have to abandon the family completely.”
Run away together. For a second, it almost sounded
tempting. But then I thought of never seeing Vasiliy or
Luka or my sister, Lizaveta, again. Plus, even if I was
prepared to do that, Angelo would never, ever agree to
leave. A king doesn’t run away from his kingdom. “One
problem at a time,” I said weakly.
“Agreed,” said Arianna. “Keep me posted. And Irina?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
* * *
The restaurant was a big, airy place with crisp white
tablecloths and a view over Central Park. The prices
were eye-watering which was probably why Mikhail liked
it—it was all about showing off, to him. Yuri met me at
the door and showed me to our table, then returned to
his position against the wall, where he could keep the
entire restaurant under his watchful gaze.
Vasiliy and Mikhail were sitting on adjoining sides of the
square table. Just a week before, I’d have instinctively
sat down opposite Mikhail, so that he couldn’t possibly
touch me. We’d have faced each other like opponents,
with Vasiliy trying to keep the peace between us.
Now, I sat down opposite Vasiliy, which put me right
next to Mikhail. The table was small and my knee
bumped his as I sat. He smirked. And Vasiliy smiled to
see me so friendly.
I looked at the menu. Mikhail’s knee discreetly rubbed
mine beneath the tablecloth. I steeled myself and
ignored it. Meanwhile, Vasiliy and Mikhail continued the
conversation they’d been having.
“You need to take more care,” said Vasiliy. “Show your
face less. It doesn’t need to be you who does these
jobs.” He sighed and looked to me for support. “Mikhail
has been going along with his men to intimidate the
Italians. Persuading suppliers to stop selling to their
businesses. Threatening the bookkeepers into shutting
down.” He shook his head. “He should not be getting his
hands dirty like this. It attracts too much attention from
the police.”
I gave Mikhail my best smile. “Vasiliy’s right,” I said
obediently. “Those things are beneath you.” Inside, I
was thinking: nothing is beneath you. He wasn’t a true
leader, like Luka, Vasiliy or Angelo. He was just a thug
who’d risen to power.
Mikhail preened under my attention. “I just want to
make sure it’s done right.”
I knew the real reason: he enjoyed it. He enjoyed
terrifying people and hurting them, instead of
considering it a last resort. The thought of spending my
life with this man made me die inside, but I had to smile
sweetly and nod as if he was right and I was just a silly
girl who didn’t know any better.
Vasiliy’s phone rang. He checked the screen and then
cursed. “I have to take this,” he said. He looked around
at the other diners, then got up and headed towards the
restrooms. Yuri followed discreetly behind, never letting
his charge out of his sight.
As soon as they were gone, Mikhail pushed his chair
back from the table and patted his lap. “Come,” he told
me. “Sit.”
My eyes widened. Sit on his lap? Here, in the middle of
an upmarket restaurant? Mikhail was almost twice my
age. Not only did the idea repulse me, but people would
think I was an escort.
For Angelo. I smiled at him, got up and sat gingerly
down on his knee, balancing on the very edge.
“I’m glad I’m getting to know you better,” said Mikhail in
my ear. “When you’re with me, I can take you to nice
places like this all the time.” He suddenly fingered my
necklace—the one Angelo had given me. “You like nice
things, don’t you, Irina?”
I went cold inside. Did he somehow know? “Yes,” I said
with a calm I didn’t feel.
His other arm wrapped around my waist. I was
suddenly jerked back against his soft gut, and my legs
fell either side of his thick thighs. I was wearing jeans,
but that didn’t stop it from being an uncomfortably
sexual position. “Don’t worry,” he said, nodding to
Vasiliy’s empty chair. “He won’t be around to interfere
forever. Once we’ve got rid of these fucking Italians,
he’ll go back to Moscow and it’ll be just you and me.”
I felt his cock under my ass as he shifted position. My
stomach lurched, but I forced my voice to be neutral.
“That might take months, though. The Italians have lots
of friends here, lots of allies.”
Mikhail gave a nasty laugh. “We’re stealing them, one
by one. First the suits, like that property developer. Now
the gangs.” He was eager as a child to tell me his plans.
“The Italians have a monthly meet with a biker gang:
cash for guns. When they meet them tonight, they’re
going to find out that the friendship’s over.”
I froze in his lap. Tonight? I had to warn Angelo!
“And we’ll have guys there as well, to finish the job.”
My heart sank. If I didn’t warn Angelo, he or his men
would be killed. If I did warn them, Vasiliy’s men would
be killed. Chyort!
Then, to my horror, I felt his cock hardening under my
ass. I wasn’t sure if it was having me in his lap or the
thought of violence that was turning him on. I
instinctively tried to rise.
His arm tightened around my waist, holding me in place,
and he gave a chuckle, as if he liked it when I fought
him. For all his fat, he was still a strong man and he
could easily overpower me. I had a sudden, sickening
vision of what being married to him would be like.
Crushed beneath his weight as he—
“Having fun?” Vasiliy was standing next to us. The
expression on his face was uncertain: half get your
hands off my niece and half look at the young lovebirds.
Yuri, meanwhile, had come to high alert, his expression
carefully neutral, but his whole body primed and ready
to strike. He’s always been very protective of me.
Mikhail grinned and released his arm. I got up as if
nothing was wrong, but something must have shown in
my expression because Vasiliy gave me a quizzical look.
Say something, a voice inside me screamed. All I had to
do was tell him about the groping and he’d go nuts. Yuri
would snap Mikhail’s arms like twigs. Vasiliy would
forbid Mikhail from ever coming near me again—
marriage would be off the table.
And my best source of information would be gone.
I gave Vasiliy my best smile. “Let’s eat,” I said.
23
Angelo
I’d never been anywhere like it.
I’m not what you’d call the sensitive type. I sure as hell
never thought I’d stand somewhere and say it’s magical
like some dewy-eyed teenage girl. But standing there in
the lobby of Fenbrook Academy with the setting sun
pouring through the window and lighting up drifting
motes of dust, even I felt something.
They say places have a scent. If you go to the White
House, supposedly that smells like power. Fenbrook
Academy smelled like hope. Thousands of kids had
come here, getting off the bus from their little towns in
Nebraska or Minnesota, their entire lives up to that point
packed into a battered suitcase, their entire futures
resting on the guitar slung on their back or their
treasured pair of ballet shoes.
I could see why Irina had traveled all the way to
America to go here. It felt like a place where anything
could happen. It practically made me want to pick up a
guitar.
I shook my head and jogged up the stairs. I’m going