Chapter 5
Five
AMARA
W ho was Luka Novikov? Why did I take his arm and let him lead me away from the only sanctuary I had found? The pool house was boring and empty. I couldn’t make bad decisions and end up online as long as I kept a healthy distance from everyone. Why was I standing with his family during the bride’s engagement toast?
The question I couldn’t stop asking was how had I found the man from the balcony again.
I smiled lightly while clutching a glass of champagne. The vodka had already warmed my muscles. His hand rested on my hip casually. As if it belonged there. As if we had done this a hundred times. It was exciting. Thrilling. The way he navigated my body.
A member of the band tapped out a drumroll to gather the rest of the guests to the ballroom .
A few minutes later, a man in a tuxedo climbed the steps to the stage and took the microphone from the lead singer with a smile.
The audience began to clap. I heard someone whisper behind me. “Dmitry worked so hard on this deal. He looks happy.”
“The Petrovs offered him a lot for Katya. One of the highest bids I’ve ever heard. A marvelous trade.”
Luka didn’t flinch at the words. Although, I was certain he heard them as clearly as I did.
My stomach rolled. I wasn’t na?ve. I knew how family weddings worked whether they were Italian or Russian. They weren’t entered into over a candlelit dinner with a surprise proposal and a princess-cut diamond. They were crafted in the back rooms of hotels or cigar bars. They were broken down by family wealth and stock. By potential grandchildren. By property. By money. By greed.
My father was working on mine. I had maybe bought myself another night by attending the engagement party instead of him. But that’s all I could do. Steal afternoons, mornings, or nights for me. The inevitable would happen. I looked around the room, knowing one of the Italians here could be my future husband.
Mr. Novikov smiled at the guests. He lifted his champagne in the air. “First, Anna and I want to thank Inna and Vasha. What a wonderful evening. Beautiful. Thank you for throwing such a wonderful party. Andrey is lucky to have you as parents. You have raised a son to be proud of. A man who will one day be the head of his own family with Katya by his side. Having a son is a blessing. An only son a gift from God. Cheers to Inna and Vasha Petrov. ”
I thought Luka’s fingers dug deeper into the fabric of my dress. I tried to pay attention to his father and not to him, but he was distracting. As distracting as any man I’d met had ever been. He’d walked into the pool house as if he lived there. As if everything around him was his to be used or enjoyed. The pieces were only coming together now. His father was Dmitry Novikov, the king of New Orleans. That meant Luka was the city’s prince.
I had heard bits and pieces outside of my father’s office doors. The Bratva was powerful in the city. I shivered, realizing it was a different and darker world than I knew.
“To our beautiful Katya. Princess, you have made us so proud.” I spotted Katya across the room from us on the other side of the stage. The awkward man next to her must have been Andrey. “Your mother and I are looking forward to your wedding day as anxiously as we waited for you to be born into this family. May you bless us with many grandchildren.” Dmitry grinned at his daughter. “And to Andrey, my soon-to-be son-in-law…”
The room echoed with jabs and jeers. I had to keep my smile in place. I hated this sexist bullshit. It happened at every engagement party. At every wedding reception.
He eyed the man. “You have been given a precious gift, my Katya. Be the man she deserves, and you will have a happy life together. You know how the saying goes. Happy wife. Happy life. Cheers.” It was short. Sweet. A masked warning—don’t fuck over my daughter.
“Cheers!” the crowd erupted, and the band started another song when Dmitry tapped the band leader on the shoulder. A horn belted out the beginning of a slow jazz number .
Luka’s hand flatted at my waist and drew me onto the dancefloor.
“We’re dancing?” I gasped.
He smiled wickedly. “Looks like it.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Didn’t think I had to.” He winked.
He knew exactly what he was doing. It was the same move. The same calculated look he had given me the night on the balcony. A knowing that he could have me if he wanted. It made me want to put up shields and barricades all around my body and my heart.
He spun me until I was dizzy, and then suddenly my body was pressed to his, and I felt the burn of his palm against the small of my back. I was afraid to look in his eyes. Afraid that he might see how breathless I was after dancing for only two minutes.
Guys were always hotter in tuxes. That was just a fact. But when Luka first barged into the pool house, I would have thought he was equally as sexy if he had been dressed as the gardener. The lines of his jaw were sharp and definite. He seemed formidable. Self-assured. He had gorgeous eyes. I didn’t think I could swoon over a stranger a second time, but Luka Novikov was a sexy specimen of beautiful masculinity.
His lips lowered to my ear. The blood rushed to my cheeks. My pulse raced.
“Think we could ditch Ciro?” he asked.
“Don’t you need to stay a little longer?” I searched his eyes. Damn. Why were they so dark and deep? “Your mother seemed serious about the family obligations,” I reminded him. My instincts told me not to get on Anna Novikov’s bad side.
“She’s serious about everything,” he answered. Anna Novikov already scared the shit out of me.
“I don’t want to cause any problems. Really.” It was the first time I was allowed out since the pool table incident. It could be my last for a while if I screwed this up.
“I checked all the boxes tonight. I’m done with appearances.”
I nodded. “If you’re sure.”
“Positive.”
“Okay.”
His eyes lingered on my lips before tilting my chin upward. I held my breath. “You are exactly what I was looking for tonight, Amara.”
I smiled. “And what was that?”
“A way out.”
I didn’t think it was possible to shake Ciro tonight. I didn’t fully believe it until I was sitting next to Luka in the front seat of his sports car, and there were no headlights in the rearview mirror. I continued to look behind us.
I exhaled.
“Better?” he asked.
I nodded. “You have no idea.”
“I think I probably do. ”
“Oh, right. Must be hard being the royal family of New Orleans.” Did he sense my playful sarcasm? I was terrible at hiding it.
“Are you mocking me?” I saw the sexy smirk on his face.
“Absolutely not,” I giggled.
“Mikhail and I have ditched bodyguards since we were kids. It takes skill and practice.”
“You say that as if I should be better at it.” He didn’t know how hard it was when there were no distractions. Ciro had laser focus on only one target—me.
He shrugged. “You’re free. That’s what matters.”
I settled into the seat. “Free.” I glanced at him. “Who is Mikhail?”
“An old friend. Shit. I didn’t tell him I was leaving the party.”
I smiled, satisfied I had identified the friend as a guy. “Should we call him?” I suggested.
“Hell no. He’ll understand. We ran for a reason, and I know exactly where we can go to celebrate.”
“Tell me there’s lots of champagne, and I don’t care.”
He laughed. It was a rich beautiful laugh. It made my core quiver and my breasts tingle. Just who was this man?
“Are you even old enough to drink?”
“I’m twenty-one.” My brow furrowed.
He nodded. “Barely old enough to do much.”
I eyed him across the gear shift. “Is there going to be champagne or not? ”
We stopped at a red light and I felt the heat of his stare burning my cheeks. “I will make sure there is the most expensive decadent champagne you have ever tasted, Amara.” His grin was as sinful as it was inebriating.
I tugged on the hem of my dress. It seemed to creep up inches every time the car turned on a new street.
“Good. It’s the one thing I like about New Orleans.”
I thought I saw a look of shock on Luka’s face. “One thing? You only like one thing? It looks like I have my work cut out for me tonight.”
“I guess you do.”
“ I didn’t know dive bars carried expensive champagne,” I teased Luka from the corner of the restaurant.
“My favorites do,” he answered. “Besides, it’s a French bar, not a dive bar. Its owner would disagree with you. Ahh, here she is.”
We had been met at the door by a woman who seemed close to ninety. Her hair was tied with a scarf that matched the one draped around her shoulders. There was only candlelight. I hadn’t spotted a single lightbulb. A man played the piano quietly across the room.
“Thank you, Marguerite.” Luka nodded at the hostess before she walked away.
“How did you find this place?” The walls were chipped, and the paint peeled in long slow strips. The bar’s countertop looked as if it was original, but I couldn’t put a date on it. Maybe early 1800s. It was clear Luka loved this place .
“I know all the good places to hide.” He winked.
“I don’t see a name anywhere?” I looked for a logo.
“Marguerite’s.”
The champagne was sweet and crisp. It was perfect. The atmosphere was perfect.
“Maybe you can show me where they are. I need good hiding spots.” The piano player stopped playing to light another candle. The wax splatters on the baby grand weren’t appalling. They were charming. Almost eerie. He continued to play when the new flame jumped to life.
“I might be willing to do that. But on one condition.” His voice dropped. It was almost too deep and low to hear. I leaned closer.
“You want to negotiate?” I pressed.
He nodded. “I want another dance. The first one was cut short. It was too crowded.”
“Here?” I placed my champagne glass on the well-worn table. “No one else is dancing.”
I watched as he rose from the table, his tall muscular body straightening. He shirked off the tuxedo jacket and carefully folded it over the back of his chair. I watched every movement. Every flex of muscle when he unclasped his cufflinks and rolled his sleeves above his forearms. God, he had tan gorgeous skin.
He extended his hand. “Come on. The beauty of it is there is no one to bump into. A dancefloor for two.”
Luka’s palm was wide and strong. He had solid fingers, beckoning to accept his proposal. My hand slid against his, and I felt the immediate tremor resonate between us. I stepped forward.
His arm circled my waist, and I swayed with the rhythm of his body. I didn’t know if our movements were on beat with the piano. I didn’t know if the few drinkers were watching. I didn’t know dancing in a candlelit bar could change me. Dancing was supposed to be freeing. An expression. A release. Dancing with Luka was none of those things. With every step, I felt more connected to him. With every note from the piano, I felt an invisible thread tying me to him. As if the dance was a way to imprint the feel of his body onto mine. I could smell him. A mix of everything masculine, cologne, liquor, and a trace of tobacco. I wanted to inhale every ounce of him.
As my lashes lifted, I thought he was posed to kiss me. My lips felt heavy and weighted from the way his eyes dragged over them.
The candle on our table flickered before a swirl of smoke circled. The hostess hurried over to light a new one. It was just enough of an interruption to create space between us. I needed space and air. I pushed off Luka to sit.
“More champagne?” I raised my glass.
He sat. His scowl was even sexy. He poured another glass for me.
“Where did you come from Amara Amato?” he asked, his elbows digging into the table. “What brings your family to New Orleans? Is it just you and your dad?”
I always struggled with questions regarding my family. My place in it. My father. It helped that Luka’s family ran a similar way to mine. When I tried to date guys in college, things always ended abruptly the second any guy suspected my father’s line of work. It was too scary to date a mob boss’s daughter.
“I finished my senior year early. My father wanted to explore expanding his business here. We moved from Philadelphia. It’s only the two of us.” I blinked. “That’s my story. What’s yours?” I knew to keep the details limited. My father trusted no one and as much as I distrusted my father some of his paranoia had rubbed off on me.
Luka ran his index finger along my arm. It was a purposeful stroke as if he had chartered a course on my skin to explore. “I guess I’ll answer short and sweet with short and sweet. Born and raised in New Orleans,” he answered. “My family has been here for generations though some of us are still in Russia. There’s some back and forth you could say.”
“College?”
He nodded. “Tulane. I graduated five years ago.” I knew he was older than me. But twenty-eight seemed almost untouchable. It added another layer to him that seemed to push him farther away.
“You don’t think you’re too old for me?” I asked.
His eyebrows lifted. “To do what?”
A pit opened up in my stomach and I wanted to hide. “I?—”
His finger moved to my knee, gently pressing against my inner thigh. “No, I don’t,” he finally answered, dragging my skin with more force. I gasped.
“Your parents...” I chose my words carefully. “They made sure your sister had a good match. A happy one.” I bit my tongue. “Have they done that for you? Any prospective mergers? ”
The darkness in his eyes was consuming. A depth of obsidian I’d never seen. I swallowed hard as if I had stepped into a pit knowingly and willingly. I was wading through it, with no tools to navigate this man’s moods. Hours in, and I was in frightening territory, but I couldn’t stop. I was drawn to him. I wanted to understand his reaction during the toast. I wanted to know what his father’s words had meant to him. Was his life as twisted as mine?
“No. No mergers.” There was bitterness in his tone. “I have privileges Katya doesn’t. I plan to take advantage of them. Fully,” he emphasized.
I didn’t know why his answer made my heart beat faster. It didn’t help that he was sexy as hell. Tall. Cocky and confident. I didn’t know whether Luka was as bad and ruthless as the players I always met in my father’s world. Was he hardened and soulless? Did he spit out good people to make a deal? Would he spit me out when he was done? Was I willing to take that chance with what time I had left? I couldn’t quite seem to admit to him that my fate wasn’t my own.
“It’s getting late.” My champagne glass was empty. Another round would be too much. I already felt light-headed at the engagement party.
“Giving up your freedom already?” he taunted.
The words clawed at me.
“I don’t think you can offer my freedom. It was fun for one night. Thank you for introducing me to your hideout.” I tried to smile, but the reality was suffocating. I was no different than Katya. Did he see it? Feel it? I wanted to own my destiny. I wanted to control my fate. My life. My love. I didn’t have that kind of power; neither did his sister. But he did .
I looked away before my voice cracked.
“Amara?”
“Hmm?” My eyes drifted toward him again.
“I could drive you home, or I could take you one more place,” he offered. “It’s your decision, but I think we both know Ciro will be hell-bent on keeping an even closer eye on you after tonight. This might be your last night out for a while.”
“It almost sounds as if you hope I’m locked in the tower.” I peered at Luka.
“Hell, no. I just want you to consider that if you’re going to go rogue, you might want to take full advantage of it.”
My father was lying in his room, trying to recover from bronchitis. He was taking enough medication to sleep for a week. He didn’t know I hadn’t returned from the Petrov-Novikov engagement party. Ciro wouldn’t want him to know he lost me.
I pinched my lips together. “Let me guess. You want to take me back to your place. Show me the spectacular view of New Orleans from your over-the-top penthouse.”
He clicked his tongue. “No, not at all. But you paint a nice picture.” His eyebrows waggled, and my cheeks turned crimson. “I could change the plan I had in mind. Yours sounds better.”
Shit. He was intimidating. A smartass. A playboy.
“Let’s stick to plan A.”
He chuckled. “If you insist.”
“Is it as quaint as this place?” I tested. I had already fallen in love with the French bar .
“Even better.” He grinned.
“All right. If I’m going to face the firing squad over breakfast, I should at least have a good story to tell.” I plucked my beaded clutch in my hand.
“Always my motto.” His lips lowered close to my ear. “Carpe noctem.”
I tilted my eyes toward him slightly. “Seize the night.”
“What else?”
He guided me out of the bar with his hand pressed to my back. It seared as if he wanted to tattoo remnants of the night on my skin. But there weren’t needles. Just protective brushes of his fingertips. I thought I knew exactly what motto he would have chosen to ink along my body.