Russian Mobster’s Blackmailed Bride (11 page)

“Boss,” Yakov said softly. “Are you awake?”

“Sort of,” Anatoly managed to mutter. “Where’s Trisha?”

Even through a swollen eyelid Anatoly could see Yakov’s grimace. “She wanted her phone back in order to call her father and demand he stop sending extraction teams.”

“What?” A shot of panic whipped through Anatoly, giving him an extra bit of strength. He managed to sit up, but Yakov pushed him back down. Anatoly growled. “What are you doing? I need to stop her. What if she makes a plan to meet his next team somewhere? I don’t want to lose her.”

“Boss, you need to listen.” Yakov exhaled a giant sigh. “First of all, if Trisha wanted to leave, she has had ample opportunity.”

“Oh.” Anatoly’s panic began to recede. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Secondly,” Yakov said irritably. “I think you should pack her up and send her home anyway. This infatuation of yours is ridiculous and can go nowhere.”

“What are you talking about?” Anatoly did not appreciate being told what to think or do. “I have fun with Trisha.”

“Yes, but what future do you see for your relationship with her?” Yakov perched on the edge of the couch beside him. “You are king of the mafia in Moscow. Nobody would dare dispute that to your face. But the truth is that we need the Sokolovs.”

“Cannon fodder,” Anatoly reminded his lieutenant. “That is all they are.”

“And yet cannon fodder has its purpose. No?”

Anatoly wished there were covers on the couch so he could pull them over his head. “I’m not marrying Bianka Sokolov. The woman is a first class bitch.”

“So stick her in a house in Moscow and never see her again,” Yakov suggested with a dismissive shrug. “Consider it the price of doing business.”

“This is such bullshit,” Anatoly groaned.

“Yes. But it is life.”

TRISHA LET HER breath out very slowly. If people usually maintained that eavesdroppers rarely liked what they heard, she would now agree wholeheartedly that the saying was true. She hadn’t meant to listen in, but she was coming back to see if Yakov could suggest a place where she could get better reception on her phone.

Now she turned and walked out of the kitchen and onto the deck. Once outside, she put her hands on top of her head and tried to find a sense of equilibrium in all of this. She had always known that her situation with Anatoly was temporary. He hadn’t been exactly shy about telling her that.

So maybe she needed to focus on the here and now, which involved convincing her father that she had no interest in returning to Cleveland. Pulling out her phone, she checked the service. It was better here. She had at least three bars. She pulled up her contacts list and pushed the button to call her father’s phone.

He answered on the second ring. “Trisha? Oh my God, is that you?”

“Yes, Dad. It’s me.” The sound of total relief in his voice made her feel more than a little guilty for what she was about to say. “Dad, we need to talk.”

“Talk? Are you all right? The team said they found you, but you didn’t want to leave. What in the hell is going on?” His voice was rising, his words sharper and sharper as he grew more agitated.

“Dad, please calm down. If you start yelling, I’m hanging up.”

“Wait! Okay, I’m calm. I’m calm.”

She actually felt a bit guilty, but still. When her father got to yelling, there was no dealing with him.

Trisha tried to remember what she’d planned to say. “Dad, it’s really important that you stop sending people after me.”

“What? Why?” he shouted into the phone. “You’re being held there against your will by some Russian thug! Of course I’m going to rescue you. My partner Skaggs has a line on another extraction team that works exclusively out of Siberia. We’re going to get you out, pumpkin.”

“Dad. No. That’s what I’m saying. I don’t want to come home.”

There was a long, thick silence on the other end of the line. “Are they holding a gun to your head, Trisha? Is that what this is about?”

“Dad, no!” She was getting so exasperated. “Nobody is forcing me to do anything. I’m talking on my own phone, and there’s not even anyone around. I have privacy when I want it, and I’m on a fabulous vacation in Siberia with a really hot, really great guy. I want this. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

Another long, thick silence, but she felt this one getting angry. How it was possible to feel the steam coming out of her father’s ears from a million miles away was hard to say, but she most certainly did.

She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “Dad?”

“I’m sorry, Trisha,” he said slowly. “I’m still trying to process the fact that you would rather play around on vacation with a criminal than be responsible and come home where you belong.”

“Dad. I don’t belong in your home anymore. I’m twenty-seven-years old. I belong in my own home doing whatever I want to do. I’m a grown woman. If this is my choice, then that’s it.” She wasn’t sure why, but saying that out loud felt
good
! “You’re always telling me to stop being so passive and make an active choice. Well, I am.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“No. I know. You meant that you wanted me to actively make a choice that you’d already made for me. That way I’d be following along in your footsteps or making you happy. Well, I’m choosing to do something for myself.” She felt lighter. Almost buoyant! “So take a chill pill, stop sending men after me, and I’ll call you in a few days to say hi.”

Trisha pushed the button to end the call feeling more like an adult than she ever had before.

Chapter Fourteen

Anatoly stared morosely out the window of his bedroom in the cabin. This was not how he had planned his first night at home with Trisha. He felt too dizzy and sick to even get out of bed. He now had three sutures in the cut above his eye, and Trisha was busy waiting on him as though she were a maid and he an invalid.

“Here you go,” she said warmly as she set a tray on the bed. “I wasn’t sure if you would want any dinner, but I thought you might want to try.”

Truthfully, the scent of food turned his stomach upside down, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. This vulnerability thing was embarrassing. He was Anatoly Zaretsky. He wasn’t supposed to be knocked onto his ass by a couple of American ex military who happened to jump him on a walk through the woods. It sounded pathetic, and the whole thing made him grumpy.

“Anatoly, what’s wrong?” she asked softly.

He watched her climb up onto the bed beside him and curl up against the pillows. Her expression was inviting, and she seemed more worried about him than he could remember anyone else ever being. More shocking was that she cared about him simply for himself and not because he was the head of a company, or the man who ran the Zaretsky mafia in Moscow. It was enough for her that he was himself. How odd.

TRISHA COULD SEE that Anatoly had no clue what to do with the care she was giving him. She wondered if she wouldn’t be better off just flying back to Cleveland and dealing with the fallout of her conversation with her father. Yet even after hearing that Anatoly was supposed to marry some chick with the last name of Sokolov, Trisha didn’t want to leave him. Especially when he was so obviously under the weather.

“Does your head hurt?” she asked, feeling anxious. “The doctor left some pills for that.”

“I don’t want his pills,” Anatoly snapped. “They make me feel dizzy and tired.”

“Maybe you
need
to rest.”

His glower might have frightened her before, but now she only smiled. Reaching out, she gently stroked his hand. She pulled it into her own and began rubbing his fingers as though she could somehow make him feel better just by massaging his hand.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered.

That
was certainly the question, wasn’t it? “Because you’re a human being and you need some care.”

“But there is nothing in it for you.” He sounded so certain.

“Anatoly?” she began slowly, still tracing the contours of his hand. “Who is Bianka Sokolov?”

He seemed to freeze for a moment, and then his whole body appeared to relax as though he was relieved. “Bianka Sokolov is the daughter of the leader of the other mafia family in Moscow.”

“Are you really going to marry her and stick her in a house and never look at her again?” Once she’d gotten started, Trisha couldn’t seem to shut off the questions. “I’m sorry, but that sounds awful for both of you.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure Bianka would mind as long as she had plenty of money. The woman is shallower than a rain puddle.” He looked as if he’d just eaten something sour. “You were listening when I was speaking with Yakov. Yes?”

“Yes.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry, but it wasn’t as if the two of you were being quiet.”

“No.” His chuckle actually had a sense of warm humor in it. “I think the blow to my head rendered me incapable of subtlety this afternoon.”

“So what happens now?” she prodded, feeling a strange sense of urgency she could not define.

“I don’t know.” He reached out and wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close to his side. “I enjoy being with you, Trisha. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known. From the moment I first saw you and your friend in the casino, I was fascinated. You express yourself so honestly with others. You laugh and frown and make faces and say exactly what you think. All I could think was that I wanted to have that for myself.”

“Have what?” She couldn’t imagine him being that honest. Ever.

“I wanted you all to myself.”

She laughed, placing her hand on his chest and feeling the steady beat of his heart. “You can’t own another person. Not really.”

ANATOLY WONDERED IF Trisha realized that he could have exactly that if he chose to. Perhaps this was not the moment to suggest to her that even if he married Bianka—as Yakov stated he must—Anatoly could still keep Trisha as his mistress. She would have everything her heart desired. He would see to it.

“I want to take you to dinner.” He pressed his lips against her forehead and inhaled the scent of her. “I want to show you how beautiful the actual hotel is here. I spared no expense in building it, and I want to share it with you.”

“Anatoly, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” The gentle way she spoke to him made him feel cared for and cherished.

He struggled toward the edge of the bed. “I’ve been seen by the doctor. I have some stiches and some bruises. That does not mean my legs don’t work. We will have Yakov drive us. It isn’t far.” He gave her a sly sideways look. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I just brought you a tray.” She gestured to the simple fare that Yakov had sent back for him.

“I think I’d rather eat at my restaurant.”

Trisha groaned. “Then I suppose none of us can really deny you, can we?”

“Yakov!” he shouted.

His lieutenant appeared in the doorway. “Yes, Boss?”

“I’m going out. I want to take Trisha to the restaurant down at the resort. You will drive us.”

To Anatoly’s surprise, Yakov actually shared a significant look with Trisha. Apparently the two of them had managed to bond while he was unconscious. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. As long as they didn’t think to gang up on him.

“I’ll bring the barf bags,” Yakov said drily. “Ms. Trisha, are you ready to go?”

“Let me change quickly, and then yes. I don’t think I want to show up in my pajama pants.” She gestured to her casual loungewear.

Anatoly placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “I think you look gorgeous.”

“Yeah, and you hit your head earlier, so we all know what that opinion is worth,” she quipped.

“As you say, Ms. Trisha,” Yakov agreed.

“Hey now!” Anatoly protested. “None of this two against one stuff. Trisha is supposed to be on my team.”

“I
am
on your team,” she assured him. “Even when you don’t like the team strategy I come up with.”

“That’s because I’m the team captain,” he reminded her.

She shared a smile with Yakov and left the room without answering.

“Why do I feel like I’ve just been circumvented?” Anatoly wondered out loud.

Yakov chuckled. “Because Trisha Copeland is a smart, independent woman who isn’t going to be cowed by your status as the leader of the Zaretskys.”

TRISHA SEARCHED HER luggage for something appropriate to wear. She was usually such a jeans and T-shirt sort of girl, she had very little in the way of eveningwear or dresses. She finally settled on a floral patterned skirt that hit her mid thigh and looked good with her favorite top. The bright colors were flattering to her skin, and yet she felt comfortable and natural.

When she returned to Anatoly’s bedroom, he was on his feet and dressed in dark slacks and a blue dress shirt.

She gave him a warm smile. “You look wonderful.”

“As do you.” He held out his arm. “Shall we go?”

“Is this so you can escort me? Or so I can carry you?” she teased.

“Oh, ha ha.” But he was smiling, and he seemed to be in a good mood.

She tried to gauge his discomfort from what she could read in his expression. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Trisha. Stop worrying.”

They carefully exited the cabin and got into the car that Yakov had waiting at the bottom of the front steps. Then they were gliding toward the sprawling complex of hotel buildings that were lit like a beacon against the night sky.

“It looks beautiful,” she assured him. “Sort of like a fairy tale.”

“That was actually the look I was going for,” he admitted. “I wanted guests to feel as if they were leaving their real lives behind and coming to a place where anything could happen.”

She was impressed with the attention and thought he’d put into his concept design. “You really have a flair for the hotel business.”

“It’s enjoyable. But not as much fun as showing you around will be.”

She resolved not to think of Bianka Sokolov or other women, or obligations that she could do nothing about. Soon they were pulling up in front of the hotel. A uniformed staff member dashed over and opened the door. It was obvious they all knew who had come to visit.

“Mr. Zaretsky, it is a pleasure to have you with us.” The man bowed from the waist.