3. Twenty-Nine
Twenty-Nine
AMARA
T here was a great hall attached to the cathedral where wedding receptions were held, celebrations for baptisms, and funeral luncheons. I always thought it was odd that the funerals were lumped into the same category. They should have their own dark room with chippy tables and hand-me-down church linens. They shouldn’t be allowed to dampen the happier life events.
I stepped into the hall, searching for Anna Novikov. Once my condolences to her were extended, I could exit quickly and make the rest of today’s meetings.
The problem was one person stood between Anna and me—Luka.
It was as if he felt my eyes studying the broad length of his shoulders. He turned. But unlike last night, the soft smile wasn’t there .
I saw hard lines around his eyes. Obsidian irises glaring at me. His sexy jaw fixed.
I didn’t know whether to turn and run, but instinct kicked in. A mafia queen doesn’t run. I slowly let my gaze drift to the doorway. Ciro was scanning the crowd. He always was.
I held my ground, throwing my shoulders back, and jutting my breasts forward. I removed the glove from my left hand to offer it to Anna. I continued to make my approach. As I moved closer, Luka blocked my next movement. He wouldn’t let me in the receiving line.
“We need to talk,” he hissed.
“I’m here to offer my sympathies to your mother and your sister,” I whispered, desperately trying not to make a scene.
“No.” He gritted his teeth. “You’re coming with me.”
I squeezed my eyes tightly. “Luka, this isn’t the place.”
“I’m making it the place. I insist.”
I thought I was quicker than him, but he wound his hand through mine. My body reacted to the contact when it shouldn’t have. He tugged me away from the line. Ciro instantly reached inside his jacket. I put my hand up to stop him from following us or setting off a firing shot in the middle of Dmitry’s funeral.
I wasn’t familiar with the maze of back offices in the church. Luka shoved open a door. I realized it was one of the confessional rooms. He locked the dark mahogany door behind us. It smelled like incense and velvet. The wall was lit with red votive candles.
“Why didn’t you say anything last night?” he growled .
“This isn’t the place to discuss business.” I realized my mistake when his eyes clouded with venom and fury. We should be kneeling. Praying. Begging for forgiveness in this room.
“Business?” he huffed.
“Look, Luka. You’ve been gone a long time. Five years, I believe.” He wasn’t the first angry organization member I’d had to settle, but he was the first one that made me want to beg to erase the last five years of our lives. To undo the hurt. To lace it back together like it was never ripped.
I kept my voice steady. “We could set up a meeting once you’ve had a chance to finalize all the funeral plans and events. I’ll give you as much time as you need.” Forty-eight hours was generous but for him, I could extend the grace period a little longer.
His hand extended toward me, and my breath caught. I didn’t know if he was going to grab me and pull me toward him or strike me. The fire in his eyes was a mix of hate and lust. Instead, he turned with little space to move in the confessional.
“You are going to give me time?” he mocked me.
I nodded. “Whatever you need. Really. I remember how hard it was when my father died.”
I didn’t mention that he never contacted me when I was in mourning. My father died only a month after Luka left for Europe. I had stared at my phone for weeks, hoping, praying, begging he would reach out to me. He never did. I didn’t know if he even knew I had been kidnapped during that time. I blocked out the horror and faced him.
“I’ve heard people whispering about you,” he explained. “I know what they are calling you, Amara. I know what you own. Who you have deals with. What you stole from my family.”
“I’ve stolen nothing,” I hissed.
He shook his head. “Who are you? What happened to that girl I met?”
I sighed. “The girl in the pool house?” It was almost as if he was trying to recall a sweet meet-cute.
“Yes.” His eyes softened briefly. “Why are they calling you the queen of the Crescent City? How the fuck did that happen?”
“You make it sound like a bad thing.” My eyes narrowed. He had no idea how hard I worked to earn the respect of our fathers’ peers.
“You’re proud of it?” he growled.
I tilted my chin upward. “You grew up Russian mafia royalty. Don’t judge me. You have no right.”
“But this? How?”
I started to realize he had been kept in the dark. It seemed unlikely, but his line of questioning seemed sincere. I had to remind myself he was trained Bratva and it could all be a trap. There was still a possibility Dmitry hadn’t told Luka anything about our arrangements. I was as shocked as he was.
“You could have stayed in touch,” I whispered. “You would have known more. You would have known something.”
“I stayed away because—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You need to understand something. I’m taking it all back. Every damn thing you wrenched away from my family. It wasn’t yours to begin with. I can’t let it fucking stand. Do you hear me? ”
“Luka, it’s business. You know that.”
“Don’t!” he yelled. The growl in his voice echoed around the small chamber. The candles on the wall shook. I expected Ciro to rush in, but the confessional was soundproof. “You don’t get to lecture me about business. About families. About organizations. About deals and negotiations, you knew nothing about. You were a college grad lounging at the pool. Drinking on Instagram. Too buzzed to know who you partied with. What the hell, Amara?”
I slid the glove over my right hand, taking my time to make sure my fingers fit securely. I’d met with impatience and rage for years.
I met his eyes.
“Trust me, I’m not the girl who drinks on Instagram anymore.” I stepped closer so he could hear my whispers.
I inhaled his cologne. His masculine scent that I’d dreamed about almost every night since he left. Nights I’d shot straight up in bed, wishing I could get on a plane to Paris. I wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to look in his eyes. I wanted to trace the lines of the ink on his skin. I wanted to see his sexy grin and laugh with him about something utterly ridiculous. This version of Luka was foreign to me. He was angry. Bitter. Soulless. He had returned to his Bratva roots. There was no redemption here.
“That’s fucking clear,” he spat.
I unlocked the latch. “Have Viktor call Barbara. She’ll set up a meeting for our legal teams.”
“That is not how we do business,” he spoke through clenched teeth. “You can come to me. ”
“What you don’t realize is that it’s how I do business. It’s how the city is run now. Not by brutes and thugs. I’ve cleaned things up since you’ve been gone.”
I was about to falter. Slip against him. He leaned toward me. My heart beat so hard and forcefully I wondered if he heard how many beats had bruised the inside of my chest. The warmth of his breath grazed my cheek.
“I remember your weaknesses, kotyonok.”
My eyes flared. “You can’t call me that.” My voice trembled.
“Ty moya,” he whispered.
I had to get out of here. Away from him. Out of his air. Away from the heat of his eyes.
I closed the door and walked into the hall.
Ciro instinctively wrapped an arm around me as soon as I appeared. My knees shook, and my palms were sweaty inside the gloves. I believed I had masked it all from Luka, but he knew the words that crippled me. The ones he had whispered in my ear when he had taken me to bed when he was buried inside me. He knew he had ruined any chance of another man taking his place. He was cruel and five years later, nothing had changed.
“We’re leaving now,” Ciro stated. “It’s not safe for you here.”
I nodded my head. “Okay.” I couldn’t argue. I had to get as far away from Luka as I could.