Chapter 8 Gala Fundraiser
ALEXEI
The car slows before the curb, and I realize I’m holding my breath. “Relax,” I mutter, mostly to myself, but Roza’s small, amused snort tells me she heard.
I glance sideways. She’s staring out the window at the hotel facade, the marble columns, the crowd of people in black and gray, and the occasional splash of color. Her mouth is slightly parted, eyes wide, like she’s trying to take everything in at once.
“You’re going to be fine,” I say.
“I’m not worried about me,” she says, turning toward me. “I’m worried about you. You’re the one whose face breaks if he has to smile. And Liza is going to want you to smile tonight. She needs her donors happy so they’ll write big checks.”
I don’t even have to fake the heavy groan leaving my lips.
That makes her smile, the kind of smile that starts in her eyes and spreads slowly, turning her face from beautiful to dangerous. I look away before I say something stupid like, I love how you look at me.
The car door opens. The driver steps aside, the night air cutting in, cool and smelling vaguely of expensive cologne. I get out first, then turn to help her.
She takes my hand.
It’s such a small thing. Just skin on skin, her fingers curling around mine. We were much more intimate less than an hour ago, but the gesture sends something sharp and warm through my chest. “Ready?” I ask.
“Is it too late to say no？” she asks, but she’s already climbing out of the car.
I give her a half -smile. “You’re already wearing the dress, so it seems a shame not to go.
But I’m always willing to return home so I can get you out of it and have another taste of what we did in the bathroom earlier.
” I lean closer, my breath caressing her ear.
“Do you want that? Do you want me inside you again?”
She blushes and laughs. But then lifts her chin and straightens her posture. Her dress is dark blue and looks plain until she moves and it clings to her luscious curves.
We walk up the stairs to the hotel entrance together, holding hands.
The hotel doors open, music spilling out, mixed with chatter and the clink of glasses.
“Here we go,” I mutter.
“Here we go,” she echoes, quieter, and I squeeze her hand, just once, to remind her she’s not alone. She’s with me.
She’s mine.
The event space is filled with people I don’t recognize, but then I hear someone say, Alexei,” and I turn to see Liza, radiant in a pale blue dress, her hair swept up, her face lit with genuine warmth. “You made it.”
“I didn’t know I had an option not to,” I say.
“You didn’t,” Danyl says, walking up behind Liza.
Her smile widens, and she leans into him. “You promised to behave tonight.”
Danyl just shrugs, but Liza’s already moved on to greet Roza. “You look perfect,” she says. “That dress was definitely the right choice.”
Roza blushes, the color rising up her neck. “Thank you,” she says. “You’re the one who picked it out.” I silently wonder if my boss’s wife also picked up the underwear I ruined earlier this evening. It’s kinky enough to where I definitely want to ask my wife about it later.
“You’re going to steal the show,” Liza says, and then she notices the way Rosie’s hand is still in mine, the way my thumb is brushing the back of her knuckles. She quirks an eyebrow and smiles at me. “You clean up well, too, Alexei. Take care of my girl, tonight, alright.”
“I’ll take care of my wife.” I growl, making both Liza and Danyl laugh before they move off to greet more guests.
We move through the room, Roza at my side. She’s nervous, but nobody but me can tell. She’s talking to strangers like a public relations pro, highlighting the rescue agency’s successes, succinctly arguing the need for more funding so that it can expand.
I watch her talk to a woman in a dark green dress, her hands gesturing, her eyes alive.
I love the way she really listens to people, the way she leans in when someone shares something with her focus at a hundred percent because she’s genuinely interested in what they have to say. She’s good at this.
“You’re proud of her,” someone says behind me, and I turn to see Danyl, standing with a glass of whiskey in his hand, his eyes on Roza with the same assessing look he gives a chessboard.
“I am,” I say, keeping my eyes on my wife. She’s laughing at something the woman told her, and the sound cracks something open in my chest.
“And you look happy.” Danyl sips his drink, the ice clinking. “You’re not supposed to be happy. You’re supposed to be useful. But you’re smiling. And your wife looks…not scared.”
“I never want her scared,” I say quietly. “I want her happy.”
He looks at me, thoughtful. “You’re in love with her,” he says. I don’t answer. I can’t.
I haven’t admitted what this feeling is to myself yet. This feeling of wonder and peace that I get when I watch my wife being happy.
“Is this going to complicate things?” Danyl asks.
“I don’t want to talk about this,” I say.
“You have to, eventually.” He steps closer. “Everyone close to us is a liability. Especially when we’re emotionally involved.” His gaze tracks his own wife walking through the crowd to join the group around Roza.
Liza says something that makes my wife laugh, and she turns toward me, her smile widening when our eyes meet. The warmth in my chest spreads.
I’m not ready to name this feeling, yet, not even quietly in my mind. But deep down, I already know what it is, and it scares me more than anything.
What if my wife doesn’t feel the same? What if she’s still wishing for a way out of the contract?
The event is over. We’ve said our goodbyes to Liza and Danyl, the latter giving me long, knowing looks, which I ignored. As the hotel doors close behind us, the city air hits my face, cold and damp. But I still feel warm, walking with my beautiful wife, her hand in mine as we approach the town car.
Roza looks beautiful. She looks happy. She looks like mine.
I'm already thinking about getting her home, getting that dress off her, making her moan my name as I pound inside her, claiming her.
“You did good tonight,” she says, and there’s a note of pride in her voice that makes my chest tighten.
“You did good,” I correct. “I think Liza might promote you straight to partner.”
There’s a rustle behind us, a stumble, and then the sharp clink of glass against stone. I turn, pushing Roza behind me. My body reacting without my brain having to tell it what to do.
A man stumbles out of the shrubs next to the hotel curb. “Rosie,” he says, and the word is slurred, thick with liquor. “My baby girl.” Her father’s eyes are bloodshot, his clothes are wrinkled, and he reeks of alcohol. He’s holding a crumpled envelope in his shaking hands.
I curse inwardly. Drew’s not supposed to be here. I set him up with a job in another town and paid for him to go to gambling addiction treatment at a very expensive clinic.
“Dad,” my wife says. Her voice is small, and she clutches my hand hard.
"There she is." He spreads his arms like he's welcoming her home. "My baby girl,” he repeats. “Look at you."
His gaze moves over her dress, her hair, the rings on her finger, and something shifts in his expression. It’s not love or pride. It’s something ugly.
"Trophy wife," he says, and laughs. "I always knew you'd land on your feet, Rosie. Smart girl."
She doesn't move. Doesn't speak, but her breath catches.
"Thing is," he continues, stepping closer, the envelope rustling in his grip, "I'm in a bit of a situation. Nothing major.” He waves his hand and almost loses his balance, stumbling and catching himself just in time.
“Just need a little help. Thought maybe you could put in a word with your husband.
" His eyes slide to me, assessing. "Since you're living so well now.
Since you don't have to work no more. Since it's thanks to me you're living the easy life now. "
I feel her hand go rigid in mine. "Thanks to you?" she asks quietly.
"I'm just saying." He shrugs, the gesture loose and drunk. "I'm the one who set this up. I'm the reason you've got the fancy apartment, the fancy dress, the fancy—"
"You sold me," she says.
He blinks. "Rosie—"
"You told me they were going to kill you.
" Her voice is calm now, too calm. "You stood in that office and you let me sign a contract where I pledged myself to a stranger.” Her words slice deep into my heart, but she’s not finished.
“And now you're standing outside a hotel, drunk, asking me to thank you for it. "
He opens his mouth. Closes it. He looks at me like I’m supposed to help him out.
There are many things I want to say to this man, but I stay quiet. This is not my moment. This is hers.
"I sacrificed my life," she says, "because I loved you. Because I was stupid enough to believe you’d hit rock bottom and would finally straighten up.” Tears fall from her pretty eyes. “How could having to sell your daughter to get out of debt not be a wake-up call.” She wipes the moisture from her cheeks. “But you’re so fucking delusional that you’ve rewritten the whole thing into a scene where you’re the hero.
Where you did me a favor.” She’s shouting now.
"I didn't mean…"
"Go home," she says, her voice cold and flat. "Sober up. And never bother me again."
She turns away from him, chin up, eyes forward, and walks to the car. The driver opens the door. She gets in without looking back.
I look at her father. He's staring after her, the envelope hanging limp in his hand. The bluster has left him.
"That’s the last time you make her cry," I say quietly.
He swivels to face me, points a finger in my face. “I know a lot of details about the brotherhood,” he says. “If you don’t help me out, I can make things very difficult for you.”
I grab his finger and step so that my body shields his from the car window. My other hand covers his mouth as I bend the finger backward.
Drew’s body convulses with pain. I let go, and he crumples to the ground, holding his hand. I lean over as if I’m about to help him up, but I keep him flattened on the concrete curb. “That’s not the way you want to play this,” I say.
He nods frantically. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
I leave him on the ground and get in the car, texting one of my men to help Drew leave town and go far enough to where he’ll not bother my wife again. It would be easier to kill him, but that would hurt Roza.
She’s staring out the window, jaw set, eyes bright with tears.
I take her hand. She lets me.
We don't speak for a long time. The city slides past the windows. "You okay?" I ask finally.
"No," she says. "But I will be."
I bring her hand to my mouth and press my lips to her knuckles. She exhales, slow and shaky. "Take me home," she says.
"Yes," I say. "Home."
I’m taking my wife to my home, where I can properly protect her.