Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
FIONA
It’s not even ten in the morning, and every step sends fire through the soles of my feet. The torn skin from last night’s sprint through the woods still stings with each shift of weight, an aching reminder of everything that happened with Aleksei.
Not just the reckless sex against a tree. The way he bandaged my wounds after. The way he carried me. Like I meant something.
God, no. I shut that thought down immediately.
Who cares if the man cleaned my cuts like the world’s most attentive boyfriend? He is still Aleksei fucking Marinov. Cold, criminal, manipulative Aleksei, who dug under my skin like a toxin without an antidote.
There’s absolutely no way in hell I can ever allow that to happen again. That was a mistake. An unbelievably pleasurable mistake, if you don’t count the pain I’m currently in, but a complete lapse in judgement.
One I don’t plan to make again. Ever.
I force the memory down, bury it deep, and refocus on the real reason I’m driving away from the comfort of my home on a morning that should’ve belonged to peace and quiet.
Mom called earlier, asking if I could come by the vineyard to sit in on a meeting with a potential investor.
I said yes before she finished the sentence.
The last thing I want is for them to be blindsided by some slick-talking bastard, especially when I have a perfectly honed bullshit radar and a law degree to back it up.
And maybe it’s selfish, but I’m glad for the distraction.
I need something else to focus on. Something that does not involve replaying the way my body responded for a man I refuse to name, lest I conjure the devil.
Or worse, summon that feeling. That unbearable emptiness that followed the second he walked away.
When I pull into the vineyard, I spot a dark sedan already parked out front. The sun is strong, casting long shadows through the rows of vines as I make my way inside.
The man waiting in the office rises when I enter, offering a smile that feels too easy before I give my parents a hug in greeting.
“You must be the famous Fiona. Your parents haven’t stopped talking about you.” He reaches for my hand with a charming smile. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Wesley Dawson.”
As we shake, I take a moment to study him. Late forties, dark hair, dark blue eyes. Attractive in that polished country club kind of way with his fancy suit and watch, to go along with that easy confidence of a man who’s used to closing deals and getting his way.
Which is exactly why my parents need to be careful.
He hands me a business card.
Wesley Dawson
CEO, Dawson Equity Partners
Not that I needed the introduction. The moment my mother mentioned his name, I did my homework. No glaring red flags, at least not the kind the internet will tell you about.
Then again, if you searched Aleksei Marinov, nothing would come up about the fact that he once bit a man’s neck, tore out a chunk of flesh, and calmly watched him bleed out. Apparently there was a witness. Sadly, I was not invited to that particular performance by the murder machine himself.
“Pleasure’s mine.” I sink onto the sofa between my parents, keeping my expression neutral as Wesley takes the armchair across from us.
“So…” I lace my fingers together on my knees. “What makes Dawson Equity interested in a modest vineyard in New Jersey?”
His smile deepens. “Vision. Potential.” He gestures with an elegant flick of his hand. “And a genuine belief that this place could be something much bigger. I’m not just here to keep your doors open. I want to take this global.”
I arch a brow. “And what’s the catch?”
He chuckles. “Smart and beautiful. I like that.”
I meet his gaze with a flat stare. My mother discreetly squeezes my finger. Her silent way of saying be nice.
Wesley leans forward and unclips his black leather briefcase, which is probably worth more than my car, then opens a folder and hands it to me.
“I know you’re an attorney,” he says, all business now. “I’d love for you to read this over today. Tomorrow night, perhaps we can meet to discuss your thoughts.”
“Meet where?” I’m already not liking the direction this is going.
“A club. It’s where I usually conduct business.” The glint in his smile sharpens just enough to set off a quiet alarm in my gut.
Who the hell negotiates contracts at a club?
Oh, right. Rich people. And predators. Sometimes they’re the same thing.
“And…” he adds, like he’s doing me a favor. “You may want to dress up a bit. I’ll pick you up at nine, if that works for you.”
Nine? What the fuck? That’s late.
Beside me, my father shifts. He hates him. I can sense it radiating off him. But he won’t say anything. Not in front of my mother.
I should say no. Tell Wesley we can meet here, or schedule something during daylight hours like normal people. But I’m curious now. I want to see him in a different setting. How he carries himself. Who he talks to.
It’s research. A different kind.
“That’ll work,” I say.
Dad clears his throat, but I ignore it. I give Wesley my number and watch as he saves it and sends me a quick text so that I can give him my address.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Clark.” He rises and shakes both their hands, then turns to me. “And I look forward to seeing you again.”
The second the door shuts, the tension snaps like a rubber band.
“I don’t like him,” my dad mutters, rubbing his stubbled jaw. “And I really don’t like the way he was looking at you.”
My mother tsks, waving him off. “You’re overreacting, Tony. Maybe he’s single.”
I groan internally. Here we go.
“I’m not marrying the investor, Ma.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“He’s a schmuck. Una faccia da schiaffi.” Face just begging to be slapped.
“Tony!”
“What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”
I sink back into my seat as the two of them start bickering—about who’s right, who cares more about saving the vineyard, and who’s convinced I’ll die alone and be discovered half eaten by my cat.
But I’m not listening. Not really. Because something shifts in the corner of my eye.
Movement. Just beyond the window.
My body goes still, spine straightening as my gaze sharpens. For a second, just one breathless beat, I think I see someone. A shadow. A figure near the edge of the property, barely visible between the slats of morning light and rows of sprawling vines.
Is it him? Would he follow me here?
He’s unpredictable enough that it wouldn’t surprise me, and obsessive enough that it makes sense.
My pulse stumbles, then kicks into high gear. I lean forward, eyes narrowing, searching. But there’s nothing there. Just grape leaves swaying in the breeze.
Still, my skin prickles. I know this feeling. The electric awareness that curls low in my gut when he’s near.
Why the hell am I so attuned to him? Is my mind just warning me?
Either way, I don’t want to feel anything where Aleksei’s concerned. Nothing but complete and utter disdain. I hate the thought of that man following me, watching everything I do.
There’s no way he’d come to the vineyard knowing he’d be seen on cameras, right?
Then again, it’s not like he’d care. This is a place of business, and he can come here if he chooses.
Then I start to wonder…
Will he follow me tomorrow night?
Would he care? Would seeing me with another man spark something feral in him?
If Wesley so much as lays a finger on me, Aleksei will either tear him apart…or sit back and enjoy the show.
And honestly, I’m not sure which would be worse.
ALEKSEI
The vineyard falls behind me as I pull away. I should be following Dawson, tracking him until I know exactly what he wants.
Instead, I’m already late to the meeting. My grip tightens on the wheel. I hate answering to anyone. Especially my own brother.
Two damn years. That’s all it would have taken.
Two years earlier, and I would be the one sitting at the head of the table.
Giving orders instead of taking them. The one they answer to.
But the universe is cruel and Konstantin came first, the Pakhan of the Marinov family, and he wears that title proudly.
I enter his estate, gates yawning wide, the guards letting me in as the cameras track every inch of my Royce.
Emilia swings the door open before I even touch the handle, arms crossed, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at her mouth.
“You’re late.”
I grunt. “No way. Hadn’t noticed.”
Her brows arch. “Let me guess: you were too busy stalking my best friend again. You do realize that’s not a healthy coping mechanism for loving her, right?”
“I will never love that cursed woman.” I brush past her, heading straight for Konstantin’s study.
Of course she knows about my extracurricular activities. They all do. Not as though I’m subtle.
“Nice talking to you too, brother-in-law,” she calls after me. “You’re always so pleasant.”
She’s already made herself right at home in this family. And while her mouth is a damn menace, I will admit having her around isn’t the worst thing in the world. As long as she stays out of my way.
When I enter the study, they’re all already there. Anton dead-eyed as usual. Kirill with that smug grin. Konstantin sitting like a king behind his desk, shot of vodka in hand.
“Nice of you to finally join us,” he says, tipping his glass to his mouth before lowering it.
I shrug and drop onto the leather sofa between Kirill and Anton. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Konstantin arches a brow, his mouth curving with dry amusement. “And we are all very grateful. Especially considering what we need to discuss.”
“And what’s that?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “The Volkovs. And their connection to your lovely Fiona.”
My jaw tightens as I bury the chaos churning beneath my ribs whenever someone mentions her name. “She’s not mine.”
“Not yet,” he says with a low chuckle.
I start to snap something back, but he lifts a hand, cutting me off.
“Spare me the dramatics, brother. I have no interest in your love life, or lack thereof. What I want to know is what you plan to do about what Kirill uncovered.”
My tone drops. “Nothing.”
Konstantin’s gaze narrows.
“There’s nothing to do. I will not let them touch her. That’s all there is to it. Anything else?” My teeth grind with irritation that I don’t bother masking.
He drags in a long inhale, eyes still trained on me. “And how do you plan to stop them?”
“I’m watching her. I know where she goes, who she sees. I’ll know before they move. It will be simple.”
“Hmm. Still stalking my wife’s best friend, huh? We really do need to find you a new hobby. It’s been a while since you have stepped into the ring. Maybe you need to bleed her out.”
Kirill laughs under his breath. When I shoot him a glare, he chuckles harder. If he wasn’t my brother, I would have killed him by now.
Still, Konstantin has a point. It’s been too long since I’ve fought. Since I stepped into one of our underground rings and let the violence unleash.
Anton follows the conversation with quiet observance, probably wondering why I’d let a woman get under my skin at all.
But of course it doesn’t make sense to him. Nothing does. Not since our father shattered a bottle over his head and left him facedown and bleeding on the floor for hours when he was nine. He never called a doctor. No one was even allowed to check on him.
I thought he was dead. I snuck in to see if he had a pulse, but my father caught me and beat me half to death for it.
When Anton finally woke up, the boy we knew was gone. We didn’t know it at first. But eventually, we realized he was a shell of who he was. All his emotions were gone. He didn’t feel love, anger, or hate. He felt nothing.
And for my father, that was a win.
Anton became his killing machine from a very young age. And ever since, he has been just that. Empty. Efficient. Unbreakable. The one man who’s never let emotion cost him anything.
Not like the rest of us.
“One last thing…” Konstantin leans back in his chair, cutting into my thoughts. “Do ensure you don’t hurt Fiona. If you do, Emilia will not be happy. And that means I will not be happy.” His grin widens. “Do we understand each other?”
My nostrils flare, but I don’t say anything. Of course my prosecutor had to be friends with his wife. Because fate is a sadistic bastard with a sense of humor.
But nothing I have planned will hurt her. Not physically, anyway…
Konstantin smooths his tie with a flick of his hand. “We all know war with the Volkovs is inevitable. But for now, let us eat. Emilia prepared lunch. I expect everyone to be on their best behavior.”
We file out into the dining room like the civilized criminals we are, settling around the long dining table. I pick at my plate, pretending to care about food. But all I can think about is Fiona.
Where is she now? What is she wearing? Is she still thinking about last night?
I mutter a curse, stabbing at a piece of roast.
I have to stop this. She is the enemy. A threat.
But none of that seems to matter. Because even here, surrounded by blood and power and legacy, all I see is her.
And I do not know how to stop it.