2. Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Eight
AMARA
“ E verything all right?” Ciro asked as he steered out of the parking lot. The windshield wipers were on the highest setting.
“Yes, it’s fine.” I stared out the window but refused to look backward.
“You knew he’d be there.” I felt Ciro’s eyes watching me in the rearview mirror.
“I know.” I folded my hands together. Rain had splotched part of my silk dress. “It was inevitable. It’s his father’s funeral.”
“And yet, he still affected you.”
I pinched my lips. “Nothing to worry about, Ciro. Just drive.”
“It’s just that he could be a problem.”
I glared. “I can handle Luka Novikov.”
“Does he?—”
“Enough,” I snapped. “Drive me home.”
I tapped out a quick text to my assistant, Enzo, to ensure the flowers I requested for the Novikov family had been delivered. He responded with a confirmation from the florist. What did it matter? I slammed my phone into the seat.
Twenty minutes later, Ciro pulled into the driveway, circling the fountain. It looked as if it was drowning in the deluge of rain. He continued into the garage. He turned off the ignition and walked around to help me out of the back of the tall vehicle. I watched the rain pour as he closed the garage door. It wasn’t possible to shut out that kind of misery. I could still hear the rain.
“Ms. Amato, do you need anything?” Bella greeted me when I walked inside. She had only been on my staff for six months, but she needed little training. It was an easy hire. “I could bring tea or a glass of wine?” she suggested. She looked concerned about the state of my dress.
“Yes, both.” I smiled. “I’m going to change, but you can take it to my office.”
After a quick curtsy, she hurried to the kitchen. I climbed the stairs, gripping the handrail. The top landing seemed as if it was five stories up. Luka Novikov . I closed my eyes. Damn it. His return had ramifications for everyone. I didn’t know how to sort them out yet.
The news of Dmitry’s death traveled quickly through New Orleans. Like everyone else, I assumed it would take a bullet to the back of his head for the man to die. It was possible one wouldn’t have been enough. But a heart attack? It was a cruel fate for a man who had spent his life trying to guard against outside enemies. The irony was suffocating .
Our last meeting was a month ago. He wasn’t happy with me. He never had been.
I sat in front of my vanity and flipped open the lid on a heavy marble jewelry box my father had given me when I turned sixteen. The stone was cold against my fingertips. There were hidden compartments inside. He had been pleased that it was intricate and unique. I lifted the velvet shelf from inside the box. I tapped a secret button. A door popped open. Beneath it was the pearl necklace Luka gave me the night he left.
I held it up to the light. The diamonds glimmered. I didn’t remember exactly when I stopped wearing it. It had become a piece so dear to me I slept with it until I realized the engraving started to wear. Then I would take it off at night and place it on the nightstand. One day I woke up and didn’t put it on. That was years ago. I returned it to the hidden square and closed the box.
I changed and slipped back downstairs, sitting in a chair by the fireplace. It was too warm to light the logs. I had made minor adjustments to the décor since I inherited the house. One was this oversized white chair. I could curl my feet under me and read reports. Sift through numbers and financial statements late at night.
Bella entered the room quietly and placed the tray carrying a cup of tea and a glass of wine on the footstool closest to me.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No. This is plenty. Thank you.”
As soon as she closed the door, I reached for the wine. I scrolled through pictures on my tablet. My mind wandered, even when I tried to bring it back to focus. I had to change my schedule to accommodate Dmitry’s funeral service tomorrow. I messaged Enzo to make sure everything was set.
I couldn’t make the same mistake I did tonight. At least I didn’t stay longer than twenty minutes. I sighed, tapping my nails on the wine glass. The color on the tips matched the Pinot Noir.
Luka was going to be a major problem. But I’d give him the next forty-eight hours to grieve the loss of his father and finish the funeral services before he discovered what happened in the five years he had been gone. I could grant him that grace. It was the least I could do.
I didn’t want to sit close to anyone during the service. My presence caused enough of a stir. The Novikovs didn’t need unnecessary commotion. Ciro performed a sweep of the church, just like every organization’s security team did before the procession began. He was satisfied with my seat.
I read the program, waiting for the priest to begin. The black gloves I wore made the pages rustle when I turned them. According to the inscription on the back, Dmitry didn’t want the traditional funeral parade after the church service concluded. It was true, it didn’t suit him. But I was surprised the family wouldn’t carry on with what the Russian families considered their lifeblood—tradition.
The wooden benches creaked as more parishioners gathered. I nodded at Vlad and his wife, Priscilla. We had recently negotiated a shipping contract. I was impressed with his operations.
Natacha Popov hobbled in, tapping the marble floor with her cane. She smiled at me before taking the pew a few rows ahead of mine. Her husband was home. I was sure of it. Gerald Popov hated Dmitry. Sending his wife was the weakest attempt he could make to pay his respects to Anna.
I cataloged the people as they filed through the open church doors. I had secured profitable deals with almost everyone in attendance. The few faces I didn’t recognize I assumed were people within Dmitry’s organization that were on the bottom rungs of the ladder. I spotted his attorney, Viktor, speaking to the priest. The mass should start soon. The family began to gather at the back of the church.
I quickly looked away when I saw the fitted black suit come into view. Shit. The jacket covered athletic toned muscle. It couldn’t be disguised beneath mourning attire. He was still gorgeous and sexy. Finding him in the rain last night had cemented every memory I had of him. The sharp angle of his jaw. The darkness in his eyes. I hadn’t forgotten how warm his skin had been when I touched it. I never forgot the way my body was drawn to his. I reached in my clutch for a peppermint. My mouth had gone dry.
Suddenly, the organ music surged from the balcony behind our heads. Everyone rose to their feet, and I became a participant in the funeral of Dmitry Novikov, my greatest adversary.