Russian Mobster’s Blackmailed Bride (13 page)

“Elizabeth?” he hailed the waitress. “Box these up please.” He gave Bianka a disdainful look. “And please throw away what’s on that plate and get a fresh order for me to take back with me.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.” Elizabeth swiped the plate right from underneath Bianka’s fork.

Bianka looked disgruntled. “That was rude.”

“Rude?” Okay. Now he was having difficulty controlling his temper. “After your behavior this evening, you think that was rude?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Bianka, why do you want to marry me?” He decided to take the bull by the horns.

She actually looked a bit confused. “Because you are the Zaretsky heir and I am the Sokolov heir and it is my right to be queen of the city.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

“So you have no feelings for me whatsoever?” he prodded.

Somewhere across the room he could see a young couple having dinner together. They were holding hands across the table. At times their expressions were so loving towards each other that it was physically painful to watch. Would he never have that sort of relationship?

“Do you see them?” He nodded his head toward the couple, and Bianka glanced over.

She shrugged. “They are ridiculous. You cannot eat love, or sell it when times are hard. Love cannot bring you power. What good is it?”

“Spoken like a woman who has everything but love.” Even as he said the words, he realized that they could be applied to him as well. “I have all those things. Money, power, men to do my bidding, and success in my business ventures.” Even saying it out loud sounded hollow. “What I don’t have is the one person in the world I want to share it with.”

“Oh, how sweet!” Her words dripped sarcasm. “Little Anatoly wants true love.” She curled her lip in disdain. “Sorry, but if you want to keep the money and the power, you’re going to have to marry me in order to keep the Sokolovs from murdering you in your sleep.”

“Is that a direct threat?” he asked silkily. He steepled his fingers on the tabletop and wondered if the old man had sent his daughter to make a regular nuisance of herself until he agreed. “And does your father know you’re threatening me?”

“My father will do whatever it takes to get what he wants.” He could see her grinding her teeth together. Beneath her pretty face, she was as sour as old Motya Sokolov. “And he will thank me for doing whatever I have to do to secure my future.”

“I’m not a bull to be led around by a ring in its nose. Marrying me would get you nothing.”

“All these years and you still know nothing of women,” she said with a laugh. “I will get what I want. Everything I want. And if I do not, your little prostitute will suffer the consequences.”

Her threat might have carried weight if she had been threatening any other woman. Instead, he let her see his amusement. “You believe my Trisha is like you.”

“All women are like me,” she said arrogantly. “We scheme and plan for power and money.”

“You’re wrong. And if you try to match wits with Trisha, you’re going to find yourself on the losing end of an epic battle.”

“You put so much faith in a woman that you have treated as nothing but a whore.” Bianka tilted her head, mocking him with each word. “Perhaps you should have put a ring on it while you had the option.”

“This double speak is getting old. If you insist upon remaining here at the resort, I hope you enjoy your stay. But I’m on vacation, so I won’t be available for the remainder of the week.” He stood up and walked out. He felt uneasy and wanted to see for himself that Trisha was all right.

The waitress brought him a bag of food, and he exited the restaurant in search of Yakov.

TRISHA PLACED HER hands flat on the smooth wood of the deck railing and gazed out across the dark valley spread out below the cabin. The trees cast long shadows over the thick grass, and the moonlight cast a blue sheen over the landscape. It was very beautiful. She tried to imagine it in the wintertime with tons of snow and icicles hanging from the tree limbs. It would be like a winter fairyland.

“There you are.” Anatoly’s low voice drifted on the night air.

She turned and offered him a tight smile. “I thought I would relax out here for awhile before going to bed.”

“You are angry.”

She didn’t turn again. Instead, she sensed his presence right behind her on the deck. She could feel the warmth of his body there beside her. It was comforting, even though it shouldn’t have been. There was nothing comforting about this man. Not really.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice husky.

“I’m wondering if you’ve improved my life or encouraged me to destroy it completely.” It was an honest answer, but she was a little surprised that she’d had the gall to say it out loud. “Since you entered my life, I’ve defied my father, worried both of my parents, completely thrown caution to the wind, and given myself physically to a man that isn’t even certain he wants me.”

He touched the back of her neck. “Never think that.”

“No. I
will
think that.” She turned now to look him straight in the face. The shadows on the deck painted him half in darkness and half in light. “You
want
me, in the physical sense. Your body wants me. You want to fuck me—if that’s how you want to put it. But when it comes to this?” She made a gestured to encompass her whole person. “You’re not even sure you know what to do with this.”

“I’ve never been in a relationship.”

Trisha snorted. “I think I’d already figured that much out for myself. But thanks.”

“I’m simply asking you to cut me some slack.”

Was he begging for another chance? That was disturbing, mostly because she seemed to be hardwired to say yes. “I have cut you some slack,” she told him gently. “I really have. I haven’t even mentioned the fact that you and that horrible woman were talking about my status as your mistress as if I wasn’t there and had no opinion on the subject.”

She saw his jaw tighten. Then he gave what appeared to be a careful shrug. “It would simply make things easier. That is all.”

“What?” Trisha was certain she had heard him wrong. Then she thought about what Yakov had told her. “Yakov said that the Sokolovs are essentially evil people who run drugs and murder their competition with extreme prejudice.”

“Yakov is correct.” Anatoly ran his fingers through his hair, obviously unsettled. “Bianka’s father—Motya—is know all across Moscow as one of the cruelest mafia men in the business.”

“And you? People seem to cater to you. They give you things and treat you like royalty. That means nothing to this Motya person?”

“Not particularly.” He made a face. “People treat me like that because I am rich. It is well known that I own a lot of businesses and pump a lot of money into the infrastructure of Moscow because it suits me to do so and it increases my revenue.”

She snorted, realizing where this was going and what she had to do. “So you’re a bit like the Robin Hood of Moscow.”

“Who is this Hood person?” He frowned.

She burst into humorless laughter. “It’s a children’s story. Never mind that.”

“Marrying Bianka would firm up the connection between the Zaretskys and the Sokolovs. It would no longer be in Motya Sokolov’s best interest to see me fail. Not when his daughter stood to gain from my success.”

“And the preferences of the people involved mean nothing?” She couldn’t even imagine such a thing.

“No.”

“So you’re just going to promise before a priest to love and cherish this woman that you don’t even like. And then you’re going to cheat on her consistently? That sounds horrible!”

“She wouldn’t care,” he said bitterly. “I assure you. I could buy you a house in Moscow, something in a good part of town where you could go to museums and immerse yourself in history every single day.”

He sounded as though he were truly trying to sell her on the idea. She had known that they were only getting to know each other, but surely by now he should have known her a little bit?

“Trisha?” He gently ran his fingers down her bare arm.

She snatched her hand away before he could hold it. “You would make her your wife and me your whore. How can you even think I would let you touch me after that? Have you no concept of respect? Do you not understand how much of an insult that would be to me? I’m not even sure I could wake up and look at myself in the mirror every morning.”

“It’s not like that.” He made a low noise, clucking and pressing his lips together. “Here in Russia things are different. Men of influence often take mistresses.”

“Yes. I’ve read
Anna Karenina
,” she said irritably. “I saw how that turned out.”

“That was fictional, Trisha.” There was something patient, almost instructive in his tone.

That just pissed her off even more. How dare he? But perhaps he simply wasn’t ready to change. He obviously wanted to, but change was hard, and sustainable change was damn near impossible when the whole world seemed to want the opposite.

Given this, Trisha knew what she had to do.

“I’m tired,” she murmured. “I’m going to bed.”

“But I’ve brought your dinner.” He gestured to a bag of food containers sitting on the table.

“You should have just shared the meal with your future wife. I’m not really hungry.”

Without another word, she retreated to the room where Yakov had put her things earlier that day. It adjoined Anatoly’s, and yet they were separate. How appropriate.

Chapter Seventeen

Trisha felt as though she had been in this exact spot only a handful of days before. The house was eerily silent. Moonlight filtered in from the windows and painted the wood floors in shades of blue. She secured the strap of her overnight bag across her body and made certain it was secure.

Looking over her shoulder, she briefly allowed herself the luxury of mourning the loss of her luggage. She had managed to hang onto her things up until now. But there was no way she could make her escape lugging two suitcases behind her. Still, it didn’t really matter. It was just stuff. She could buy more stuff. Especially since she was determined to be on her own now. She was not going home just to resume her old life. That wasn’t what she wanted, and it was high time she made that clear.

Trisha made one last check to make certain she had her passport and her personal items. Then she reached for the door handle and eased it open. The hallway was quiet. Anatoly had knocked on the door between their bedrooms once when he’d first gone to bed. She hadn’t answered, and he hadn’t knocked again.

The floor creaked when she stepped into the hallway. Stopping, she held her breath and waited until the count of ten to move again. Silence blanketed the cabin. Apparently there were no guards. That was a bit unusual considering all of the recent threats. Unless someone had decided that having Trisha “escape” wouldn’t be such a bad thing for Anatoly.

As if her very thoughts had called him up, Yakov appeared like a ghost at the end of the hallway. Trisha felt her belly knot. She didn’t even entertain the notion that he was going to discourage her leaving. She understood.

Sucking in a deep breath and resolving to be a grown up, Trisha quietly made her way down the hallway toward Yakov. He gazed down at her, his face impassive.

“I’m going to assume you’re not here to stop me,” she said in the softest whisper.

He shook his head. Gesturing to her bag, he raised an eyebrow.

“I can’t carry it all myself and get out of here quietly,” she explained.

In three strides, he made it to her bedroom. There was a brief pause, and then Yakov emerged carrying her two bags, one in each hand. It appeared to take no effort at all. She sighed. Maybe there had been a part of her that wanted Anatoly to feel the need to bring her the luggage. Then they could have seen each other one last time, and maybe he would have changed his mind about this ridiculous family merger.

“I’m ready,” she told Yakov.

Still carrying her bags, he made his way out the front door and down to the car. He put her cases in the trunk and then opened the passenger door for her. It was all very civilized.

Really, it just made her want to cry.

Instead, she climbed into the car, folded her hands primly in her lap, and took one last look at the cabin where so much and so little had happened.

ANATOLY OPENED HIS eyes. He felt groggy. Yakov had insisted he take pain medication before going to sleep. Anatoly hated the stuff. It coated his mouth in cotton and made his brain sluggish and slow. What he really needed was Trisha. He wanted to feel her curl up beside him in the bed.

Sitting up, he felt the entire room begin to spin. He closed his eyes and waited for it to stop. His stomach lurched. This wasn’t just pain medication. He felt as though he had been drugged. Groping on the nightstand, he found a bottle of water. He popped the cap off and downed half the contents in one long pull.

Finally, he put his feet flat on the floor and managed to stand up. The water had revived him just a little. Still, he had trouble navigating to his bedroom door. He fell against the chest of drawers, grabbing the sides to steady himself. Then he managed to find the doorknob. When he swung open the door, he got a face full of cool air from the hallway. It felt good. He shook his head gingerly, trying to clear his muddy thoughts.

Trisha. It was the only thing he could think.

Stumbling into the hallway, he put one hand on the wall. It was only six feet or so to Trisha’s door. He blinked, staring in confusion. The door was wide open. Why would it be open? He lurched forward and curled his fingers around the doorframe in order to remain standing. He stared dumbly into Trisha’s bedroom. She was there. She had to be. Trisha wasn’t the type to run away. Look how many times she’d had the opportunity, and yet she’d chosen to stay with him.

“Trisha?” he called out, his words slurred. “Where are you?”

He crossed the short distance between the door and the bed with painfully slow, deliberate steps. The bedding was rumpled. Was she hiding beneath a pile of covers? Finally, he reached the side of the bed. He immediately sat down, relieved that he had made it this far.