Chapter 17
Seventeen
LUKA
I opened the door when I heard the first crash on the hardwood floor outside my father’s office. It sounded like glass.
“Mother?” I rushed toward her. She was hunched over, gripping a wine bottle in one hand while trying to stack shards of glass with the other. “Here. Move. You’re going to cut yourself.”
I tried to extract her from the broken portrait at her feet.
“Who put that there?” she snarled at the family photo. It was at least twenty years old.
“I think it’s been on the wall a long time,” I explained.
She staggered backward while I tried to make the path to the staircase walkable. I noticed she wasn’t wearing any shoes or slippers.
“You don’t think I know where things belong in this house?”
I shook my head. She was drunk. Again.
“Can I take you to your room?” I reached for the bottle in her fist. Had she stopped using glasses?
She recoiled. “No.”
“I need to call someone to clean up this mess. You can still cut the bottoms of your feet. Just don’t move.” I pressed my hand forward to keep her still.
“They should have already been here,” she spat. “Lazy. Everyone here is lazy.” I heard the bottle thump on the ground as she sat on her heels. The silk robe she wore gathered in layers at her feet.
It occurred to me these incidents had been going on before my father’s death. I never believed she was struggling as a grieving widow. I looked up to the balcony. One of the house staff was already jogging down the stairs with a broom and dustpan as if she knew what to expect when she heard the glass break.
I frowned. The wheels had been coming off my family’s axis for a long time. Since the day Katya’s contract was signed. It only continued to spin farther out of control in my absence. Did my father know what he had done? Did he realize what he put in motion by stealing his children’s lives from them?
I was sent away. Katya wanted to leave Andrey. My father died. My mother was a drunk. The family fortune had been drained. How the fuck was I supposed to make a dynasty out of this train wreck? Being the Pakhan was a fucking curse some days.
“Where have you been?” my mother snapped at the girl.
“I had to find the broom,” she explained, sweeping the cracked frame into the center of the dustpan.
I lifted the portrait from the floor. It was a formal shot. All our family pictures were. My mother and Katya were both in long gowns, despite that my sister was barely ten in the photograph. I tried to remember what I thought about the Bratva organization when I was fifteen. I knew it paid for expensive vacations and boarding school. I knew it was the reason my father was feared. It was the reason I had a security detail as a child. It was the reason I lost an uncle and a cousin.
“Here.” I handed the staffer the canvas. “You can throw this out too.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I didn’t need the reminder. “Can you make sure Mrs. Novikov gets to bed?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” I stepped toward my mother, but her eyes had started to close. I kissed her on the top of the head. “Sleep well. I’ll check on you tomorrow.” I wanted to ask my sister how much she knew about the drinking. Katya had enough going on.
She didn’t acknowledge I had been near her. Maybe she was dreaming, or maybe she had passed out like the drunk she had become.
I headed back into the study. There was a storm that had settled over the city. The rain pelted the windows. I had come to the compound for dinner, begun working in the office, and hadn’t left.
The alert on my phone chimed. Who the hell was texting this late?
When I saw Amara’s name on the screen I stopped moving. I had to read the message a second time.
We need to talk. Come over.
Now? In the middle of the night? During a storm that felt like a tropical depression?
Did she think she could summon me like one of her henchmen? I had left messages and sent texts. I’d had flowers delivered along with her favorite champagne from Marguerite’s. She had returned everything unopened, including the apology note. I never had a chance to explain the PAC. My words were always going to fall flat.
But maybe this meant she had taken the bait. She knew Enzo had been in contact with me in public. I expected her to eyes all over the city, but I was impressed how quickly she received the information.
I texted my response.
On my way, kotyonok.
I shoved my phone in my back pocket.
This might be the only chance I had. I grabbed the keys to one of the family cars and opened the garage door. The thunder boomed as I steered toward the Amato mansion.
T he windshield wipers swished back and forth on the highest setting. I had to watch for street flooding on my drive over. A few of the roads had already been blocked off with detour warnings. The storm was only getting worse. I sat outside Amara’s house. I stared at the second-floor window that used to be her bedroom. I wondered if it still was. Had she taken over the master suite? Had she converted her father’s apartments into her own? Part of me found it hard to believe she still lived in the mansion. She had never liked it much.
The house was dark except for the flickering gas lamps on either side of the porch. I didn’t bring my security detail with me. I was alone. If this was the moment Amara decided to take me out instead of call a family truce, there was nothing I could do.
In the days since our date, I didn’t know what she had discovered about me. I only knew she had started making moves. She was playing a high-stakes game.
I was stupid enough to take the fucking chance it wasn’t an ambush.
I pushed the driver side door open and ran into the rain. It streamed down my face. The cold droplets soaked into my shirt.
I pounded on the front door. I wasn’t surprised when Ciro opened it.
He glared at me. “Yes?”
“Amara is expecting me,” I explained. I wiped the water from my eyes, making a move to cross the threshold, but he blocked me.
“Wait here.”
I growled. “There’s a hurricane out here. Let me in now, Ciro.”
He let the door swing wide.
“Thanks.” I walked into the foyer.
“You need to wait. I’ll see if she’s ready for you.”
I shook the water from my hair.
“This way.” Ciro reappeared from the dark hallway. I expected to be escorted into the downstairs office, but he climbed the stairs.
A trail of water marked every step I took. Ciro turned right then left before making another turn. I didn’t know this part of the house. He pushed open the door. A light shone through the brief crack at the entrance.
“You can go in.” I thought the look he gave me was a warning. It always was. How many times had he wanted to kill me with his bare hands?
I walked past him, aware that the door was closed behind me on my way into the room.
“You made it.” Amara stood. Her long legs, revealed by the opening of her dress. Or was it a robe? It was flowy fabric that cut in a deep V and tied with a belt. I’d always been amazed at how she could pull off elegant, casual, and sexy at the same time. Tonight, was no different. I had to drag my eyes away from her legs.
“You do realize there’s a tropical depression out there?” I shoved my hands in pockets, realizing too late that even they were soaked.
“Maybe you should change.” Her eyes canvassed my clothes. “It looks like you’ve been in the pool.”
“I didn’t bring a change of clothes,” I stated.
She shrugged. “I have something I’m sure.” She crossed the room with graceful movements and began searching through a walk-in closet. She emerged with a set of dry clothes. “Here. You can change in the next room.” She pointed me to the bathroom.
“I don’t think I need to change,” I argued.
“You should.” There was no room for disagreement. “I’ll give you a minute.”
I clasped the folded clothes. I didn’t want to know who they belonged to. Did she keep a closet of men’s clothes? The jealousy burned in my palms. A few minutes later I was at least dry. I hung the wet shirt and pants over the tub.
“Better?” I asked.
The wind howled outside the window. It was possible the storm was picking up speed. The wind gusts seemed stronger and more sustained.
“Yes.” I saw the way her eyes flickered quickly before she looked away.
“I’m glad you wanted to talk. I didn’t expect it to be in the middle of this storm.”
“Why wait?” She smiled. “I don’t think business should be put off.”
“All right. Let’s put it all out there.”
She made her way to the bar across the room. The fabric caught the tops of her thighs when she walked.
“Drink?” she offered.
It was clear I wasn’t going anywhere. “I’ll have whatever you’re pouring.”
I studied her back while she dropped ice cubes into the glasses. “What rooms are these?” I asked.
“I did some remodeling a few years ago,” she explained, turning to present the drinks. “I combined two suites to make this apartment.”
“It’s nice. It suits you.”
“Does it?” Her eyebrows raised.
“Sophisticated. Feminine. Expensive.” I smirked. “I think so.”
“Thank you.” Her pink lips raked over the glass when she took a sip.
“I got your note the other morning when you left.” Her eyes shot to mine. “And the necklace,” I added.
“I’m glad you brought up BONO,” she snarled.
I shook my head. “I don’t want to talk about the PAC. I want to apologize for how you found out about it. We could talk about that part.” I knew I was lucky the only thing she had discovered was Viktor’s clever way to construct the LLC as quickly as he did. If she learned anything else, there would be no way forward. No path for us.
I had replayed the kidnapping in my head, nearly step by step. Day by day. I pictured Amara locked up in that room, refusing to eat. Barely sleeping. My prisoner for days while I had her father killed. If that secret ever came to life I would walk this earth unforgiven and damned.
Her eyes narrowed. “Apologize? How are you going to do that?”
“I just did. I’m sorry. I need those senators for one of my projects. It wasn’t supposed to be personal. I see how you took it that way.”
She laughed. It caught me off-guard. “If I took every backroom business deal personally, I wouldn’t have the position I do.”
“Hmm.” I stared at her. “So none of this is personal? Refusing my calls? Rejecting the flowers I sent? The champagne gift? The necklace?” I licked my lips. “The fucking necklace, Amara? It doesn’t get more personal than that.”
“I didn’t want it anymore.” She turned from me.
“That message was received.” I walked toward her, looking through the window at the storm. The lights flickered with another burst of lightning and thunder. She jumped. “Do you have a generator if you lose power?” I asked.
“It was overloaded in the hurricane last month. The replacement hasn’t been installed.” I heard her voice, but it was as if she was somewhere else. Her thoughts were on the rain or the streaks of lightning.
“I’m going to light some candles. Okay?”
She stood still while I struck matches and lit the tapers lined along the fireplace mantle. I made sure to light the ones on the coffee table and next to the bed as well.
The roof shook and the power surge lasted longer. I knew there was no way the power would last. Not in this kind of storm. Had she known that all along?
“There. I think we’re good,” I announced.
“No, Luka. We’re not good.” She faced me. I saw the fury in her green eyes. It was layered with hurt and distrust.
“I was talking about if the lights go out.”
“I know. But that’s not why you’re here. I don’t need you to light candles, check my flashlight batteries, or make sure I’m safe in a storm. I pay people to do that.”
“I don’t need to be here.” It was obvious this was some kind of game. An angle. I’d said I was sorry. It wasn’t going to be enough. Tonight, wasn’t the night to reach her. It was going to take more time, and it wasn’t going to happen when she looked like she could eat me alive. “I hope you make it through the storm, okay. I’ll let myself out.”
“No,” she snapped. “Not yet.”
My hand had barely touched the doorknob when a peel of thunder rocked the entire house and the lights faded. The flames I had lit danced around the room. There were enough to make the entire room glow.
I inhaled. “What’s this about?”
“Trust,” she whispered.
I slowly turned around. “Trust? All right. I get it. You don’t trust me. You found out about the PAC the wrong way. It was a betrayal. I understand. I betrayed you. You can’t trust. Don’t you think I know that?”
She shook her head. “No. I want to know if you trust me.”
She slinked toward me. I swallowed, wondering if when the power grid went down, another switch had been flipped— something inside her was different than when I first walked in the room. Her eyes were dazzling. Seductive.
I reached behind my back and turned the lock on the door.
“I guess that depends. I trust you not to cheat at poker.” I winked as I stepped toward her.
“When have we ever played poker together?” she asked.
My hand landed on her hip. My fingers instinctively curled into her waist. Our eyes met and I wondered if she had let go of the anger or if it was still there beneath the surface.
“I don’t think we ever did,” I answered.
Her chin tilted upward. “What if I told you I knew what you were doing?”
I shrugged. “I’d be fine with that.” I brushed the hair off her shoulder. “You know the big secret.”
“I’m not sure I do.” She bit her lower lip, and I fucking lost it.