Russian Enforcer's Royal Engagement (Russian Enforcers Book 7) (12 page)

Diana gripped his arm, and he was pleased to find her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Let’s visit the Kremlin,” she whispered, her breath hanging in the air like a wispy cloud.

He smiled and pulled her against him. Soon they’d be at the hotel and could discuss their itinerary. Even though he hated for her to be exposed to these temperatures, she didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he’d noticed that ever since they’d arrived she was alive with an excitement that lit up her features and made her more beautiful than ever.

Perhaps this was her natural habitat after all? Could it be that in her heart of hearts she was a Moscow girl? That the cold became her? This was, after all, the place where she was born. And to return here meant a great deal to her. He was simply glad he got to enjoy this unique moment with her.

They finally reached the heart of Moscow, the high rises dwarfing traffic as the taxi crept along the busy streets. He pressed her close to him as they both watched the city grow bright and boisterous with people milling on the sidewalks, the shops as impressive as any you could find in Montinia.

The taxi rolled to a stop in front of the canopied entrance of The Cornucopia Hotel. The taxi driver hauled their suitcases from the trunk as they hurried through the revolving doors and were greeted by Christmas carols booming over the hotel’s sound system and what could possibly be the single largest Christmas tree he’d ever seen adorning a hotel lobby.

“Oh, Jack,” Diana exclaimed when she caught sight of the tree soaring to the ceiling, abundantly bedecked with lights, tinsel and decorations, “perhaps we could stay here and celebrate the New Year in Moscow?”

He pressed a kiss to her brow. “Sure, why not?” he found himself responding, though he knew he probably had obligations back in Montinia.

Her eyes widened with excitement, like a child just having been granted its Christmas wish. “Can we? Can we really?”

“Of course,” he said. “We can do whatever we want.” As long as she was by his side, he didn’t care where he was. She could have taken him to the North Pole for all he cared. As long as they were together, he didn’t mind the conditions. As he eyed her intently, he decided that if he didn’t have her right this minute, he would die from engorgement of the cock. She looked so hot and fuckable right now that he couldn’t wait to take her upstairs and straight to bed.

Check-in went smoothly, the fake documents Armand had provided them with holding up to hotel scrutiny, and then they were riding the elevator with a freckled young bellhop. The elevator was one of those open contraptions, a wall of glass providing a view of the lobby and that gigantic Christmas tree. As they rose, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, expressing her gratitude. He felt his cock straining, hard as a rock as he dove into all that sweetness and softness, all his misgivings about this trip instantly wiped from his mind.

They followed the bellhop into their room. The young man was grinning, the sight of the two young lovers clearly enchanting him. The suitcases were lugged inside, and then Diana was darting around the large suite, and diving into the double bed. He saw that hotel management had placed a bucket of champagne at their disposal. A small present for the newlyweds and a nice touch.

The bellhop got the huge tip he’d been hoping for and retreated with a wide grin on his youthful face.

And he’d just turned to join Diana in bed, their eyes meeting in anticipation, when a soft knock sounded.

Figuring the bellhop had forgotten to mention something, he impatiently opened the door. Striking blue eyes stared back at him, a man he didn’t recognize giving him a deferential smile.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” the man murmured with a distinct British accent.

Something niggled at the back of his mind. A memory perhaps. He couldn’t quite catch it. But then the man’s smile disappeared when he lifted a small canister to his face and a gaseous substance hit Jack’s nostrils.

He gasped in shocked horror, but before he could react his knees buckled and he fell to the floor. One hand clawed at the carpet, the other outstretched in Diana’s direction in a bid to warn her. Too late. As she hurried to his aid, the man spun and sprayed her. Instantly, she dropped down next to him.

It was the terrorist, he now knew. The hostage-taker.

But then his eyes locked on Diana’s, and blackness swallowed them both.

CHAPTER 27

Diana had experienced déjà vu before but never as strongly as now. This sensation of drowning, of sinking beneath the surface of a vast body of water…she’d been here before, hadn’t she? Her family and loved ones far away and unable to come to her aid? No, she’d definitely gone through this same experience before, only now it was even stronger than the last time.

When she finally awoke with a start, she thought she was still drowning, the sensation aided by the fact that she was in complete darkness. But then she blinked and realized she was blindfolded.

Judging from the swaying motion she was in a car, hands and feet tied.

Then the memory came flooding back of what had happened. She’d been knocked out…again, and this time so had Jack. And now she was being taken somewhere.

She tried to wriggle out of the restraints but found she’d been trussed up firmly, the ties not budging an inch.

Dammit! She opened her mouth in protest but found she’d been gagged as well, a piece of cloth shoved into her mouth.

She groaned, and became aware of a similar sound to her immediate right. Was it Jack? She tried to move and found herself bumping up against a firm and large object. He groaned again, and a surge of relief went through her. It was Jack, alive and seated right next to her.

But why had they taken them? Who were these men? She’d heard stories about people being abducted in Moscow. This was, after all, the territory of several crime families fighting for domination. The Gornakovs and the Demiakovs were but two of many, though arguably the biggest ones. If someone had discovered who she really was, they could have kidnapped her for ransom. Or, worse, if they knew who Jack was, they would have a field day collecting the ransom King Francois would gladly pay to get his son back.

The car abruptly pulled to a stop, and the door was opened, a gust of icy wind slicing through her. Rough hands took hold of her and dragged her out of the car and onto her feet. Abruptly, she was slung over someone’s back and carried away. She tried to scream, but her voice was muffled and inadequate.

Whoever had captured them had done a great job incapacitating them, making sure they wouldn’t attract attention.

The shoulder of the man carrying her was painfully pressing into her stomach and she could hardly breathe. After what felt like an eternity, she was dumped onto a hard surface and could finally breathe again.

Her body ached all over.

Then the blindfold was abruptly removed and she blinked against a harsh light shining into her eyes. Adjusting to the sudden brightness, she tried to take in her surroundings. All she could make out was the blinding light.

The moment the gag was removed, she hoarsely yelled, “Who the hell are you? Why did you take me?”

In response, the light was switched off, and she could see the shadowy figure of a man seated in front of her. They were in a small den, the space gradually coming into focus as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She saw bookcases lining the walls, a desk sitting in front of a dark window, and a couch placed in the corner.

Then the man displayed a sign of life by lighting a cigarette, the tip briefly sparking in the darkness before displaying the typical soft glow as he took a long drag. He leaned over to flick a switch and suddenly soft opera music permeated the room.

“Do you like opera, Miss Petrov?” a croaky voice suddenly asked in perfect Russian.

She swallowed, then shook her head. “Not really.”

“Be honest, Diana,” the man insisted. He sounded old. “Are you familiar with opera and don’t enjoy the genre, or are you simply one of the many people who never listen to it? Please be specific.”

“What do you care?” she shot back.

“Let’s just say it is a hobby of mine,” he answered affably. “Please humor me.”

She shook her head, confused. What was all this crap about opera? “I never listen to it.”

The man produced a hacking sound that could have been a laugh. “I knew it. And I can assure you that if you do take the time to listen you will greatly appreciate it for what it is: the most wonderful music made by man. One of humanity’s crowning achievements.”

“If you say so,” she muttered, figuring she was dealing with a raving lunatic. “Where is Jack?” she demanded.

“Oh, he’s around,” the man said. “Now if you listen carefully you will hear all the human emotions represented in this particular musical piece, Miss Petrov. All the emotions
you
have gone through no doubt.” He paused, then went on in a softer tone. “Love, hate, regret…guilt…passion! I’ve been informed of your recent bond with Prince Jacques. Do you think it will last?”

“None of your business,” she grumbled, quickly tiring of her captor’s games.

He chuckled. “Even so, one might say that a father has a right to know to whom his daughter is plighting her troth, don’t you agree…Anastasiya?”

CHAPTER 28

She looked up sharply, shock permeating her system. She tried to stand, but her legs buckled. “Who are you?” she demanded hotly.

“Take a guess,” the man teased, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

“Do I know you?”

“We’ve never met, if that’s what you’re asking, though I’ve been instrumental in bringing you into this world, of course.”

She frowned. What was he talking about? How did he know her real name? Then the realization hit her. He couldn’t possibly be…

“Yuri Gornakov?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He clapped his hands in a mock applause. “Very well, Anastasiya. They told me you were quick-witted and they were right.”

“But…why?”

He sighed. “The eternal question. If you cared to listen to the great musical masters of old you would have all your answers right there.”

He leaned over and flicked on a small desk lamp. It was one of those green library lamps, and it cast a diffused light across the small space. For the first time she found herself face to face with her real father. He was old and his face lined, but he still retained some of the classic features she could also see in his son Yulian. At one point Yuri Gornakov must have been quite the handsome devil. His shoulders were hunched now, his eyes red-rimmed. As if he’d seen so much horror in his life that they’d started to lose their light.

He blinked. “I prefer the darkness these days,” he told her. “My eyes can’t seem to take sunlight anymore, perhaps because my rightful place is the depths of hell, after the life I’ve led and the things I’ve done.”

“Yuri Gornakov,” she muttered. “But I thought you were—”

“Locked up in Somsky Psychiatric Hospital?” He coughed a hacking laugh, then took another drag from his cigarette. “I briefly was a guest there, courtesy of my son Yulian. Fortunately I still have some pull. Loyal lieutenants who objected to my treatment. They sprang me from prison and set me up in this apartment. Here I will be spending the remaining days of my life.”

She eyed him curiously. It sounded as if he expected to die any moment.

“Yes,” he answered her unasked question, “my health is failing me. But as long as I have, I plan to make the most of it. Unfortunately Yulian has restricted not only my movements but also my means. The Gornakov fortune that used to be at my disposal has been taken away from me.” For a moment there simmered rage beneath the placid surface of his face, then it disappeared again. He shrugged. “So I decided to help myself to what was rightfully mine.”

Understanding was finally dawning. “You were behind that situation in Montinia?” she asked sharply.

He grinned, his parchment face displaying a thousand wrinkles. “Quite an achievement at my age, don’t you think?”

“But…why?” Though even as she voiced the question the answer occurred to her. He’d just told her. “You needed the money,” she added softly.

“Bravo, my dear. When Yulian took control, he cut off my funds. Luckily I had a small nest egg spirited away that even Yulian didn’t know about. A nest egg I’d reserved for you, Anastasiya. However under the circumstances you will agree that I need it more than you, right?”

“Then why did you give me the money in the first place?”

“An unfortunate moment of weakness on my part,” he said simply. “Though one that I now applaud.”

“You ordered to have me killed at birth,” she accused.

“That is quite true, though I later regretted that rash act. Perhaps you won’t believe me, but in hindsight I realized even girls make good heirs. Fortunately, your mother was a feisty lady and saved you from my clutches. She confessed as much some ten years ago, and I decided to do the right thing by setting up a trust fund in your name.”

“Which you now raided.”

He spread his arms and stabbed out his cigarette in a small ashtray placed on the desk. “Let’s just say my needs are greater than yours at this moment.”

She eyed him with disgust. She’d wondered about her real father over the course of the last couple of days, but now that she was face to face with him she knew that he couldn’t hold a candle to Valery Petrov, the man who’d raised her as his own. “Perhaps it’s for the best,” she spat. “I never asked for your money. Maybe it’s better you took it back.”

“Quite right, my dear,” he agreed. “And if I hadn’t devised this safeguard of your iris scan I wouldn’t have bothered you with the truth. Better let bygones be bygones. But since I needed you to access the money…”

“You sent in your goons,” she concluded bitterly. The old mobster was clearly still up to his old tricks, even going so far as to take his own daughter hostage.

“It was the only way, I’m afraid. And as I happened to have an in with Montinia security…” He eyed her for a moment, studying her face. “You’re quite stunning, you know. The spitting image of your mother, in fact.”