Chapter 20 Ilya
ILYA
Patience has never been one of my virtues. I built my empire through taking what I wanted when I wanted it. In my world, hesitation is one of many weaknesses a man can have, and weakness is death.
But watching Mara pace through my penthouse like a caged animal, I discover I have reserves of patience I never knew existed.
She’s magnificent when she’s angry. Her cool reserve from before has transformed into something wilder—something reflected in her appearance, which is more unkempt than I’ve ever seen it before.
She’s been rotating through the same couple pairs of leggings and sweaters, refusing to touch most of the gorgeous wardrobe I picked out for her, and there are shadows under her eyes that tell me she hasn’t been sleeping well.
Her hands keep clenching and unclenching at her sides like she's imagining wrapping them around my throat.
I should probably be concerned about that. Instead, I find it intoxicating.
She doesn’t know how often I watch her. Most often, from my office, with my door cracked open just enough to see what else is going on in the penthouse while I review contracts and go over paperwork, while my attention keeps drifting to her.
It’s been three days since I brought her here, and she hasn’t let me touch her again yet. It feels as if it’s driving me nearly insane, but every time I’ve tried to get close, she’s warded me away. And I won’t force her.
She kissed me that first night. I want that again. I want her unable to resist how she feels for me, unable to deny it.
I don’t want her to surrender because she’s broken. I want her to surrender because she understands that she’s mine.
Because she’s accepted the inevitability of not only how much she belongs to me, but how much she wants to.
I don’t want to break her. I want to bend her, shape her, mold her into the woman I know she can be—the woman who can stand beside me, who can match my darkness with her own.
The woman who already exists inside her, waiting to be freed.
My phone buzzes with an incoming call. Kazimir.
I answer it, keeping my voice low, still watching Mara as she walks to the kitchen.
She’s been trying to ignore the array of gourmet food that I’ve been having delivered for meals, the high-quality tea and coffee that’s always available, but she has to eat, and now and then she manages to force herself to accept that.
“What’s going on?” I ask quietly.
“Sergei has gone quiet,” Kazimir reports. “He's pulled back his men and stopped asking questions about the girl. Either he's given up or he's planning something."
"He's planning something." I lean back in my chair, still watching Mara through the crack in the door.
She's pulled a book from a shelf, and is flipping through it without really reading.
"He’ll likely strike when we least expect it.
We need to stay one step ahead of him, if we can.
Keep watching him. Let me know every move he makes. I want eyes on him at all times."
“If he realizes you’re tracking him, it could start a war,” Kazimir says flatly. "You're really willing to go to war over a woman?"
The question irritates me, but Kazimir has earned the right to ask it. "I'm willing to go to war over this woman."
He's quiet for a moment. Then: "The men are asking questions about why you’re still in New York, if this means changes in the organization. This is the longest they’ve gone without a clear directive.”
My jaw tightens, my irritation deepening. "Tell them it changes nothing. Business continues as usual. My personal life is my own concern. They’ll be given a directive that’s different from the day to day when I need them to do something else."
"Understood." He doesn't sound happy about it, but he accepts it. "I'll keep you updated on Sergei's movements."
He hangs up, and I set the phone down, returning my attention to Mara.
She's abandoned the book and is now standing at the window, looking out at the city. From this angle, I can see her profile, the elegant line of her neck, the tension in her shoulders. She’s glaring out at the skyline as if she can find the answers she wants out there somewhere, but I want her to find them here.
I want to go to her, want to wrap my arms around her from behind, press my lips to the side of her elegant neck, feel her body relax against mine. But I don't. Not yet. She needs space to process, to adjust, to come to terms with her new reality.
And I need to handle the loose ends in my life that still need to be tied up.
As if summoned by my thoughts, my phone rings again. This time, the name on the screen makes my jaw tighten.
Svetlana.
I consider not answering, but that would only delay the inevitable.
Better to handle this now, cleanly and finally.
There’s no chance of anything between her and I, not any longer.
And the last thing I need is her somehow coming in between Mara and I.
I should have ended it before I ever slept with Mara, officially.
There’s no better time than the present.
I pick up the phone, still watching Mara as I answer. "Svetlana."
"Ilya." Her voice is warmer than usual, with that slight purr she uses when she wants something. "I've been trying to reach you. Where have you been?"
"Busy."
"Always busy." She laughs, but there's an edge to it. "Too busy for me, lately. When are you coming back to Boston? I have tickets to the symphony next week, and I thought we could—"
"I'm not coming back to Boston. Not for a while."
Silence. Then: "What do you mean? You have business here. We have a wedding to plan, and—"
"I'll be handling my business remotely for a while. Circumstances have changed."
"What circumstances?" Her voice sharpens. "Ilya, what's going on?"
I stand and walk to the window of my office, putting more distance between myself and Mara, turning my back on her for the moment. This conversation requires my full attention, and I can't afford to be distracted by the woman in the next room.
"Our arrangement is over, Svetlana."
There’s another silence, longer this time. When she speaks again, her voice is cold. "Our arrangement? Is that what you're calling it now?"
"That's what it's always been. A mutually beneficial arrangement. But it's run its course, and it no longer suits my needs." I feel the smallest flicker of guilt over shutting things down so coldly, but I know that if I don’t, she won’t take no for an answer. I can’t allow there to be any reason for her to think that she can change my mind about this.
"Just like that? After two years, you're ending things over the phone?" Something like a genuine thread of hurt can be heard in her voice, and I feel that flicker of guilt again.
"Would you prefer I do it in person?" I keep my voice businesslike. "I can arrange for you to fly here if you'd like to discuss this face to face." I know she won’t take me up on it, or I’d never have suggested it in the first place.
"Discuss?" She laughs humorlessly. "There's nothing to discuss. You're making a unilateral decision, as always. Do I get any say in this?"
"No."
The word hangs in the air. I hear her sharp intake of breath, and I can imagine the way her face is flushing with anger and humiliation.
"There's someone else." It's not a question. "That's what this is about. You've found someone else."
I don't answer. She can take that however she likes.
"Who is she?" Svetlana's voice rises. "Some little nobody who doesn't understand your world? Some innocent you can corrupt? Is that what this is about, Ilya? You got bored with me and decided to find a new toy?"
"This conversation is over."
"No, it's not. You don't get to just dismiss me like I'm nothing. I know things, Ilya. I could make things very difficult for you if I wanted to."
The threat is clumsy, born of hurt pride and anger rather than genuine malice. But it's still a threat, and I don't tolerate threats.
My voice drops, turning softer, and ice cold.
"Svetlana. Listen to me very carefully. You don’t know anything worthwhile enough to hurt me.
And that’s on purpose. You think I would ever have allowed you in enough to be able to damage me?
You’re an absolute fool if you think that, which just makes me all the more glad I’ve put an end to this now. ”
“My father has money. He could help me make things difficult for you…”
“Don’t put yourself in that position, Svetlana.”
Her voice sharpens. "Are you threatening me?"
"I'm reminding you of reality. You're a smart woman. You know how this world works. You know what happens to people who make things difficult for me."
"I'm not afraid of you."
"You should be." I let the words settle for a moment. "I've been generous with you. I've treated you well, spoiled you plenty while we were together. But that generosity has limits. Push me, and you'll discover exactly where those limits are."
I can hear her breathing on the other end of the line, quick and shallow. She's finally understanding that this isn't a negotiation.
"I want you to listen very carefully," I continue, my voice still soft and cold.
"You will not contact me again. You will not attempt to interfere in my life or my business.
In return, I'll make sure you're taken care of.
There will be a sum deposited in your account, enough to supplement your lifestyle for quite some time. Consider it a severance package."
I can almost hear her teeth grinding on the other end. “You’re paying me off to leave you alone.”
“You can think of it like that if you want.”
Another long silence. Then she speaks again, quietly. "I thought we had something real."
The words surprise me. She sounds like she actually believes them. There’s that flicker of guilt again, but if she really did believe that, then it’s better this ends now. There was never anything real between us.