Unholy Tsar: A Dark Mafia Romance (Ruthless Dynasty Book 4)

Chapter 3

I try to focus on Bree”s lesson, but my mind keeps drifting to Cecilia. It takes all of my willpower to force the mysterious girl out of my head and into a mental cage.

After the lesson, I get into my car and instruct Louis to take me to a nearby park. From there, we stake out, waiting to catch Bree and her entourage leaving the Hamptons. While waiting, I text Cecilia’s details to Dante, who promptly forwards them to our best investigator.

When they finally head out, I tail them to Bree’s Upper East Side condo and signal my men to stand down. I remain in the car, feeling a strange reluctance to get out, a nagging feeling I can’t shake. Trusting my gut, I stay put. And sure enough, nearly an hour later, my niece and her guest strut out of the condo.

“Where are you going?” I mutter, firing up the ignition on my car.

As I follow them, Dante texts me the results of the search into Cecilia’s background—if that’s even her real name. As suspected, there’s no Cecilia Lombardi, and no West Coast Italian don with the name Lombardi. My investigator even went as far as to research the daughters of the prominent West Coast Italian dons. None matches Cecilia’s profile. So, who the hell is she, and why is she so close to my niece?

Does Bree know her friend isn’t who she’s pretending to be?

I text Dante back to tell the investigator to keep searching just as we pull into one of NYC’s bustling night markets. Parking discreetly, I follow Bree and Cecilia on foot as they frolic around the market. Eventually, they settle at a stall and eat more than their weight in food.

Things get interesting when my suspect separates from the group. Where is she going? I shoot a message to Bree’s head of security, telling him to keep all his men on my niece while I have a little chat with her friend.

Then I shadow the little mouse. Less than ten minutes later, my prey stops dead in her tracks, rubbing the back of her neck and casting wary glances around. I blend into the darkness. Does she know she’s being followed? The thought has hardly formed in my head when she suddenly takes an unexpected turn.

A smirk tugs at my lips. She’s running? Fascinating. Despite her attempts to shake me off, it’s pathetically easy to keep up with her. I’m impressed with her efforts, though. Does she have experience with being followed, then?

I remember the night I first met her. She seemed to be fleeing from someone then too. I was standing in front of my window, admiring my view of the city, when I spotted her dashing into my alleyway. She appeared so small, so desperate, and fragile as she glanced around frantically before eventually tucking herself behind a nearby trash can.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had gone down to the lobby and out the back door into the alley to invite her up. Something about her vulnerability stirred my protective instinct, and then, when I had her in my apartment, she stirred some other primal instincts too.

My pants tighten. My chest turns hot.

I shake my head, bringing myself back to the present. My prey has stopped running. She seems to have backed herself into a pretty little corner. But when she turns to face the alley’s entrance, fear isn’t what I see. Instead, her face bears a determined expression, with a stubborn jut of her chin.

Fascinating.

It would be even more impressive if she seemed like she stood a chance against me. But her stance is all wrong, and the fists at her sides look weak. She’d be no match for a drunken man, let alone an apex predator like myself.

But still, I have to admire her courage.

I watch my little mouse stew in her determination for another minute until she calls out. “I know you’re out there! Show yourself, you coward!” Her fists shake threateningly as she waits for a response.

That stirs my predatory instincts, coaxing my tongue to glide over my lips as I emerge from the shadows. Cecilia swallows hard as I approach, and I imagine the fear she must feel facing the looming shadow of my figure. Yet, she stands her ground, her chin held high.

“Who are you? Who sent you?” she demands.

“Those are the questions I want you to answer for me,” I reply, stepping into a patch of light so she can see my features.

Her pretty eyes widen, becoming luminous with a glimmer of recognition dancing within them… and then she seems to sag in relief. Not a reaction I’m used to getting. Usually, people piss themselves in terror at the sight of me.

I frown, not sure what to make of her. Is this a good thing? My cock seems to think so—the bastard is stirring in my pants.

“Why were you following me, Maksim?” she asks, straightening her back.

My cock twitches as I hear my name on her lips for the first time. I wanted to hear her scream it last week while I pounded her into submission, but we didn’t quite have the time to introduce ourselves.

“You’re not Cecilia Lombardi, daughter of a West Coast Italian don,” I say bluntly, shoving the dirty thoughts out of my head. “Are you?”

Cecilia inhales sharply, her lips parting in a feigned expression of surprise. I don’t know much about the girl, but I can see through her fa?ade. So, she knew I would do a background check on her? Yet she lied to me anyway? She has some guts on her.

I’d like to shift those guts with my cock.

No, focus. You’re too old to be led around by your dick.

“Oh no, you found me out. What am I going to do now?” She folds her hands together under her chin and blinks up at me.

I stare at her, nonplussed. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

She drops her hands from her chin, also dropping her little act. “Of course. You’re Maksim Smolov. Rian Kilpatrick’s consigliere, and the most feared man in the underworld… after all the Kilpatrick men, naturally.”

And yet she’s playing with me? Insolent chit. My cock seems to love it, though, hardening even more in my pants. No woman—no—nobody has ever dared to act this way in my presence before. Just who the hell does this little girl think she is?

“I guess you just don’t value your life then?” I retort. Why else would she stand so fearlessly before me?

“Listen, pal. Yes, I lied to you about being a don’s daughter. But I’m as Italian as they get, la promito.”

She butchers the phrase, and I snort as I correct her. “You mean, lo prometto? You promise?”

She pauses, then nods with an air of superiority. “That’s exactly what I said.”

“You can’t even speak basic Italian, and yet you want me to believe you’re one?”

“Look, I am Italian. I have no reason to lie about that. But I was born and raised in the States, you know? So excuse me if my Italian is a little rusty.”

“Why did you lie about being a don’s daughter?” I ask, moving on from her questionable heritage. I don’t believe she’s Italian yet, but that point is irrelevant right now.

She shrugs carelessly. “It was just a little fantasy, okay? I wanted to know what it would feel like to be treated with respect and fear. Can’t a girl live out her fantasies?”

“Not if those fantasies could end up putting my niece in danger.”

She winces, and for the first time tonight, her words are sincere. “The last thing I want is to hurt Bree or put her in danger. I’m not a threat to her, I swear.”

That might be the first truthful thing she’s said in her life. I believe her.

“Fine, let’s say you’re playing out a fantasy. Who are you really? What are you running from?”

“I’m Cecilia Lombardi, and I was running from you, you impossible man. Why were you chasing me? Do you know how scared I was?”

I ignore her questions. I’m the one doing the questioning here. “Someone was chasing you the night we met. Who?”

“The night we met? We just met today. You must have me mistaken for—” She trails off when I take a threatening step forward. “Okay, okay, fine. That was me.”

“I thought you were running from some drunkards or common street thugs, so I invited you into my home to protect you. But that wasn’t the case, was it? Someone’s after you.”

“You thought I was running from drunk men?” She blinks at me owlishly. “Why would you even want to save a strange woman?”

“Because I have a heart of gold. Why else?” I ask dryly.

She snorts, “Yeah, and my titties are made of platinum.”

My gaze drops involuntarily to said ‘titties’. “I can testify that they taste like honey.” Fuck, why did I say that? Before she can reply, I move on, “Answer my questions, Cecilia, otherwise I’m not letting you leave this alley. Not in one piece anyway.” I add. It’s a lie, of course, but I’m tired of running around in circles.

“Y–you wouldn’t. Bree—”

“Bree would be devastated when I tell her that her best friend is a liar and a con artist.”

She pales at that. “C–con artist, what do you mean?”

“What else do I call someone who’s pretending to be someone else? I might even let it slip to your best friend that you sought me out a week ago under false pretenses.”

“Okay, okay, fine!” She snaps, wrapping her arms around her chest protectively.

My gut tightens at how vulnerable she suddenly looks. Fuck, threatening her like this, even if it’s a lie, leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

“Yes, I am running from someone. I c–can’t tell you who, though. Please don’t make me tell you.”

I nod for her to continue.

“I-I’ve been on the run for two years… and a few weeks ago, I thought I saw him in California, so when Bree mentioned she was coming to New York, I made her bring me. Then last week, the night we–we met, someone was chasing me. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was following me. Then you came out of the building and—”

“And you quickly followed me in for protection,” I complete for her, and she nods rapidly.

“I had no idea you were related to Bree, I swear. I really didn’t!” she insists.

Again, I believe her. “If you had no idea who I was, why did you sleep with me?”

She bites her bottom lip. “Repayment?”

Repayment?I scowl at her. “Explain.”

“You saved me. I was filled with immense gratitude and wanted to pay you back. But I have no money and—” she trails off, shrugging.

Her words hit me like a punch in the stomach. She had sex with me, not because she was attracted to me, but as a twisted form of gratitude? “Bullshit. Your cunt was soaking wet. You wanted it. You begged for it,” I remind her.

“So what? I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it.”

“So, what you’re saying is that you’re not attracted to me?” I ask, taking another step toward her.

Her gaze drops to my shoulders. “Look, you’re old enough to be my father. I’d have to have some serious daddy issues to be attracted to you, and I never even had a father to start with.”

“Girls with no fathers are always the ones with the biggest daddy issues,” I point out.

“I bet you have plenty of experience with that.”

“Plenty,” I agree.

She scoffs, her pretty gaze finally settling on mine. “So? Are you going to teach me what daddy issues look like in a woman—Daddy?”

Her words send a shot of adrenaline through my veins, and my semi–erect cock turns rock hard. Fuck. “Watch your mouth, Myshka. If you call me that again, I’m going to turn your cheeks red.”

“Contrary to popular belief, not all redheads blush easily. Just because I have auburn hair doesn’t mean you can make me blush… not unless I want to.”

I smile at her naivety, “Not those cheeks, Myshka.” And fuck if her face doesn’t flush a glorious shade of red. The red splotches spread down her neck and into her top. So much for not blushing easily. My little liar.

“Look. I’ve answered your questions. Let me go. Bree will start to worry.”

As if Cecilia’s words summon her, my phone starts to ring. The ringtone is one I set to Bree’s number. Since I’ll need to be in touch with her frequently over the next few weeks, I’ve given her a unique ringtone.

I raise a hand at my little mouse and pick up the call. “Yes, Bree.”

Cecilia’s eyes widen, and I half expect her to let out a scream, but she doesn’t. Instead, she nods to herself and runs past me. Runs. I watch her retreat in disbelief, completely missing Bree’s words.

I shake my head slowly.

You can run, Myshka, but I’ll catch you.