Sergei, Volume 2 (2 page)

"It's not just that," I admitted finally. "I feel guilty for taking away the white wedding dreams she's probably always had for me. We're in the business of happy endings and beautiful fairytale weddings. I'm sure she dreamed of the way it would be for me, her only daughter, and now she'll have to be happy with a shotgun wedding."

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to die. We hadn't even discussed marriage yet, but that hadn't stopped me from blurting out the words like a fool. I nervously glanced at Sergei who appeared totally unruffled by the statement hanging in the air.

Leaning forward, he kissed me so sweetly. With a smile that made my heart do wild flips in my chest, he promised, "It won't be a shotgun wedding. I'll make it beautiful for you. Perfect," he added and kissed me again. "It will be everything you deserve."

His promise made, Sergei slid off the bed and grabbed some clothing from the dresser we now shared. His calm, assured reply left me so curious. As he tugged on his workout clothes, I managed not to pester him with the million questions racing through my head. I trusted that when he was ready, he would ask.

"I'll be at the warehouse with Ivan until ten and then I'm heading over to the construction offices." He tugged on his sneakers and sat on the edge of the bed to tie them. "Do you want me to make your breakfast before I leave?"

I shook my head. "I might sneak in a few more minutes of sleep before I get up for work."

He rubbed my earlobe between his fingers. "Take it easy today. Stay off your feet and drink plenty of water. It's going to be hot today so wear something light."

Smiling as the way he was so overprotective, I simply nodded. "I will."

Sergei sneaked one final kiss. "I love you. Call me if you need anything."

"I love you, too." I watched him cross the bedroom and silently counted his steps. Just as he always did, he paused in the doorway and stared at me for a moment. It was as if he wanted to memorize exactly what I looked like. I sensed that it was the way he reassured himself this was real. He had won me and my love. We were now forever entwined.

Our lives had changed so drastically in the last week. I wasn't surprised he needed to remind himself that this was actually happening. No longer an enforcer and prize fighter for mob boss Nikolai Kalasnikov, Sergei was his own man now. He was going to be a father…and a husband.

My husband
, I thought with an excited thrill. Our relationship had broken all of my rules, and it wasn't the perfect storybook romance, but I didn't care.

It was
ours
. And that was all that mattered.

* * *

Arms crossed, Sergei stood outside one of the sparring rings in Ivan Markovic's world-class training center and watched the pair of fighters striking each other. Since leaving Nikolai's service, he had been tasked with finding a replacement prize fighter for the boss. Watching these two kids half-heartedly trading punches, he sighed heavily. No, these boys wouldn't do either. They were both afraid to get hit and feared pain. Fear had no place in the ring. It was the easiest way for a man to get hurt.

Growling like a damned bear, Ivan shouted an instruction at the dark-haired fighter and then leaped the ropes with the ease and grace of a smaller, lither man. The sleeveless shirt he wore displayed his thick, tattooed arms. Here in the comfort of his gym, Ivan didn't bother to cover up the marks that told the world about the violent, sinful life he had once lived. He watched the two kids in the ring staring openly at the tattoos. He had been the same way once, filled with awe and fear as he looked upon Ivan for the first time.

Sergei smirked as his mentor ripped into the young street soldiers who had been plucked from Nikolai's ranks to try their hands at bare-knuckle fighting. By the looks on their faces, they wanted to get back to making collections. He didn't blame them. Ivan was the only man in the world that Sergei couldn't take in a fight, and that was saying something.

Cursing in every language he knew, Ivan slipped between the ropes and joined Sergei as the two kids started fighting again. "Can you believe this shit? How the hell do these boys survive out there?"

Sergei shrugged and kept an eye on the two younger men who were trying to follow Ivan's instructions as they continued to spar. "It's a different game than when you were on the streets. Hell, it's a different game than when I started."

"Soft," Ivan snarled. "They're weak."

Hearing the way Ivan practically spat the word weak, Sergei remembered the way he had upset Bianca that morning. He rubbed the back of his neck as shame engulfed him. He hadn't meant it to come out so harshly. He hated the way he became so defensive when it came to that mess back in Moscow. Now that Bianca had freed him from that life, he wanted to put as much distance between himself and those old, ugly memories as possible. Going to a support group meeting to sit around and rip open that scabbed over wound? It wasn't fucking happening.

"You okay?" Ivan shot him a strange look.

He waved his hand. "I said something stupid this morning. It made Bianca cry."

Ivan winced and reached forward to grab the taut rope in front of him. "Seems to be a lot of that stupidity going around this week."

He eyed his mentor and friend. "You and Erin?"

Ivan nodded stiffly. "The honeymoon is over. It was only a matter of time until we had our first real argument."

He wanted to ask what the newlyweds had fought over but didn't. It wasn't any of his business yet he couldn't help but wonder about his own relationship with Bianca. Ivan and Erin had been together for a year, and they absolutely adored each other. Their love was unshakable and strong. He didn't know whether he should find the revelation that they fought a comfort or a concern, considering the relatively short length of his relationship with Bianca.

"Ten is getting out of prison tomorrow. I offered him one of the rooms in our house until he gets back on his feet. Erin didn't take that news very well."

Sergei had never met the ruthless enforcer everyone called Ten, but if the chilling stories told by the crews were even half true, he didn't want Anton Vasiliev anywhere near Bianca. Surprised by Ivan's admission, he said, "No, I can't imagine she would."

"It's not about his record or even what he did for the family that made her mad," Ivan explained. "It's about her sister. I won't let Ruby live with us if she ever gets out of prison."

"Because?"

"Because she's a fucking junkie who nearly got Erin killed," Ivan growled matter-of-factly. "Ruby knows how to twist Erin around her finger and manipulate her. I won't let Ruby hurt Erin again. That's a pain that cuts too deep." He exhaled a rough breath. "Erin trusts that I know Ten well enough to judge his character. He's safe to have in the house. He's done extremely violent things, but he's not a violent man."

Sergei chortled. "Is there a difference?"

Ivan pinned him in place with an icy gaze. "You tell me. Should I list all the things you did for Nikolai?"

Duly chastised, Sergei clenched his teeth and nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

"Ten did his job, and he did it well. When that robbery got fucked up, he stepped forward and took the heat to protect the family. He went inside for six years. Six. Years." Ivan emphasized with a jab of his meaty, scarred finger. "We owe him a new start."

"In your house?" Sergei shook his head. "Put him in an apartment or send him to live with someone else."

"He's my friend." Ivan watched the fighters in the ring, but Sergei could tell he wasn't paying any attention to them. He was thinking of Ten and of the history they shared. "He needs people he trusts around him now."

"And Erin? What does she need?"

Ivan shot him a warning look. "My wife is my business. When you have a wife, you'll understand that."

"Give me a few weeks, and I'll understand." He grumbled the words under his breath, but Ivan's keen hearing picked them out even over the din of raucous music blaring over the speakers and the noise of the gym.

His mentor narrowed his eyes at him and then called out to the fighters in the ring. "You two are done. Cool down. Get showered. Get the hell out of my warehouse."

The younger of the two fighters tugged his mouthpiece free while the other one bailed as quickly as possible and practically ran for the locker room. Panting and slicked with sweat, the blond asked, "What time do I come back tomorrow?"

Ivan laughed harshly. "You want more of this punishment?"

The kid shrugged. "It's the only way I'll learn."

Sergei didn't let it show that he was impressed by the kid's hunger to prove himself. He was lean and scrappy, but there was room for improvement as long as he had heart. "What's your name?"

"Boy."

"Boy?"

"Boychenko," the kid answered. The only accent to his voice was a slight hint of that Texas drawl that colored his vowel sounds in the same way it did Bianca's. "Roman Boychenko."

"You're with Arty?" Sergei held up three fingers to differentiate the Artyom he meant from the other one that ran in their circle. Boy nodded, and Sergei glanced at Ivan. If the kid was trusted to run collections for Arty, that was a good enough recommendation for Sergei. A clipped bob of Ivan's head confirmed his thoughts. "Be here at six tomorrow morning. Go easy on your breakfast or else you'll be mopping up his floors."

"Yes, sir."

Sergei watched the kid climb out of the ring and start a cool down circuit. Turning to Ivan, he made a face. "Sir?"

Ivan clapped him on the back. "You're getting old."

"Old? I'm not even thirty-five!"

"When you were nineteen how old did thirty seem?"

Sergei grunted, and Ivan laughed. Hooking a thumb toward his office, he said, "Let's talk."

When they were safely inside Ivan's office, he leaned against the door and waited. With his huge, inked arms crossed in front of his chest, Ivan looked every bit the undefeated underground champion he had been when he had retired from Nikolai's service and Sergei had taken his place. Now he trained elite fighters who fought for huge purses in tournaments and on cable television. He was one of the most sought after coaches in the mixed-martial arts world and hugely successful—and Sergei wanted to be just like him.

"Have you thought about my offer?"

"I have."

"And?"

Sergei sighed. "I want to take your job offer, but if I go full-time with you, I have to give up the construction piece the boss gave me. I can't do both."

"You don't have to do both. You work for me and take your cut from the construction." He said it so easily. "The boss doesn’t expect you to swing a hammer eighty hours a week. He gave you that action as a reward for all you did for him and for the family."

"It doesn't feel right to take the money without doing the work."

"Do you have any idea how much money he made off your fists?"

Considering his own small winnings, Sergei had a good idea of the prize money Nikolai had won off his fights. "I need to square it with him first. I need to keep that construction income. Bringing my family over won't be cheap and then there's Bianca."

Ivan studied him for an unnerving moment. "Is she making you pay her back for buying you from the boss?"

He shook his head. "No. She calls it a gift. A gift," he repeated with a rough laugh. "Can you believe that?"

"Yes, I believe it. She loves you. She fought for you. There's no sweeter woman in the world than one who will fight for you."

Certain that he could trust Ivan and desperate to tell someone, he confessed, "Bianca is pregnant."

Ivan's arms dropped to his sides in shock. "Pregnant?"

Sergei nodded. "It was only one night, one time, but..."

"That's all it takes." Ivan reached back and gripped the desk behind him. "Is she upset?"

"No, she was surprised. We both were, but now she's happy. We're both excited."

"That's good. It's easier that way." Ivan hesitated. "Are you going to marry her?"

"Of course!" He couldn't believe Ivan even had to ask.

"Because you love her or—"

"Because I love her," Sergei interjected. "Because I want a family with her."

A broad smile brightened Ivan's hard face. "I'm happy for you. It's good to have a woman like Bianca in your life. She's strong. She'll make you a better man."

Sergei understood that Ivan was thinking of the way Erin had changed and softened him. "I'm luckier than I deserve."

Ivan waved his hand as if to argue that point. "When are you going to ask her?"

"Soon," he said. "I've already made some plans."

"Do you have a ring?" When he shook his head, Ivan pushed off his desk and strolled around to the back side of it. He opened a drawer, retrieved his wallet and plucked a business card from inside it. "Here. Go see Kazimir. He's the best in town. We've all used him. He did beautiful work for Erin. You've seen Vivian's rings?"

"Yes." They was so perfectly her. The boss had chosen well.

"Kazimir keeps settings that only need center stones on hand. You'll find something for Bianca there."

Sergei accepted the card. "Thank you."

"When you walk in the door, he'll take one look at you and recognize you as Nikolai's enforcer, but just in case he doesn't, you tell him I sent you. He'll take care of you."

And there it was. The way their world worked. No doubt this jeweler gave discounts to Nikolai's friends in exchange for some sort of perk—protection, a cheaper source of materials, side deals that helped him beat his competitors. Nothing came free in this world. Nothing.

"Listen," Ivan said carefully, his tone strained, "have you talked to your family about Bianca yet?"

"They know they'll be meeting Bianca in London. They know she saved me."

Ivan drummed his thick fingers on his desk. "Have you told them
everything
about her?"

A long, uncomfortable moment of silence stretched between them. Finally, Sergei said, "They know she's not like us."

Not like us. Not Russian or white. He didn't have to say the words Ivan was undoubtedly thinking. They were thoughts that had been troubling him since finding out Bianca was pregnant. He refused to burden her with the what-ifs while she was in such a delicate state, but it was possible that Lidia might have been right about his mother. She wouldn't dislike Bianca simply because of the color of her skin, but those old ingrained ideas about what was right and what was not weren't going to be easy to change. He hoped that the idea of a grandchild would soften his mother's feelings, but if it didn't…