Chapter 19 Bella
BELLA
END OF WEEK
The glue dried faster than I thought.
My hands are shaking badly when I place the makeshift thumbprint on mine and press it to the scanner.
The screen comes to life, and for a moment, I get the terrible feeling that not only is this not going to work, but it’s going to trigger an alarm that will have Slava rushing in to catch me in the act.
For three long seconds, nothing happens.
Then there’s a soft click, and the safe door swings open.
Holy shit. It worked.
I don’t have time to celebrate. Slava is still in the shower, but that can change any second. I start rifling through the contents as quickly as I can.
There’s a bunch of business registration documents that I immediately set aside. Ditto with the stack of bearer bonds. Tax records for shell corporations? Ignore.
None of this stuff is what Nico is after, which means none of it is what I’m after either. Legitimate illegitimacy is meaningless because this is par for the course for people running a criminal empire.
And Nico was very specific. Whatever it is, it’s precious to him.
I keep digging, and that’s when a piece of paper slips out. It looks nothing like any of the other documents because it’s a handwritten note. The edges are ragged, like someone ripped it out in a hurry.
My heart jumps to my throat. This has to be it. With trembling fingers, I pick it up and start reading.
It’s a list of names.
Italian names. All male.
Vincent. Marco. Dominic. Luca. Alessandro. Nicolas. Salvatore. Francesco. Tommaso.
Some of the names have lines through them. One—Alessandro—is circled. I don’t have time to analyze what any of it means.
My eyes keep being drawn to one name in particular. My brother’s name, sandwiched between Dominic and Alessandro.
What is this? A hit list? A debt ledger? A record of sins committed or sins to be avenged?
I don’t have time to figure it out. I pull out my phone and snap three quick photos—different angles, making sure the handwriting is legible. My hands are shaking again, but I force them steady.
Focus, Bella. You can fall apart later.
I put the note back inside the safe, and close it. The door locks automatically when it closes. I rub my thumb, and my heart drops away when I don’t feel the glue thumbprint there.
Ice seeps into my veins, and dread tastes bitter on my tongue.
I run my hands frantically across the floor around the safe. Nothing. Just dust and the faint impression of my own panic. I check my clothes, my skirt, and the cuffs of my blouse.
Nothing.
It must’ve come off when I was looking through the documents. And it must still be inside the safe.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
The evidence of my break-in and literal proof of my guilt is in the worst possible place. Just another secret he’s keeping, except this one is mine.
I stand up and look down at my phone. My mind is racing through options: okay, I can’t get the thumbprint back. If he opens the safe, then he risks finding it. I can’t let him do that. Because if he does, he’s definitely going to know my guilt.
The photos. I can’t let him see these on my phone. But I can’t just delete them either. The glue thumbprint is a trick I can only use once before he realizes what happened.
Think, Bella. Think!
And that’s when a solution presents itself to me. Quickly, I open up Snapchat, and draft a DM to myself.
It takes half a second for the photos to upload, and another second for me to mark the photos to never disappear after viewing. Then, I delete both the app and the photos from my library. And for good measure, I even delete the deleted photos from my trash folder.
Then, I start deleting every message from Nico, and even change his contact information in my phone to the name of my college journalism professor.
If Slava searches my phone, he’ll find nothing. Or close enough that it’ll seem like nothing. And without the app on my phone, there’s no way he’ll ever find them. And then once I get home, I can examine them at my leisure.
That is assuming I manage to survive the rest of the day.
I’m just rounding his desk towards mine when the office door swings open.
Slava is dressed in a full suit and tie. His eyes sweep the room, see where I’m standing, see the phone in my hand, and narrows his eyes at my presumed—well, more like actual—guilt.
“What the fuck were you doing?”
My heart stops, and blood starts draining from my face, pooling somewhere around my knees where it’s absolutely fucking useless.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I try to keep my voice even.
He starts walking toward me, and I have nowhere to go. The solid mahogany desk is at my back and he advances on me with that slow, deliberate pace of a wolf who’s cornered a rabbit.
His arms come down on either side of me like that day in the office when I saw the note about De Savoie on his desk.
“Are you lying to me, Bella?”
I tilt my chin up to meet his gaze. “Would I have a reason to?”
His hand moves so fast I don’t have time to react. One second my phone is in my palm. The next it’s in his grip, and he’s holding it up between us like a piece of evidence.
“Unlock it.” His voice is hard as iron.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” His voice is ice. “Unlock the phone.”
For a moment, I consider telling him to go fuck himself—that my personal device is none of his goddamn business, and that this is a violation of approximately seven labor laws and probably a few constitutional rights.
But nothing is stopping him from grabbing my hand and unlocking it himself, and if I refuse, he’s going to wonder why I’m so damn cagey.
Slowly, I press my thumb to the sensor and unlock it.
Immediately, Slava starts scrolling.
“You know,” I say. “Most people would call this controlling psychopath behavior.”
He responds by stepping even closer into my space, and just keeps on scrolling. Photos. Messages. Email. Browser history. He checks everything with terrifying thoroughness.
I should be terrified. No, fuck that, I am terrified.
But at the same time, something dark and twisted is uncoiling in my stomach as I watch those elegant fingers move across my screen while his other arm keeps me trapped against this desk.
Jesus Christ, Bella. He might actually be about to murder you.
Finally, Slava sets the phone down on the desk. He leans over me until he’s the only thing I can see. The individual strands of dirty blond hair fall across his forehead. His jaw tightens as he stares in my eyes.
“Sorry you didn’t find the nudes you were looking for.”
He doesn’t pull back. Instead, he leans in even closer. “You’re hiding something, I know it.”
Adrenaline-fueled recklessness rushes through me, and the same self-destructive defiance that made me slap Nico D’Ambrosio in a room full of people immediately follows.
“Then why don’t you fucking search me if you don’t believe me?”
What the fuck am I doing?
The ice on Slava’s expression cracks just a hair, and now he’s so close that the tips of our noses are practically touching.
“Careful, malyshka.” His voice is cold as ice. “I might just take you up on that offer.”
“By all means, I’m right fucking here.”
His hand rests against my thigh, and my body is practically humming from the contact. He moves up slowly and deliberately, giving me every opportunity to stop him as he hikes my skirt higher and higher. He never once looks away, giving me every opportunity to stop him.
I don’t. Even if I want to, because my body has apparently staged a coup against my brain. All I can do is stare and pant and breathe the air he exhales as his palm slides up my thigh towards the pulsing heat between my legs.
I gasp when his hand finally slips underneath my skirt, and I scoot up the desk involuntarily to give him better access.
Then his hand stops, and I fight the need to inch back down so that his hand might go higher.
“Still nothing to hide?” he asks quietly.
“Nothing.”
His other hand reaches around my waist for the zipper at my hip. With a single smooth motion, he opens my skirt. Then, he pulls it off me and tosses it aside somewhere in the room.
His hands resume their motion up my thigh, now moving towards the sensitive skin on the inside—closer and closer to where my legs connect to my hips.
I have never been more terrified or more turned on in my entire life.
Long fingers move to my thin blouse. One button. Two. Three. Each one falls open to reveal more of my bright red bra.
“Satisfied?” I ask. My voice is steady, but my pulse is racing.
“No.”
His hand moves to my bra strap, and I make a sound that might be a protest or might be a plea. Slowly, he rolls it off my shoulder, one side at a time. Then, he undoes the clasp behind my back. My nipples harden in the cool office air as his hands set my blood boiling.
Then, he pulls, exposing my breasts and holds my bra up in front of me. “Dirty little sneaks like to hide things in here all the fucking time.”
He finds nothing, of course. The bra joins my skirt somewhere in the office.
I’m breathing so fast now. My entire body is prickly with anticipation.
I bet if he looks down at my panties, he’ll see just how fucking turned on I am.
His eyes drop lower to my panties. Unlike my bra, I picked a pair of white cotton ones. I can feel how wet I already am, and I bet if he looks, he’ll see it too.
“There’s nothing there.”
“You really expect me to believe that?”
With both his hands, he hooks his fingers under the elastic band and slowly starts to roll them down. The fabric peels away from my skin, and I shiver as the cool air kisses my soaked pussy. When he finally gets my panties off my legs, he sets them on the desk next to my phone like evidence.
I’m completely naked now, save for a pair of heels as I’m splayed open on Slava’s desk like dinner. If he wants to, he can push my legs apart right now and fuck me until I can’t walk anymore.
His hand squeezes my thighs, and I bite back the moan bubbling in my throat.
“Are you about to check inside of me?”
“No, malyshka. You’re going to show me.”
Fuck…
He steps back now, crosses his arms, and clenches his jaw as he looks on, waiting. I should tell him to fuck off.
But I don’t.
Spread those pretty long legs and get in bed with him.
My legs slowly come up until I prop them open by my heels on the edge of his desk. Then, I slowly reach down, peel my slick folds open with two fingers, and I’m shocked by how fucking soaked I am.
I feel a drop leaking out and beading on his desk between my legs.
I keep my eyes on Slava the whole time as I open myself wider. His nostrils flare and there’s no mistaking the bulge in his tailored trousers. Then, he looks down at my pussy and runs his hand over his face.
For one darkly thrilling moment, I think he’s going to unzip his pants, pull out his massive cock, and fuck me like this over this desk until I forget my own name, forget why I’m here, and forget everything except the feeling of him splitting me open.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a slow trembling breath, and tells me, “You can put your clothes back on.”
He steps back and I see my blouse, skirt, and bra in three different locations in the office.
My panties are still warm and damp when I pick them up.
Something snaps inside me and I throw them at him.
“Keep them,” I tell him. “Since you worked so fucking hard getting them off me.”