that hauntingly sad moment passed, he shook off those unwanted feelings of sadness and grief and dropped the envelope inside the safe.
Standing there in his office, thinking about the strange photos and the logbook page, he considered grabbing his bug-out bag and leaving Houston immediately. If there was a target on his back, everyone he cared about was at risk. Would they be safer if he left? Or would they be in more danger? Would they be used as pawns to draw him back into the open? Would they be picked off one by one to hurt him?
The thought of Holly being hurt or any of his little spiders was too much to bear. He had to stay. His girls were all counting on him for protection.
Feeling skittish as he left the house a short while later, he checked beneath the hood and undercarriage of his A8 for explosives. It was a far-fetched possibility, but he looked nonetheless. He climbed a stepladder to give the garage door opener a closer study, just to be sure. Satisfied he wasn’t wired to blow up half the neighborhood, he got into his car and left.
The drive to Nikolai’s grand manor in River Oaks wasn’t a long one. He pulled into the driveway and followed it to the converted carriage house in the rear where Nikolai had given him a permanent space. When he stepped out and locked his car, he cast a casual glance to the left and right but saw nothing to arouse suspicion. He was halfway up the sidewalk when Boychenko exited the house in his running clothes, ready to accompany Vivian on her morning run.
“Boy, keep an eye out today, yeah? It’s quiet this morning, but we can’t be too careful, not with her.”
“I’ll keep her safe,” the kid promised. He had that puffed-up bravado that was so prevalent in young men who hadn’t yet had a real taste of violence. Maybe Ivan needed to bang this kid around a little harder in the cage…