4. Nadia
4
NADIA
“ A ll I’m saying is that I think you can go really far with whatever you decide, Nadia.” Professor Owens grinned at me as he stood.
As far as profs went, he was one of the coolest I’d met. Zoe and I had come out for a few drinks to celebrate our good grades so far. She already left, but I lingered to finish my one beer. Partying hard didn’t appeal yet. I still had exams to tend with.
Professor Owens was a regular at this pub so close to campus, though, and that was just one more way he was relatable, not stuffy and pedantic like most of the other professors and members of faculty.
Seeing him here was a pleasant surprise. His kind words of encouragement filled me with careful, delicate optimism. He believed in me and thought I’d be wise to pursue a creative writing degree next, but he was genuine in praising my academic success no matter what I debated doing.
I would like to go really far. Far away from here, from my dad, from Mr. Avilov…
But he couldn’t know that. Any other student would have to decide what to do after earning a bachelor’s degree, to get a job or continue with another degree. Me? I had to flavor my options with will this help me stay out of an arranged marriage I don’t want ?
“I appreciate that, Professor,” I told him.
He dipped his chin in a nod, then turned and left me to my drink.
I sighed, staring at the liquid in the glass.
Hopelessness filled me. Instead of experiencing a high of receiving high praise from my professor, I felt stuck. Trapped, with nowhere to go. And clueless about what to do.
Why is this my life?
Why did I have to be born to my father?
Why did he ever make a promise on my behalf before I was even alive?
Why?
I was so rooted in misery that I didn’t flinch when a guy bumped into my side. He took the stool Professor Owens had vacated, but the man slid in so clumsily, he knocked his knee into mine and chuckled loudly. “Whoops. My bad.”
I stared ahead, lacking the energy to smile and forgive him for his “blunder”. He totally did it on purpose, which meant he wanted my attention. I wasn’t in the mood. I was not ready or willing to strike up small talk with anyone. And I was definitely not interested in flirting.
“Looking good,” he said as a pervy greeting.
I let my expression fall. Turning to him, I raised my brows and winced. “Seriously? Looking good? That’s your line?”
“It’s true.” He nodded at the bartender, who brought him a drink. “You’re a fine-looking lady.”
God. Spare me the desperation. He was clearly seeking out an easy lay, and that was not going to be me.
“Save it,” I snapped with what I assumed was enough snark that he’d forget about it.
“Ooh. You’ve got some sass in you.”
I sipped my drink, amused yet not at this random idiot trying too hard to hit on me. “And you should give up trying to get in me.”
He laughed, like my crude comeback was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Ouch. Bad day?”
That’s putting it mildly. I refused to be that pessimistic, though. I had avoided being Mr. Avilov’s bride for six years now. He tried to “take me home” when I was fucking fifteen, and here I was, twenty-one and still independent. Every day that I remained so was a blessing that I wouldn’t take for granted.
“I’m just wanting to chat.”
“You’re trying to get in my pants,” I retorted.
“Well, if you’re interested…”
“I’m not.” On a good day, I just barely managed to suffer fools, and every day, pushy men would always annoy me.
“How come?” He didn’t get the memo that my blunt sarcasm and irritation were signs of no thanks . Spinning in his seat, he faced my profile directly.
I had plenty of reasons to reject him. He had short blond hair that suggested he was a preppy loser who cared more about looks than what was underneath the surface of a person. He stank like too much cologne. He was lanky and too slim, showing no masculine strength that I preferred in eye candy. And he was trying way, way too damn hard.
But most of all… I’m already “claimed” by a Mafia lord, you dumbass.
I mused about that detail, wryly wondering what this skinny, over-eager punk would do if he knew I belonged to a lethal, dangerous, and well-connected criminal. If he had any common sense, he’d back off now.
“I’m engaged.” I kept my left hand in a tight fist in my lap so he wouldn’t be able to see whether I sported the telltale ring that would signify my taken status.
“You’re engaged.” He repeated it as an incredulous statement when it should’ve been a question.
“Yes.” Technically. According to Lev Avilov, I am. I resisted the idea of it, but if it could be a cheap lie and a way to evade this idiot, I’d use it.
“I don’t believe it.” He shook his head and gave me a skeptical look.
I rolled my eyes at his smirk. “Why?”
“Because you’re too… you look too young, for starters.”
I shrugged. Well, FYI, I’ve been “engaged” since the day I was born.
“I think you’re just saying that to get rid of me.” His brow furrowed and his expression turned closer to a pout.
Dammit. He’d called my bluff, all right, but I wasn’t about to give in and backtrack on what I said. This was getting ridiculous. “I am trying to get rid of you. I told you I wasn’t interested.”
“So, you admit you lied about being engaged? Just to make me stop talking to you?” His almost pouty expression shifted into a full-out frown.
“No.” But it was a lie, or it felt like one to me. I wouldn’t tell anyone that I was arranged to marry a creep three times my age. I’d spent too many years of my life fighting the mere concept of it for it to ever be a truth falling from my lips.
“But I told you already that I’m not interested.” That was the crux of it. “Why can’t that be enough to make you back off?”
He huffed a smug laugh, like I was being silly. “Because that only means you’re playing hard to get.”
I narrowed my eyes, studying him. “You might be the stupidest man I’ve ever met.”
He graduated to a scowl. It didn’t hold my attention. Behind him, I spotted another man. I hadn’t come here to hook up. I never did. While I didn’t intend to marry Mr. Avilov and plan to stay a virginal bride for him, I wasn’t experienced with picking up men. I lacked the desire to do so, too antisocial. My curiosity about dating had been stunted because of that engagement always hanging over my head.
I’d come here to get one drink with my roommate. Then I had the pleasure of chatting with one of my favorite professors. Then I had the annoyance of dealing with this loser who couldn’t take a hint.
Now, the man standing behind him could only be here for one reason—to get me.
I hadn’t spotted any Avilov men since the day Lev came to collect me. Six years ago, he’d shown up to get me. Yet, I knew without a doubt that the muscled thug in the corner was one of his men. He had that look. I knew the type. The dark, beady stare. The lethal aura of being someone who could inflict pain and enjoy it. All killers had that air about them. Every Mafia man stood out like that, looking like a villain, ready to punish or torture.
Holding in a gasp, I kept the air locked in my lungs at the first glimpse of him.
He was here for me. And I recognized the surety of it in the way he stared right back at me. I hadn’t caught him unaware. I hadn’t surprised him and happened to glance upon him.
He’d been watching me. Stalking me. No doubt, sent here to find me and drag me back to his boss.
Fuck.
I couldn’t look away, staring into the brutish man’s cold stare. He kept me trapped, and under the promise of capture, he rendered me paralyzed on the spot. For almost four blissful years, I’d had freedom here. Studying. Pretending I was a normal person like any other student. Living without a relative, spouse, or supervisor to dictate what I could and couldn’t do or say.
One look at this man, this enforcer, and I knew my time was running out. Lev was coming for me.
The irony killed me. Here I was, joking about being engaged, and now, I faced a moment of reckoning. A moment of my fate coming to get me because I’d stayed away for too long. Dad said that Mr. Avilov was pressuring him and contacting him more and more frequently. I’d ignored more and more calls and emails myself. The man was escalating in his race to make me his bride, dispatching one of his men to get me and bring me to him.
Fuck. This.
I wouldn’t marry. Not Lev Avilov. Not like this. Never on someone else’s goddamn terms.
I fisted my hands, firming my back to stand strong and defiant. I could not give up now. I could not go weak now.
I’d avoided the Avilov influence for years, and I damn well would continue to for as long as I wanted to. No one could make me marry that old asshole.
“Uh, hello?” The loser who hit on me was still here, hardly blocking my view of the Avilov man back there, glowering at me.
“Are you even listening?” He snapped his fingers in my face, making me blink and flinch, but he couldn’t persuade me to stop looking at the man lurking at the other end of the bar. My stare was locked on him, and panic would soon boil and bubble over. The second I gave in to this all-consuming panic, I would show it on my face. This loser would see it. He’d react. God, he’d get involved. It was already getting so complicated in my mind.
“I… I…”
He rolled his eyes, annoyed at my stubborn rejection of him. Remaining oblivious to the man slowly stalking toward us, unaware that danger waited if he stood in the way, the moron shook his head and fumed. “You’re just another antisocial tease, aren’t you? You act like you can’t stand the thought of a guy talking to you, but you’ll want the attention all the same. I can’t stand teases like you.”
I tuned him out. My heart beat faster and harder. I couldn’t breathe well. My lungs wouldn’t fill. With tunnel vision, I watched as the Avilov man walked closer, cutting through the crowd with his dark stare zeroed in on me .
Fuck!
“I have to go.” It came out as a breathy whisper. A silent declaration. I didn’t tell it to this stranger, but to myself.
I had to go. Now.
Turning so quickly that I felt lightheaded, I sucked in a deep breath and prepared to launch. To run. To sprint in the opposite direction of this man and pray that I could escape.
I didn’t get far. Instead of dodging away and hurrying out of the bar to lose that man, I slammed into someone else.
I grunted at the impact. Colliding into a hard wall of muscle didn’t feel good. Before I could glance back and see if the Avilov man was coming closer, I pulled in another deep breath and readied to sidestep whoever had been standing so close.
Strong fingers manacled me. He grabbed my upper arms, holding me close, and I frowned as I peered up at him.
“Running away, Nadia?” he asked. His deep, rich voice flowed like whiskey, and I shivered at his tone.
He knows my name.
My heart sank. Fear enveloped me again.
Is he another one here to capture me?