On the morning of the third day, I’m surprised to find Diego still in the room when I wake up. Mariana is there with my breakfast tray, and three other people are setting up an array of various beauty items on a table. Blinking and shaking my head, I realize this isn’t a weird dream. Something is happening and I’m the last to know about it.
“Good morning,” Diego says, standing at the foot of the bed.
He’s wearing a navy-blue button-up tucked into a pair of black slacks. A leather belt and the immaculate fit of the clothes shows off how ripped he is—the tight muscle beneath the finery. His sleeves are rolled back to reveal those tattoos. Strands of inky black hair are moussed and slicked, and he looks as if he’s had a fresh haircut and shave.
“What’s all this?” I murmur around a yawn.
“We’re going to a dinner party tonight.”
I frown, confused and still fighting off drowsiness. When I agreed to this deal, being taken to a fancy party was the last thing I’d expected.
“What?”
Diego sweeps a hand toward the two men and one woman arranging the table. One of the men is tall and slender, with a man-bun and a face full of piercings. The other man is short and plump, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a face of makeup so perfect I envy him on sight. The woman is black, with tawny brown skin and long dreadlocks that hang down to her ass. On the table there are hair products, a blow dryer and various irons, makeup, skincare items, tweezers and files, combs and clips, and a sea of other things that make my eyesight blur.
“This event is important, so everything must be perfect. You will let them make you up and dress you, and you will behave yourself.”
I barely have time to digest this before Diego turns to leave, giving his last order over his shoulder. “I’ll come for you at eight. Be ready.”
“When can I check in on my boutique?” I call after him. “When will you give me back my books and my yoga mat? I’m dying of boredom while you’re out terrorizing Miami all day.”
He smirks and shrugs one shoulder. “You’ll get your things back when I decide you’ve earned them. Impress me tonight, and we’ll talk.”
I have no choice but to accept this bizarre task and mull over what it means while I have my breakfast. Is Diego really so arrogant that he’d risk taking me out in public? By now I’m desperate enough to throw open the door of whatever car we’re taking, then tuck and roll.
Mariana lays my breakfast tray across my lap, and while I eat the beauty team gathers around to inspect me. It’s hard to enjoy my eggs while my hair is being unwound from its topknot, my hands and nails inspected, and the covers flipped back to expose my bare legs.
“Someone needs a wax,” declares the guy with the man-bun.
My face flushes at the dark fuzz showing on my calves. A razor is one luxury I haven’t been afforded, and after I stabbed a man with a nail file I don’t dare ask for one.
“And a mani-pedi,” the woman says, shaking her head at the state of my toenails.
I nearly choke on a bite of toast when the blond man grabs my chin and tilts my face for inspection. “Such beautiful eyes and sexy lips. Oh yeah … I’m going to have fun making up this face.”
There isn’t much I can say to that, so I rush through breakfast and let them yank me from the bed to start their work. The rest of the morning and afternoon are spent being treated like a doll. First comes the waxing, which leaves me sore and grumpy. Then, the manicure and pedicure, which makes me feel a little better. The woman and the man with the bun tag-team my hair—washing and styling it, and then the blond gets me all to himself for makeup—complete with false lashes and a smoky eye.
“Do any of you have a phone?” I ask at one point.
All three of the stylists exchange glances and look away from me with shuttered eyes.
“Our phones were confiscated at the door,” the blond man replies. “Sorry, honey. It’s typical for you VIP types.”
It occurs to me to admit I’m a prisoner and ask them to send help once they’re off the island. But that will only endanger these people. If Diego would kill me because I witnessed what happened between him and my father, surely he’ll kill these three. I’m not self-absorbed enough to risk it.
I remain passive and let them finish grooming me. Rifling through my closet, they agree the white cocktail dress and matching white and gold shoes are the best choice for my wardrobe.
By the time Marcella appears in my room around six-thirty, I’m nothing like the bedraggled woman who woke up in her captor’s bed this morning. My hair has been smoothed into soft waves, loose and hanging over one shoulder. My makeup is stunning, and while I don’t usually wear false lashes, I have to admit they make the eye makeup look more dramatic. My lips are a shimmering nude shade and light contouring makes me look sharper, fiercer. The white dress hugs my body, dipping low in both the front and the back.
My team packs their things, giving me nods of approval as they leave.
“Holy shit, you look hot!” Marcella blurts when she sees me.
I laugh and sweep a hand at her. She looks like a bombshell in a hot pink dress. “You’re not too shabby yourself. I didn’t know you were going to this thing, too.”
Marcella rolls her eyes. “When it comes to these events, I don’t have a choice. Family is very important to mafia men—the Russians most of all.”
“Russians?” I ask, my stomach twisting.
Marcella huffs in frustration. “My idiot brother didn’t tell you where we’re going, did he?”
“All he told me was that this was a dinner party.”
“Not just any party. Diego is considering an alliance with the Yezhov bratva. Before Oleg agrees to it, he wants to arrange a marriage between Diego and his youngest daughter.”
I choke on my next breath and sputter, “Arranged marriage? People still do that?”
“They do in mafia world. The Russians are romantic, old-fashioned people. Oleg thinks a partnership will be strengthened by marriage. This dinner is just a preliminary thing. An acknowledgment of friendship between Diego and Oleg and a chance to bring their most trusted soldiers to the table.”
“Then why the hell would he want to bring me?” I ask.
“Hell if I know,” Marcella says. “But if it’s any consolation, Oleg has one of the best chefs in the city and the food is always amazing at his house. Oh, and there’s booze … lots of it. The Russians know how to throw a party.”
That doesn’t make me feel much better. I’ve learned that Diego never makes a decision without calculation. He’s not just bringing me along for amusement or to keep me close. I’m attending this party for a very specific reason, and not knowing what it is drives me crazy.
“Okay, we have just enough time to go over some things,” Marcella says.
“What things?”
She sits on the bed and pats the mattress beside her. “Sit. You’re about to get a crash course on etiquette in the presence of the bratva.”
13
Diego
“You mind telling me what the hell you’re thinking?”
I glare at Jovan, who’s waiting with me for Marcella and Elena to come downstairs. We’ve only been standing here a few minutes, but Jovan already has me ready to strangle him.
“I mean,” he continues with a shake of his head, “you’re bringing a hot date to the party where you’re supposed to start making googly eyes at your future wife.”
“Nataly is not my future wife,” I snap. “And I came up with a plan to make sure Oleg can’t force the issue. I’m going to secure this alliance without having to walk down the aisle.”
Jovan’s dubious expression turns into a shocked one. “You have a plan?”
“It came to me early this morning.”
I thought of it when I stood staring at Elena while she slept, like some kind of pervert. Once I pushed past the simmering attraction that had me wanting to climb on top of her, I realized I’d been going about this business with Oleg all wrong.
There is only one sure thing that will make him back off the subject of marriage to Nataly. Russians are notoriously romantic people and prize love matches between men and women. If Oleg thinks I’ve already found love with someone else, he wouldn’t want to ruin that for the sake of our deal. His insistence that this merger will benefit me more than him won’t matter. His prior relationship with my father and the fact that he sees me as a foster son of sorts means he’ll follow through.
Elena is the perfect tool to meet my needs. She’s beautiful and in indefinite servitude to me. With her on my arm, Oleg will have no choice but to look for someone else for his daughter to marry.
When I explain this to Jovan, his jaw drops and he looks at me with awe.
“You’re a fucking genius.”
“I know.”
“How do you know Elena will cooperate?”
I think of Elena kneeling at my feet, naked with tears in her eyes, and my lips twitch with a hint of a smile. “We’ve reached an understanding. She’ll cooperate.”
Jovan wiggles his eyebrows. “An understanding, huh? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“Shut up. I haven’t touched her, and don’t intend to.”
“Are you shitting me? You’re sleeping next to her every night and don’t plan to hit that? She’s fucking hot, Diego. I mean … really fucking hot.”
“I know that,” I growl. “Doesn’t mean I want to …”
My words trail off as Elena and Marcella appear. They walk down the stairs together, talking like old friends. I don’t have the mental capacity to disapprove of Elena becoming close with my sister. All I can think about is how right Jovan is.
Elena looks so sexy it almost hurts to look at her.
“Fuck me,” I whisper, my eyes lingering on long, bare legs and flared hips leading up to her waist in a skintight dress. She’s wearing fuck-me heels and her perfectly-styled hair makes me want to yank and mess it up. Her makeup isn’t too heavy, perfectly enhancing what she’s been naturally blessed with. A little white purse on a gold chain hangs over one shoulder, resting at her hip.
Jovan’s jabs me in the ribs with his elbow. “I thought the idea was for you to fuck her.”
“Shut your goddamn mouth,” I hiss, before going toward the stairs.
Elena reaches the bottom first, her eyes widening when I offer her a hand. She might think I’m a complete monster, but certain behaviors were ingrained in me from a young age. Mother would have slapped the shit out of me for not acting like a gentleman.
I help her off the bottom step, and Jovan does the same for Marcella. They start arguing about Marcella’s dress being too revealing, but I can’t bring myself to get between them. Elena has my full attention. White was the perfect color for her to wear this evening. It makes her look almost innocent, while the deep neckline and open back gives her just the right amount of sex appeal.
“You look … nice,” I stammer, like a dumbstruck little boy.
“Glad I meet your approval,” Elena replies, her voice flat and dry.
She does more than that. She drives home just how right Jovan was. I want to fuck Elena—fuck her hard and fast, then slow and gentle. In my bed. In the shower. On the floor. Against the wall. I want to tear that dress off with my teeth and show her what it’s like to have someone take complete control.
My cock throbs at the thought of her on her hands and knees, taking every inch of me and screaming for more.
This idea of mine might have been genius, but it’s going to test my resolve. I need to keep my head in the game, and that means putting on a show good enough to fool Oleg. The man is too observant for me to do this in half-measures.
“Let’s go,” I say, tucking Elena’s arm into mine and leading the way outside.
A line of cars waits behind mine, filled with the men who will accompany me to this dinner. I send Marcella to one of them, needing to be alone with Elena so we can talk. Jovan closes the privacy screen before leading the procession, taking us off my property and toward the bridge gatehouse.
I look at Elena beside me, the ambient lighting of the car making her dress glow in contrast to her tawny skin.
Snatching my gaze from her long, sinful legs, I clear my throat. “There are some things we need to discuss before we arrive. First … did Marcella go over the protocols with you?”
She nods, glancing into her purse. “Yeah. Russian men are flirtatious, but I shouldn’t encourage them beyond simple friendlessness. It might be misinterpreted.”
“Good. What else?”
“Oleg is old-fashioned and so are his men. I’m to do my best to be ladylike and not speak to the men unless directly addressed. Also, they take great pride in the appearance of their women. To meet their approval, I must make sure to keep up my appearance—touch up my lipstick after dinner, fix my hair, all that noise. I have everything I need for that.”
“Yes, that’s right. Also, the women are possessive of their men. They’ll get jealous if they notice anyone admiring you. Don’t pay them any mind. Your goal tonight is to charm Oleg and make him think we’re a couple.”
Elena swivels her head toward me and scowls. “Are you serious?”
“I couldn’t be more serious about this, Elena. It’s very important for us to be successful tonight. Oleg has to believe I’m in love, so he’ll stop shoving his daughter under my nose.”
Elena lets out a little huff and rolls her eyes. “Great plan. There’s only one problem with it … I hate you.”
Both irritation and arousal tangle inside me at her smart-ass remark. That mouth of hers might be my current favorite thing. So fucking saucy and pouty … begging to be silenced with the thrust of my hard dick.
I bring a hand down on her thigh and squeeze, holding her gaze as I lean close. She smells delicious, like berries and perfume and whatever her hair was washed with.
“I’m not too fond of you either, gatita. But from the second we step out of this car, we are going to act like we adore each other. We’re going to eye-fuck from across the table and hold hands and act like a couple of stupid teenagers. Do you know what will happen if we don’t?”
Elena swallows and lowers her eyes, but she doesn’t reply.
“What happens, Elena?” I repeat, tightening my hold on her thigh.
Her breath is racing, and she’s trembling at my fingertips. “You’ll kill me?”
I ease my grip and stroke up her thigh, my fingertips slipping under the hem of her dress. I can’t help myself. She’s so soft and yielding. So utterly and completely mine to do whatever I want with. The feeling is intoxicating.
“Remember, it benefits you to make yourself useful for me. Right now, your use is posing as my very serious girlfriend. Got it?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Good girl,” I murmur, releasing her thigh.
We spend the rest of the ride in silence, but the tight thread of tension between us remains. I figure it will present itself as sexual tension to the Yezhovs, so I don’t worry over it. We need every advantage we can get.
When we arrive, Jovan opens the door on my side of the car. I step out, then offer Elena my hand.
Oleg owns the penthouse in one of the most exclusive buildings in the city, a towering monstrosity with blacked-out windows that sparkle in the city lights. My men follow me into the lobby, and they wait their turn to use the elevator. Elena, Jovan, and Marcella take the first trip with me.
I watch Elena’s reflection in the gleaming silver doors. She looks untouchable, her eyes shuttered and her chin high. Composure shows through her every pore.
Just before the doors slide open, I take her hand and lace my fingers through them. “Remember to smile.”
She clutches my hand back, and I notice it’s shaking. She’s not as composed as she appears.
We’re greeted by Oleg’s wife, Galina, as well as a handful of staff. She’s a lovely woman who defies age—her figure still trim after having three daughters and two son
s. I suspect she dyes her hair to hide gray strands, but the platinum shade goes well with her pale complexion and cool blue eyes.
“Diego!” she exclaims, her accent as thick as her husband’s. “It’s so good to see you again, dorogoy. And your beautiful sister. Marcella, you get prettier every time I see you.”
Marcella smiles while Galina kisses me three times on the cheek before moving on to her. Then, Galina looks Jovan over with a wide, flirtatious grin.
“Jovan, you devil! When are you going to let me arrange a date with one of my daughters? You know how badly I want you for my son-in-law!”
Jovan returns her grin and takes both her hands. “Now, Galina, you know I’m not good enough for any of your girls. It’s unfortunate, but true.”
“Reformed bad boys make the very best husbands, and I would know that better than anyone.” Galina’s eyes narrow as she finally notices Elena, standing a step behind me. “Oh! Who is this?”
I brace a hand at the small of Elena’s back and guide her forward. “Galina, this is my Elena. I’m sorry for not sending word that I was bringing her, but I just can’t stand to go anywhere without her. Elena, this is Galina Yezhov, our hostess.”
Elena falls right into her role, leaning into my side and resting a hand on my chest. She gives Galina a winning smile and lowers her eyelashes as if shy. “I hope it isn’t an imposition.”
Galina’s face brightens, but I can tell it’s forced. Inside, she’s spinning her wheels trying to figure out what’s going on. “Of course it isn’t. Welcome to our home, Elena. Come with me. Dinner is almost ready.”
She guides us into the penthouse as the elevator opens to pour more of my men into the entryway.
“You’re doing well,” I whisper, leaning close and pressing my mouth to Elena’s ear. She’s as stiff as a plank under my hand, which is rested lightly on her lower back. “Relax.”
We’re led into a large living room decorated with so much gilt and gold it almost hurts my eyes. The vintage furniture has clawed feet, and strategically-placed mirrors reflect the light of a crystal chandelier. Panoramic windows give us a stunning view of the city below.
Marrying the Mobster: American Gangsters 1 (Leave Me Breathless) Page 9