You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 1) (6 page)

‘Do we have a deal,
rybka
?’ he asks softly.

Dahlia Fury

I
arrive at the doorway of a big and fabulously clean kitchen. Whoever cleans it deserves a medal. Stella is sitting at the island table staring into a generous glass of red wine. Noah is eating some open textured, black bread, probably Russian. A glass jar of artichokes in oil is open. As I watch he forks an artichoke, and still dripping, stuffs it into his mouth and chews slowly.

I cough politely and Stella turns around to look at me. God knows what I look like but she jumps off the chair and cries, ‘What’s the matter? Can’t he help?’

‘We have to go home, Stella,’ I tell her. I feel empty inside.

‘What’s happened?’ she asks again.

The phone on the wall rings. Noah swallows his food and rushes to pick up the receiver.

He listens. ‘Right boss,’ he says, returns the receiver to its cradle and turns to us.

‘Boss wants me to give you girls a ride back.’

He takes his mobile out and calls someone. ‘Got to go out on an errand. Can you take over?’ He wipes his mouth on a paper napkin. Another man comes in through what looks like the back door. He is big and mean looking. His black eyes skim over us but he does not smile or offer any kind of greeting.

‘How long will you be?’ he asks Noah.

‘As long as it takes to drop them off.’ He turns towards Stella. ‘Where do you girls live?’

‘Victoria,’ Stella says.

‘You ready to go?’ he asks me.

‘Bye, Yuri,’ Stella says.

‘Yeah, bye,’ Yuri says, sitting on the stool that Noah just vacated, and picking up the bread knife.

As soon as we get into our apartment, Stella turns to me. ‘Are you going to tell me what happened or what?’ she asks impatiently.

I sigh heavily. Oh God. What a horrible mess. The last thing I want to do right now is hurt Stella. ‘Come and sit down with me, Stella,’ I say tiredly and walk towards the couch.

She follows, and instead of sitting on the sofa with me, she sits on the flowery armchair next to it. Perhaps subconsciously she already knows that I am going to wound her.

I don’t beat about the bush. I take a deep breath and plow straight in.

‘Zane will help to find Daisy, but if he does manage to locate and bring her back safely, he wants me to … become his …’ (I tried, I really did, but I simply couldn’t bring myself to say sexual slave), ‘mistress for a month.’

‘Sorry?’ she gasps. Her eyes are wide and shocked. For a moment we stare at each other. Then her eyes widen with disbelief. ‘You’re not bloody serious?’

‘I am.’

All kinds of thoughts flit across her expressive face. She can barely control her strong emotions. Unable to watch her suffering, I drop my eyes to the floor.

‘What did you say to him?’ Her voice is tight.

I raise my head. ‘I said yes.’

She closes her eyes.

‘I’m sorry, Stella.’

She opens her eyes and they are hard and probing. ‘What really happened that time you replaced me, Dahlia?’

I wince inwardly. ‘The way I was dressed and the unprofessional quality of my massage made him aware that I was no certified masseuse. He assumed I was a prostitute.’

‘What a bloody cheek?’ she explodes. ‘Didn’t you explain?’

‘Of course I did.’

She shakes her head as if trying to clear it. ‘So what … did he make a pass?’

‘Yes.’ I don’t tell her what really happened because that’s nobody’s business but mine.

‘I knew it,’ she cries suddenly. ‘I knew something must have happened.’

‘What? How?’

‘Because you used to look at me with puppy dog eyes every time I came back from my appointments with him, and you were secretly cleaning the bathroom and toilet during the period of our agreement.’

‘Yeah, I did that,’ I admit guiltily.

‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’ she asks plaintively.

I look at her pleadingly. ‘I didn’t want to hurt you, Stella.’

‘What happened to us telling each other the straight-up truth?’ she asks resentfully.

‘I’m sorry I blew smoke up your ass. I was so confused.’

She draws a sharp breath and looks horrified. ‘You were confused? That means
you
wanted him too,’ she deduces.

My cheeks burn as I nod slowly.

She throws up her hands. ‘Oh God! I don’t believe this.’

‘I’m sorry. Really I am. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was hurt you.’

She frowns. ‘And now he wants you to be his mistress?’

‘Only for a month,’ I say, and I am shocked at how bitter my voice sounds.

She presses her lips together. She looks as if she is about to cry and my heart goes out to her. ‘That was a low thing to do, Dahlia. I don’t think we can be roommates anymore,’ she says, her voice breaking, and turning on her heels, heads for her room.

I shoot my arm out and catch her. I look into her eyes. ‘Just like you I couldn’t help the way I felt. I wasn’t expecting to feel like that. I don’t want to feel the way I do,’ I explain quietly.

‘Yeah? If you were a real friend you would have told me.’

‘Told you what, Stella? That I had the hots for the rude, arrogant man who had mistaken me for a prostitute? I wanted to forget that incident. I had rejected him and I thought I would never see him again. Anyway, what would it have mattered to you? You were not going out with him, and you yourself said you had zero chance of ever going out with him. You knew he had loads of ten feet tall girlfriends. What’s the difference if he made a pass at me too?’

Her eyes sparkle with anger. ‘The difference is you never told me. You made a fool of me. Call me old-fashioned, but friends don’t do that to each other, Dahlia.’

‘You were the one who forced me to go in the first place,’ I cry out in frustration.

‘And that’s your excuse for being a lousy friend?’ she asks sadly.

‘I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,’ I say beseechingly.

‘Forget it, Dahlia. I don’t need you to feel sorry for me,’ she says with quiet dignity.

She pulls her arm out of my grasp and runs off to her room. I know she is really upset and hurt because she does not slam the door. I slump down on the couch and close my eyes. It’s all way too much to deal with.

I think of Daisy. Where the hell are you, Daisy?

Suddenly tears are burning the backs of my eyes. I curl up on the couch, my mouth already opening to start crying when my phone rings. I look at it and it’s my mom. I close my mouth, take a deep breath and accept the call.

‘You didn’t call me back,’ my mom sobs.

‘I’m sorry, Mom. I’m taking a flight back home tomorrow.’

‘What about Daisy?’ she asks frantically.

‘Some people I know are looking for her, Mom,’ I say with conviction.

There is a pause. ‘Who are these people?’

‘Powerful people, Mom.’

‘Will we have to pay them?’ she asks in a small worried voice.

‘No, Mom. We won’t. They’re just doing it out of the goodness of their hearts.’ 

After my call, I go to my room. I don’t allow myself the luxury of crying. I owe it to Daisy to be strong. I sit up the whole night and make a list of everything I can remember about Daisy’s trip, going through all our phone conversations, our WhatsApp messages and emails, and note down anything at all that can be of help to the police or Zane. Then I make two copies. One I email to my mom to take to the police station with her, and the other I send to the number Zane asked me to send it to.

I buy my airline ticket and check in online.

Then I open my wardrobe and pack a small suitcase. When it is done I stand at the window looking down at the street. A couple pass. The woman laughs and the man grabs her around the waist and kisses her. I stare at them blankly. In truth, I still can’t believe that something bad has happened to sweet Daisy.

No, it’s not that I can’t believe it. I
absolutely
refuse to believe it.

Dahlia Fury

L
ong before Stella wakes up I am ready. I go down into the street already filled with people and take the tube to work. I work at Fey Aspen Literary Agency as a reader. It’s my job to read through the slush pile (that’s trade speak for unsolicited submissions from would be authors) and pick up any raw talent that our agency would like to represent. I read chick-lit, fantasy, women’s general fiction and comedy; Elizabeth does mystery, horror, thrillers, sci-fi and crime; and Miranda does YA and children’s.

It is a Friday, and Friday mornings are market days, so I carefully pick my way through the lettuce leaves and bits of rubbish strewn on the pavement and turn into Eustace road. The agency is based in what used to be a two-story house with a basement. I usually take the outside steps down to the basement where I work with two other girls. Instead, I run up the four stone steps and enter the front door.

The door opens out to a narrow long hallway. To the right is the reception area of the agency. It is a nice sunny room with tall bay windows and cream sofas. The longest wall is lined with bookcases crammed with the books written by the authors we represent. Some of them are famous bestsellers. The back wall is covered with black and white photographs of our top authors inside glossy black frames. Wendy, the receptionist and Fey Aspen’s secretary, is already at her desk. She has a very bright smile.

‘Good morning,’ she greets cheerfully.

‘Good morning to you too,’ I say very much less cheerfully. 

‘I’m just making a mug of coffee. You want one?’ she offers.

I smile. ‘No thanks. Er … is Fey around yet? I’d like to see her for a few minutes.’

‘She’s in, but she’s got an appointment in less than fifteen minutes,’ she informs.

‘Can I just see her for five minutes? It’s really important.’

‘Let me check,’ she says, picks up the phone and calls Fey.

‘Thanks,’ I say gratefully.

‘Can Dahlia have five minutes with you now.’ She listens. ‘Yes, I told her, but she says it’s important. Sure. I’ll ring through as soon as they get here.’ She puts the receiver down and smiles. ‘Go on up.’

I run up the stairs to the first floor and knock on the second door. The first door is the conference room and the third door is where Ellen and Ruby work. They run the TV and films rights department.

‘Come in,’ Fey calls briskly.

I turn the handle and enter Fey’s office. The same books and photo theme downstairs is carried over into Fey’s office. She is sitting at her desk looking absolutely immaculate. Every single strand of hair is in place and her makeup is flawless. Nobody really knows how old she is, but she must be in her fifties or perhaps even older if rumor is to be believed.

‘Come and sit down,’ she invites.

I take a seat and quickly tell her about my sister going missing.

‘Oh dear, you poor thing,’ she says worriedly, her intelligent grey eyes narrowing. ‘How absolutely awful.’

‘So basically,’ I add quickly. Too much empathy could undo me. ‘I need to take a week off and go home to be with my mother.’

‘Of course,’ she agrees immediately. ‘Of course, you must go home. You will go quite out of your mind with worry if you stay here.’

Her phone rings. She picks it up. ‘Yes, ask her to wait a while. I won’t be too long,’ she says into the phone.

I jump up. ‘Thank you so much. I should be off. I’m leaving this afternoon.’

She stands. ‘I hope they locate your sister fast.’

‘So do I,’ I say and feel as if I am about to burst into tears.

‘Please keep me informed. If there is anything at all I can do to help don’t hesitate to ask,’ she offers kindly.

‘I will keep you informed and thank you for offering to help.’

I stand and walk to the door. There I hesitate.

‘What is it, Dahlia?’ she asks.

‘Would it be all right if I worked from home for one month the way Elizabeth does? It might not be necessary, but if I needed to?’

She scowls. ‘You mean from your mother’s house in the States?’

‘No, I’ll be in England. I’ll come in two or three times a week to collect the manuscripts and I’ll read them at home. There’ll be no difference in my work output.’

‘Ah,’ she says softly, and I can imagine her brain trying to process why I might need to do that. I hold my breath. If she says no, I’ll have to leave my job and I really would hate that. I like this agency and my job.

‘Well,’ she says finally, ‘as long as it is just for a month. I’m rather fond of the idea of a bustling office. If everybody starts working from home, I’ll be rattling my old bones here all alone.’

‘I promise it’ll only be for a month,’ I tell her with a thankful smile.

‘All right,’ she agrees. ‘If it’s just for one month.’

‘It might not even happen, but if does it will just be for the one month.’

She smiles and I detect pity in that smile.

‘Thank you again,’ I call, and run down the stairs.

I wave at Wendy from the hallway and keep going down the stairs into the basement. None of the girls are in yet, and it is dark and cold. I switch on the lights, turn up the radiators and go to the back where my desk is. I stand for a moment looking at my work station with its view of the small walled garden, and feel a horrible sense of sadness.
You’re just going away for a few days, girl
.

I quickly tidy up my desk and put away the pile of unread manuscripts in my drawer and leave a note for the girls. I will miss them, their laughter, our tea breaks, and our many forays into the biscuit tin. It was how the girls solve all their problems. ‘Have a biscuit,’ they’d say with a smile. I open the tin and even the smell makes me heave. I close the tin, bade Wendy goodbye and exit the front door.

Outside the agency I call Mark. He picks up on the first ring.

‘Hey, Mark. Do you think I could see you sometime today, before lunch if at all possible? Maybe we can grab a quick coffee somewhere.’

‘I’m free now,’ he says immediately.

We agree to meet in Kensington high street Starbucks in twenty minutes as it is convenient for both of us. I am first to arrive and I take a seat at the back by the toilets where most people prefer not to sit. Mark arrives five minutes later.

‘Sorry, I’m late,’ he apologizes. ‘Horrendous traffic.’

‘It’s OK,’ I say letting my eyes rove over him. He is dressed for work in a white shirt, tie, black slacks, black shoes and a brown leather jacket. 

He kisses me lightly and casually on the lips. ‘Want anything other than the usual?’ he asks.

I shake my head.

‘Not even a muffin?’ he tempts.

The thought of a muffin makes me feel ill. ‘I couldn’t eat a thing,’ I tell him.

‘You poor darling,’ he croons and gently squeezes my hand.

‘I’m all right,’ I say hurriedly, looking away from his gentle, strong eyes.

‘Right. I’ll go get the drinks,’ he says decisively, and walks away.

There is no queue and he comes back quite fast with my milky latte and his cappuccino.

‘Thanks.’ I tear two sachets of sugar and pour them into my coffee. I stir it with the long spoon and lick off the froth. When I look up and Mark is watching me intently. I flush and drop my gaze. Putting my hands in my lap I straighten my spine. The sooner I tell him the better.

‘After you dropped me off last night, Stella and I went to see a Russian Mafia boss.’

‘You did what?’ Mark splutters incredulously.

I worry my lower lip. ‘I know what it sounds like, but I would have gone to anyone who I thought could help.’

He looks at me in disbelief. ‘You
know
a Russian mobster?’

‘Well, he’s one of Stella’s client’s really.’

He runs his hand through his hair agitatedly.

‘Anyway,’ I say quickly. ‘He agreed to help.’

He looks at me with wary eyes. He already knows he is not going to like what I’ve got to say, but the poor guy has no idea how bad it is going to be. ‘In exchange for what?’ he asks quietly.

I take a deep breath. ‘Me.’

His jaw drops and he stares at me speechlessly for a few seconds. ‘Me? What the fuck does that mean?’ he blasts out, and I am glad I chose this deserted corner.

‘He wants me to be his … well, mistress for a month.’

Mark’s eyes widen. ‘You can’t be serious.’

I shift uncomfortably. He is starting to make me feel like I have sold my soul or something. ‘I am. If he finds Daisy, then he wants me to be with him for a month.’

‘Who the fuck is this guy?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Yes. You’re my girl and I’m not allowing you to be with some thug for a month.’

I look him in the eye. ‘It’s not up to you, Mark.’ My voice is soft, but firm.

He stares at me as if he is seeing me for the first time. ‘I cannot believe that you are seriously considering doing this. You can’t get involved with this kind of people, babe. They are dangerous. You can’t predict them. He may be a sadist for all you know.’

‘I’ve said yes.’

He gazes at me with hurt eyes. ‘Without talking to me about it?’

‘What would you have done if it was your sister?’

He doesn’t take his eyes off me. ‘I wouldn’t give you up for anyone.’

‘I love my sister, Mark. I can give up one measly month of my life for her. It’s just sex. It is so little to have my sister back. I don’t expect you to understand and I don’t expect you to wait for me. I’ve come here today to break up with you.’

He reaches out a hand. ‘Absolutely not. We don’t break up for anything. I’m not beat. Maybe he won’t even find her.’

I snatch my hand out of his and gasp, ‘Don’t ever say that. He is my best hope of finding Daisy.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that. I meant maybe the police will find her first.’

‘It didn’t sound like it,’ I say.

‘Come on, Dahlia. You can’t drop this bomb on me now and not expect me to blow a gasket. For crying out loud we were about to have sex yesterday.’

I look down at my untouched latte.

‘I l
ove
you. I can’t bear even the thought of another man’s hands on you.’ His frustration and complete helplessness throbs in his voice.

I cover my head with my hands. Suddenly I just feel sick. Why do I have to be made to feel guilty and bear the responsibility for other people’s feelings? First my Mom, then Stella and now Mark. I have enough on my plate as it is. 

I drop my head. ‘If he finds Daisy and I go to him, I don’t want you to wait. I think it is not fair on you, and it would make me feel terrible to think you are waiting for me. I just want a clean break. Maybe we were never meant to be.’

For a few seconds there are only the muted sounds of the coffee house, then he says, ‘Look at me, Dahlia.’

I lift my head.

‘You can no more tell the waves not to come to shore than you can tell me not to wait. I told you last night and I meant it. I’ll wait for you forever if I have to.’

I close my eyes. They feel as if they are burning from lack of sleep and the need to just fucking cry my heart out. I’m hanging on to my strength by the tips of my fingernails. I open my eyes and fix them on him.

‘Please, Mark. Just let it go. I am being bombarded from all directions. I don’t think I can take much more. What I really need right now is a friend. Someone who doesn’t want anything at all from me.’

To my surprise he nods. ‘You want a friend? You got it. I’ll be the best friend you ever had. Tell me what I can do to help you.’

I smile sadly at him. I know what it must have taken for him to say that. ‘Nothing. Just knowing you’re a friend that I can turn to is enough. I’m going back to Michigan this afternoon. I’ll text you if I have any news, OK?’

He looks suddenly miserable. ‘You’re leaving?’

‘Yeah, my mom needs me.’

‘When are you planning to come back?’ he asks anxiously.

I shrug. ‘I don’t know. I bought a one-way ticket and I’m playing it by ear.’

He nods slowly. I have never seen him look so devastated. I resist the desire to reach out and stroke his hand. That would just be cruel. In the end it is clear I will never love him the way he loves me.

‘I guess it is goodbye,’ I say softly.

He looks at me fiercely. ‘What’s his name?’

‘What does it matter?’ I say gloomily.

‘Tell me,’ he insists urgently.

‘Zane. His name is Zane.’

His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes flash suddenly.

‘Do you know him?’ I ask immediately.

‘I know of him. He is called Zane, but his real name is Aleksandr Malenkov and he is a very dangerous man. A ruthless killer,’ he says slowly. ‘Think very carefully, Dahlia. You could be making a very big mistake.’

I feel a shiver go through me at the quiet horror in his voice. Yet another voice in my head says, Yes, this is the name that suits him far better than Zane.