by Bella King
She smiles blankly, batting her eyelashes. “Not at all, Miss Cora. I only want to make sure you’re safe out there, beyond the iron gate.”
I don’t believe the words leaving her mouth. I can tell she’s concerned about something, but she won’t say what it is exactly. She’s just about the only person who I would trust not to only have my father’s interests in mind at the estate, but that doesn’t mean she’ll act on her own accord. Instead, she’s dropping hints in the hope that I can piece it together.
Well, it’s not enough to dissuade me from leaving with Viktor. Even if there’s something wrong with him, I’m sure I’ll discover it on my own before the wedding. I don’t have to marry him if I don’t want to. I can even turn on my bitch mode and get him to call off the marriage if it comes to that.
For what it’s worth, though, I hope that I never have to show him the sour side of me. I’m young, hopeful, and willing to go through with this if I gain freedom from it. Romance is secondary, but not out of the question with Viktor. He’s a noteworthy man, and I wish to get to know him much deeper.
I thank Mrs. Johnson for her concern and promise her that I will call if I have any issues. I wonder if it would be too late if I did end up having issues with Viktor, however, seeing how large and powerful he is. I doubt he would just let me flip out a cellphone and call for help should something happen.
On the other hand, my father would have his head if anything happened to me. My father wouldn’t put me in a dangerous situation, or that’s what I hope.
As Mrs. Johnson leaves the room, I return to the dresser, pulling open another drawer and spotting a seafoam green dress. It’s not exactly appropriate for a fancy dinner since it’s more of a sundress, but I’m tempted to wear it anyway. I want to keep the atmosphere casual so that I can get into a real conversation with Viktor.
I pull it from the drawer and hold it up to my torso. The fabric has a swirling pattern layer over it, with lacey trim that blends into the rest of the dress. There’s a big silk bow to synch the waist, and the neckline is cut drastically low. It’s flirty, fun, but not too casual for dinner. I like it.
I drop the dress that I’m wearing now with the door still open. I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t care if someone sees me getting dressed. They show no reaction anyway. It’s as though all the maids and bodyguards are lifeless shells, their souls removed before they were allowed to participate in government work. Thank god I haven’t suffered the same fate.
I step into my new dress, smiling to myself at the thought of finally leaving the estate.
Chapter Six
Viktor
Protecting Cora isn’t something I take lightly. My entire plan rests on her safety, even if I’m pulling her into more dangerous territory by taking her out of the Lauder Estate. I must ensure that my bride-to-be isn’t harmed.
In normal circumstances, that wouldn’t be difficult. Even with her being the daughter of an influential senator, I don’t need to fear someone taking her from my grasp. They won’t know that she has left the estate. It’s the girls that freely wander who are eventually snatched up when people realize how easy of a target that they’ve made themselves.
No, it’s not her who I’m worried about. It’s me.
I draw attention to myself like an eclipse in the middle of summer whenever I walk into a room. People know that I’m powerful, which also means they know that I’m valuable to someone, dead or alive. Add my mafia business to that, and you have a recipe for countless assassination attempts and shootouts.
The last thing I want is for a stray bullet to find the pretty little skull of Cora Lauder and end any dream I ever had of marrying into a position of even greater power than I hold now. Not only that, but I might feel bad if something bad were to happen to her. She seems pure, unlike everyone else I’ve had the displeasure of dealing with in the past and present.
I wish to protect Cora, so I am donning something as casual as I can bring myself to wear so as not to draw attention to myself while we’re out. It will appear as though we’re a normal couple going out on the town for a nice dinner, but I’ll have men on every corner, at every stoplight, and replacing every waiter who serves us to make sure that no harm befalls Cora while we’re out.
I’m wearing a simple pair of dark-gray slacks, and a crimson button-down shirt without a tie. It’s not my usual black suit and tie, but I take care to look good no matter what I wear.
I opt for a small gun from my collection to pair with this outfit as though I’m pairing a bottle of wine with my supper. The gun is one that I use for only my most covert missions since I can tuck it in my waistband in a holster that hides its distinct shape. The downside to this is that it’s a lower caliber than my regular .45, which annoys me. I like power, even when I don’t necessarily need it.
I’m sure I can tie that to my tragic past, but I don’t care to psychoanalyze myself. I gain nothing from it because I won’t change. I am who I am, and I do very well for myself. At one point in my younger days, when I was foolish and blind to the dangers of women, I was tempted to change for love. Once my heart was broken, I became colder than ever, and that is how I intend to remain.
“Dimitri, please prepare for another visit to the Lauder Estate. We are going casual. You know the deal,” I say over my shoulder to my driver, who is standing at the door.
“Yes sir,” he replies with a curt nod, then disappears like the smoke of a candle. He was always a quiet man, which comes in handy when you’re trying to go unnoticed.
I retrieve my covert .22 revolver from its padded case and tuck it into the smooth black leather holster in my hand. It may be small, but the cold steel feels heavy in my hand. I slip the deadly combination into my waistband, securing it in place on my front left hip. I can draw it quickly from there if I need it.
I tuck my shirt over the gun, making sure that it’s hidden in the indent of my pelvis. Nobody would be the wiser to its existence, especially not an innocent woman like Cora. I’m sure she’s no stranger to seeing guns, but I’d rather her not be aware that I have one. I must make her feel like there is no need for one.
I brush a small dab of coconut oil through my thick brown hair with a wide-toothed comb, pressing it back lightly against my scalp. My hair can be unruly sometimes, but I refuse to crop it too short. As a rogue, I like to go a bit against the grain.
I’m the type of guy who flows diagonally with the current. My morals are flexible to my needs. I don’t inflict undue harm onto innocent people, but I’m not going to push them out of the way when bullets fly. I follow laws that benefit me and break the ones that don’t. I can go months without arousing attention from law enforcement, something that I’m trying very hard to do now.
I nod to myself in the mirror before I leave, as though to say, “Viktor, you got this.”
Indeed, I am the one in charge of everything that happens from here on out. Cora may think she has a say in the matter, but she’s no match for my finely tuned seduction skills. Words hold serious weight in the political realm.
I walk calmly out of my personal quarters at the unnamed flat that I’ve been occupying until my new house is finished being furnished and decorated on the west end of the state. It’s not terribly far from the Lauder Estate, and the plot of land is nearly as expensive per square acre. It’s just not as large. It will be where I take Cora once she agrees to marry me. There’s no reason to wait once I have her convinced that I’m her prince charming.
The sun is low in the sky, casting a supple tangerine hue across everything it touches. What’s untouched rests in navy-blue shadow, several degrees cooler, but still warm from the heat of the day. I like the evenings more than I do any other time of day. It’s when I feel most alive.
“The guards are posted and ready for your arrival, sir,” Dimitri says as he opens the door to a mock-civilian vehicle sitting in the driveway.
The car is built to look like any regular car on the road, but it sports bulletproof glass wi
ndows and a frame that won’t crumble even during highspeed accidents. The shell is also bulletproof, and the engine is more powerful than any luxury vehicle available to the general public. Thankfully, I’m not part of the general public.
I climb into the vehicle, thanking Dimitri as I enter. He shuts the door with a satisfying thud, then moves to the driver’s side to take me to the Lauder Estate to pick up Cora. The guards there have agreed to bring her to the gate so that we can forgo the car swap ritual that’s normally required upon entry. I want this to be smooth, as though we’re two regular people out for a date.
I think what it would be like to be a regular person with a normal job as Dimitri drives toward the estate. I would go to the office, work a boring nine-to-five, and come home to a beautiful wife and a homecooked meal at the end of the day. I would make love to her in a large bed with crisp white sheets, feeling her soft curves in my hands as I plunged in deep between her sun-kissed thighs. I would kiss her pouty lips as we confessed our love to each other time and time again.
Fuck, I’m thinking about Cora.
I wipe my mind clean, focusing instead on the mission ahead of me. Marry her, become a real US citizen through a few political loopholes, then pursue a spot in the senate alongside her father. I don’t have to do any real work once I’m there, but the position will allow me to pull strings for my new mafia operation in the US.
Russia is old news. I’ve done just about everything I can do there, and yet I’m still hungry for power. The need is deep and primal, like the way I want to ruin Cora every time she looks at me with those big shimmering blue eyes. I bet she’s never had a man before either. I’ll show her what a real one can do.
Focus. I need to focus.
I don’t know why it’s so easy for me to get caught up in thoughts of Cora, but this needs to stop before I find myself actually falling for her. That’s not what I’m in this for. This is business. Love doesn’t exist for a mafia boss. Its poison lacing the bread of power. I can’t succumb to that temptation.
I don’t know why I still struggle with love. I’ve already been burnt by its flames once before, and that fire would be a thousand times hotter with all that’s at stake now. I can’t dance around the flames like some kind of reckless idiot. I’m better than that.
As the car rolls up to the first checkpoint outside of the Lauder estate, I smooth out my shirt and ensure that I’m as presentable as I can be. I’m going to enjoy a nice dinner with Cora. This will be the first casual outing I’ve had in a long time.
Chapter Seven
Cora
His eyes sweep me as I enter the car beside him, lingering at my deep neckline. I’m not wearing a bra, and I’m sure it’s apparent by how much of my breasts he can see. Maybe I should’ve worn something more modest. I’m starting to have second thoughts about this whole dinner date thing already.
“You look stunning, as usual,” Viktor says in his silky deep voice that I’ve already grown to enjoy. I like the way his vowels slur together from his thick accent.
“Thank you,” I say, a smile coming over my face. “You look nice too.”
Viktor nods at me, giving me a smile as though he has to force one out. I suspect he’s trying to look less serious than he usually is, but maybe he’s just nervous. I know I certainly am. This is already quite the adventure, and I’m not even off the estate property yet. Just being in a regular-looking car is making me giddy.
“You like whiskey, don’t you?” I ask, trying to make conversation. Viktor doesn’t know it, but I’m actually well-versed in my whiskey. I may be sheltered, but there’s enough whiskey at the house to get the whole of Ireland drunk. I’ve had my fair share of it.
He nods. “It’s my favorite drink, besides water.”
I laugh. “The drink of the gods, certainly. I have to drink water or else I’ll get headaches easily. I like whiskey too.”
He’s surprised, his thick eyebrows rising on his forehead at my words. “Is that so?”
I can tell that he doesn’t fully believe me. “You don’t have to take my word for it,” I say. “You can buy me a glass of your favorite, and I’ll tell you if you have the taste buds of a novice or if you know what you’re drinking.”
Viktor smirks, looking more natural once I get the banter going. He’s relaxing around me already, and I’ll be able to see his true colors after a few drinks. Maybe I’m not as innocent as people always seem to think I am.
Viktor straightens his back confidently and places a large palm on my bare thigh. “I accept your challenge. Let’s see if you can handle a stiff,” he pauses, giving me a sly look, “Drink.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I’m not one to jump to conclusions, but that seemed to me to be a pretty bold innuendo. I wonder if he realizes that I’m not going to give him anything sexual until after the marriage. I’m a virgin, and that’s how it will stay until I have legal commitment.
Viktor’s hand is still on my thigh. I look down at it, but he refuses to move. His eyes are piercing through my body like two spikes of ice, freezing everything inside of me. My heart dances all the way up in my throat as Viktor examines me again like I’m a doll in the shop that he’s considering buying.
“I’m really,” I start to say, but I cough mid-sentence. My throat is too dry to speak properly. I swallow, trying desperately to regain my ability to speak without sounding like I’m cracking under the pressure of a simple date. “I’m really glad to be out of the house. You can’t imagine being locked away for that long.”
A smirk pervades his strong jaw for a brief moment, telling me everything that I wanted to know. I don’t speak without ulterior motives. I know there’s something up with Viktor, and I want to know what it is. Viktor smirking at my claim that he doesn’t know what it’s like to be locked up may have been a coincidence, but I doubt it. This man looks like he may have had a stint in prison at some point in his life.
I hate to have to profile him in this way, but I’m not about to marry a man who is lying to me. Maybe my father didn’t see through Viktor’s smoke and mirrors, or maybe he did and just didn’t care. Whatever the reason, I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I want Viktor to be who he says he is, but the more I talk to him, the more doubts I have.
“Do you like pizza?” Viktor asks, finally moving his hand from my thigh.
“Pizza and whiskey?” I reply, giving him a shrewd look.
He chuckles. “This is no ordinary pizza, Cora. This is an artisan dish. Honestly, I wouldn’t believe it was worthy of a glass of whiskey either, but I’ve had it, and it’s fantastic.”
I shrug. “I’ll give it a try. I do like pizza, but every time I have it delivered, the bodyguards hold up the pizza guy for an hour, drilling him with questions and checking that the pizza hasn’t been tampered with. By the time I get it on a plate, it’s ice cold.”
“It comes to the table straight from the oven at this place. They even serve it on the wooden tray they pull it out with,” Viktor says.
“Sounds fancy,” I say.
“Somewhat. They just have very good pizza,” he replies.
“Is that your favorite food?” I ask.
“Kind of, yes,” he replies with a chuckle.
I can tell that despite being considerably older than I am, he has managed to retain some of his youthful personality. I like that about him, honestly. It makes him seem like a genuine person instead of the faceless politician he claims to be.
“Well,” I say as we glide down a road to leave the estate behind. “I’m a big fan of iced coffee, but I swear they always make it too sweet.”
“Americans like sugar,” he says.
“Aren’t you American?” I ask, tilting my head.
He laughs. “Alright, Cora. I can see that you don’t believe me that I am a citizen. I have a US passport, though, so that’s not something you can argue.”
I don’t want to ask him to see it, but at the same time, I do. Would that be rude?
Thankfully,
I don’t have to ask. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls it out with a flourish, flipping it open in front of me. His picture appears recent, almost like it was taken just yesterday. His face in the picture is in his classic scowl, as though the photographer said something to piss him off right before taking the photo. I find it charming, but I’m still not entirely convinced by it. Something still seems off.
I don’t want him to think I’m questioning him, though, so I hold back with the interrogation and give him a pleasant smile instead. “I never doubted you, Viktor. I’m sure you like sugar just as much as any other American does.”
Viktor laughs and flips his passport closed again, tucking it back into his pocket. “No, actually. I take my coffee black, and I don’t drink this soda pop everyone likes here.”
Again, he’s speaking like he just landed in US soil yesterday. I’m almost certain now that something else is going on, but why on earth would a Russian man come into the states posing as an American politician. It doesn’t make sense to me.
“I can’t do black coffee. I like mine iced with milk and just a bit of sugar in it,” I say, keeping the conversation as innocent as I can while examining every word that leaves his mouth and every expression that graces his handsome face.
“I know a place that has good coffee,” Viktor says, leaning back in his seat and placing his arm around the top of the seat near the back of my neck. “Perhaps we could go there tomorrow morning.”
“I’d like that,” I reply.
“I thought you would,” he replies coolly. “I believe we’re almost at dinner now,” he adds, leaning toward the window.
I look out of it with him, seeing rows of old brick buildings packed shoulder to shoulder along the freshly paved road. It’s an astounding contrast of old and new, with the crumbling red brick bringing decades of personality to the strict and pristine new-age architecture that accompanies it.